the rumors of his affair with the Secretary of State, Pierce cut it short.
“No way!” Oz shouted as he watched Pierce knock the camera out of the cameraman’s hands. It fell to the floor, bouncing as it continued to record Pierce’s boots and a litany of colorful language as he threatened to drop the reporter through a portal if she didn’t leave.
“That was classic,” Oz said as the broadcast went to commercial. “I mean, not that I blame him. But can you believe that?”
“It was stupid,” Colt said as he flipped through the channels. “People are going to see his uniform and think we’re all like that.”
“People are going to see a son standing up for his dad,” Oz said.
“Whatever.” Colt stopped when he saw aerial footage of the Manhattan Bridge. The lanes that led into Manhattan were empty, but cars were stacked across the lanes leading out, and none of them was moving. People were getting out of their cars and running. Most didn’t bother shutting their doors. “We should be there helping them.”
“The National Guard is already there,” Oz said. “Besides, the Army Corps of Engineers couldn’t build a bridge fast enough to help them. What would we do?”
“Anything is better than sitting around here waiting for orders.”
“You won’t have to worry about that much longer.” Grandpa walked into the room holding two plates stacked high with roast beef sandwiches on rye, pickle spears, and Ruffles potato chips. “We’re packing up and heading west.”
“Back to Arizona?”
Grandpa shook his head. “The federal government is moving to what the Joint Chiefs of Staff believe is a more defensible position, west of the Rockies. The cadets of CHAOS Academy are part of the security staff that’s going to protect the caravan—only you aren’t cadets any longer. You’ve all been given field promotions.”
“What, so we’re generals now?” Oz said.
“Not quite,” Grandpa said. “They’ve come up with a new title. Junior Agent.”
By the look on his face, it appeared as though Oz just finished smelling a bag of week-old gym socks. “Junior Agents? That’s lame.”
“You also get live ammunition,” Grandpa said. “And you get paid.”
“How much?”
“It won’t really matter if we don’t find a way to stop the lizard men,” Grandpa said as he set the plates on the coffee table in front of the boys. “Anything new?” He nodded toward the television and sat down in the overstuffed rocking chair he’d had delivered from his house back in Arizona.
“Not really,” Colt said.
“I guess no news is good news.”
Oz was set to take a massive bite from his sandwich, but he stopped and set it back down. “Mr. McAlister, I know you’ve done an awful lot for me . . . you know, with getting me reinstated and everything.”
“I didn’t do much of anything,” Grandpa said. “Besides, it wasn’t like you did anything wrong.”
“Still, thanks,” Oz said. He paused a long moment, his eyes distant as though he was recalling a forgotten memory. “It’s just that I was hoping you could help me with one more thing.”
“What is it, son?”
“I want to see my father.”
: :
CHAPTER 27 : :
Murdoch McAlister had the personal cell phone number of the president of the United States of America, but even he had his limitations. He placed calls to key contacts inside the military, including Major General Robert T. Walker, the commander in chief of the Special Operations Command, but the best he could do was arrange for a hologram communication exchange.
“Are you sure about this?” Colt said as he watched the camera operator run through a test for the HCE.
“Yeah,” Oz said. “I need to talk to him one last time in case . . . well, in case something happens to me.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Colt said, surprised by the anger that welled inside his chest. He wasn’t mad at Oz for saying it, because it was true. None of them was promised tomorrow, but it was easier when he wasn’t thinking about it.
Oz shrugged. “If you say so.”
“We’re all set.” The camera operator opened the door to the control room and took a seat behind a panel with more levers, buttons, and dials than an air traffic control facility.
“Look, are you sure you don’t want some privacy?” Colt said. He was feeling a bit squeamish—not because Santiago Romero had tried to kill him, but because he felt like a voyeur.
“You’re good,” Oz said. “Besides, I’m not sure I can do this alone.”
That struck Colt as strange. Oz was the perfect human specimen who