Free Blackout by Jason Elam, Steve Yohn Page B

“If all goes well with the meeting with the president, he’s prepared to give you full security clearance. You’ll be living a very busy life. In the hours you’re not with the Warriors, you’ll be working with us preparing the ops boys.”
    Riley sat there letting the information sink in. At least he had an answer to why such an illogical trade had happened. And, he had to admit, spending time with his buddies on the CTD ops team again did hold a definite appeal. Then a thought struck him.
    â€œAnd Khadi? Is she on board with this?”
    Scott gave a soft laugh. “You know, it was all I could do to keep her from telling you. I finally had to threaten her security clearance. But, yeah, Khadi’s on board.
    â€œLike I said earlier, you’re the only one we—that’s both Khadi and me—can fully trust with the special ops. You have our respect and the respect of the men. If this EMP thing is for real, I want somebody leading the team who fully understands what’s happening and knows the full ramifications if it actually goes down. Nobody else I know has that knowledge base. Remember your words to me: ‘Anything, anytime, anywhere’? Well, this is the thing, now is the time, and here is the where.”
    Riley shook his head, angry at the way Scott had thrown his words back at him. How? How in the world did this happen again? Lord, this is getting too much for me. For once, can’t my life follow my plan?
    Riley sighed, resigned. It was a fait accompli. Fighting it was going to get him nowhere. Quietly, he said, “But I’m just a football player. I’m just a dumb football player.”
    â€œFirst of all, Pach, you’re not dumb,” Scott said, giving Riley’s shoulder a shake, then leaning back in his seat. “You know that already. And second, if these two bombs are big enough and have a high enough atmospheric detonation, not just professional football but American civilization as we know it will, in the blink of an eye, totally cease to exist. Doesn’t really matter who you’re playing for then.”

Wednesday, July 22, 7:20 a.m. EDT
    Washington, D.C.
    Any self-consciousness Riley had felt in the Suburban was multiplied exponentially as he and Scott walked through the White House. He could hear people all around him whispering and snickering. One staffer made a crack about Riley being a “Gitmo reject” a little too loudly, drawing an admonishing look from their escort, a woman in her midfifties who walked with the authority of someone who had been ushering people through these sacred halls for years.
    It was becoming more and more obvious that Riley’s deodorant bath was only partially working, and his right galosh had developed a bit of a sucking, popping sound as he walked, which only added to the nightmare.
    As he passed the portraits on the walls and the curios set on small tables, he could feel the history of the place. It was like walking into the past—all the events that he had read about for years in dry textbooks were coming alive all around him. A visit into the inner sanctums of this building was a dream come true for Riley. And here he was experiencing it while looking way too much like Tom Hanks’s castaway, albeit only four days into the bushy beard.
    Riley tried to put the situation out of his mind by concentrating on what Scott had told him about the people they were about to meet. President Lloyd was a liberal, antimilitary Democrat elected based on his promise to bring peace to the country and harmony with the world. However, Riley had heard that Lloyd’s “Give Peace a Chance” bubble had burst during his first presidential intelligence briefing, during which he learned what was really happening throughout the world.
    Then the attack on Platte River Stadium took place. Several thousand people were killed. Not many months following came terrorist attacks on the subways in