The Trident Deception by Rick Campbell Page B

injected the inhaler into his neck. Thirty seconds later, Ron’s eyes fluttered open. Grabbing Ron roughly, Mike pulled him upright in his chair; Ron’s head was bent back, his eyes looking at the ceiling. Mike held the vial with the sharp tip against Ron’s neck. “Ron, can you hear me?”
    Ron’s eyes gradually moved down toward Mike’s face. He brought his head forward, stopping as he met the pressure of Mike’s hand against his neck. Ron looked slowly around the Operations Center at the unconscious men and women at their workstations, his drowsy appearance transforming into a bewildered expression.
    “What the hell—”
    “I need the combination to the inner safe, Ron. What is it?”
    Ron stiffened as his gaze shifted back to Mike. “I can’t tell you,” he sputtered. “You have the combination to the outer safe. No one person can have both combinations.” Ron’s eyes roamed around the Operations Center, spotting the safe and its open outer door. “What are you doing?”
    Mike pressed the applicator against Ron’s neck. “This injector contains a poison that will kill you in seconds. Give me the combination.”
    “I can’t, Mike! Then you’d have access to the nuclear authorization codes!”
    “Yes you can. And you’ve got ten seconds to give me the combination.”
    “We’ve worked together for fifteen years,” Ron replied, the panic rising in his voice. “Our wives were best friends. I’ve got four kids at home!”
    “You’re right, Ron. And it would be a shame for Arlene to have to bury you, with your children standing beside her as they lower your coffin into your grave.”
    “I can’t, Mike! Please!”

 
    11
    ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
     
    A black Suburban, its blue lights flashing, crossed the 14th Street Bridge at the end of rush hour. Forcing its way across three lanes of heavy traffic, an identical Suburban followed closely behind. Christine, sitting in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle next to Agent Kenney, ended her phone call without a word, her eyes fixed on the rapidly nearing Pentagon.
    En route, Christine had contacted the deputy director of the National Military Command Center, who, while perplexed by the Watch Captain’s failure to answer Christine’s phone calls, was convinced it was nothing more than a simple connectivity problem. The deputy director was in a meeting a few blocks away in Crystal City but had agreed to meet Christine at the Operations Center. He had called back just before Kenney’s SUV peeled off I-395 toward the Pentagon. Personnel inside the Command Center were also failing to answer the classified lines, and the deputy director’s concern had skyrocketed. Kenney had picked up Christine’s rising tension and was pushing his vehicle as fast as traffic moved out of his way.
    A few moments later, the Suburban squealed to a halt at the Pentagon’s River Entrance just as the second SUV, containing two men, ground to a halt behind them. One of the men joined Christine and Kenney as they ascended the River Terrace three steps at a time, while the second remained with the vehicles. Christine and the two agents sped through the Pentagon entrance as they flashed their badges to security personnel, then, after dropping down three levels via the A Ring escalators, headed out along Corridor 9 toward the outermost ring. They eventually reached the end of a long hallway, where two Marines stood in front of a large security door.
    “Open the door,” Christine ordered.
    “We can’t,” the Marine on the left answered. “The door won’t unlock, and there’s no response from inside.”
    “Are you sure you have the correct code?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “What’s standard protocol if you can’t gain access?”
    The Marine looked at Christine uncomfortably. “The deputy director will be here any minute. It’ll be his call on what to do next.”
    As the Marine finished speaking, a man approached, running down the corridor, stopping next to Christine. He