“General!” Jason Combs blurted out. Then he took a moment to rein in his emotions before he continued. “It’s been very clear since this administration took office that you do not favor the political approach of this administration, but you will have to curb your sarcasm as it is non-productive. We need to put our petty political differences aside and do what is best for the country”
“Political differences!” shouted General Clarett as he leaned over the table, glaring at Combs without leaving his chair. “Political differences! Shit, boy! This is way beyond political differences. It’s just common sense that when you’re attacked, you fight back, and you do your utmost to protect you and yours. This wait and see crap is just that—crap!”
“Well, aren’t we lucky you aren’t running this country? You’d have us acting like a bunch of cowboys like the last administration, alienating our allies and panicking our own people needlessly,” Roger Bascome, the new National Security Advisor quipped.
“You’re an idiot!” shouted the General. “France is not our ally. They take any and every opportunity to screw us. Think about the oil for food scandal, the U.N. and their no votes, the weapons for oil scandal and several dozen more incidents that I could mention.
“When are you going to wake up and smell the coffee? We are in this alone. No one is going to race to our defense or condemn the real perpetrators of the attacks. They are all running scared. I’ll give you a hint, our enemy is not a bunch of undereducated street thugs shouting ‘Viva Mexico!’ It’s the rich bastards that run the Middle East and control our oil supplies,” the general ranted. “Today, they blew up one of our major cities and killed thousands of our citizens. That city housed a large portion of our oil refining capabilities. Our economy’s life’s blood, if you will.” The general now yelled for emphasis. “What’s it going to take to get you people to understand that we are at war? Just because you don’t want to face the ugly truth, doesn’t make it go away. Shit, a few administrations ago, you people had the chance to try it your way and it got us embassy bombings, the attack on the Cole, 9/11 and now, Houston. Wake up!”
“9/11 didn’t happen on our watch,” retorted Bascome.
“Like I said, you’re an idiot,” the general stated flatly.
“I resent being talked to like that, General, and I’ll have your job for it,” Bascome fumed.
“You can’t do my job. You couldn’t stand up for this country if your own life depended on it. You’re too busy trying to impress the Europeans who are just waiting for the chance to screw you. You can’t negotiate from a position of weakness, son,” the general stated patronizingly to the younger man. “You can only surrender from it.”
“General, you’ve heard the orders and we have to follow them. Why don’t you go on your vacation, and we’ll handle the next few days ourselves,” Jason Combs interjected.
“No, sir! I’m not abandoning my post while we are under attack. No, sir!”
“General, you heard the orders. This whole matter is to be treated like the police matter it is. Nothing will transpire overseas without a message being sent to you, so you can return and add your input,” Combs was patronizing the general now.
“Bullshit, Combs!” the general shouted. “You want me out of town to give you someone to hatchet when this thing hits the fan. Police matter, my ass! You people will cause this great country to collapse, and I want to be front row center to see it happen, so I can point the finger of blame where it really belongs.”
“Well, I believe this concludes our meeting,” Combs blurted out, not wanting to hear anymore war mongering from the general. “Everyone will get their updates as usual. Please be aware we may need to meet quickly as events unfold. Try to enjoy your holiday,” Jason Combs concluded. Then, as people began to leave, he called out, “Roger, have you got a minute?”
“Hold on, Combs!” The general angrily blurted out. “You haven’t answered why I wasn’t called when the crisis started.”
“Because it’s a police matter, like I said,” Combs reiterated matter-of-factly, dismissing the general as he stood and walked away from the table.
“Roger, got a minute?” Combs asked again, not sure if Bascome had heard him over the general’s complaining.
Roger Bascome stepped over to the corner with Combs. They both turned as if on cue and watched as General Clarett departed. The general knew he had pushed too far, but for Christ’s sake, people had been killed on American soil—yet again—by radical Islamic fundamentalists, just like they did in 2001. The Starks administration was refusing to call it a terrorist attack or the people involved in it Islamic or even terrorists. These gutless wonders weren’t fit to command a Popsicle stand, let alone a country. He just couldn’t fathom how these people thought. Shit, maybe Steven was right. He should take the cushy job and protect what he can, leaving these popfarts to fend for themselves.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ten o’clock sharp on Thanksgiving evening, President Alan Starks strode into the Oval Office for his end of the day briefing with his Chief of Staff, Jason Combs, and his National Security Advisor and Director of the NSA, Roger Bascome. Unlike his predecessors who used the Oval Office only for meetings with foreign leaders or their representatives, Starks held every meeting here. He did it for the sole purpose of intimidating the people he was meeting with. The Oval office reeked with power that was now his to command, and he wasn’t above making sure that everyone knew it, especially his senior staff members.
Starks was dressed casually in blue jeans, a light yellow button-down shirt with short sleeves, and penny loafers. His personal photographer was with him tonight and was bouncing about the room taking pictures of the president from as many different angles as possible.
At fifty-six, Starks was still fit and trim due to his religious approach to exercise. He worked out for an hour every morning on the treadmill and then he swam two miles in his personal lap pool. That commitment had paid off on the campaign trail where he had always looked fresh and healthy while his opponents, far too often, showed the weariness of the road. The pollsters credited the exercise regimen for his domination of the womens’ vote, 80/20, because even though he was fifty-six, he looked and acted forty. When you added in his distinguished good looks, enhanced by the hairdresser’s touch of gray at the temples, Starks had the TV idol role locked down tight.
Alan Starks was made for TV. He had a quick wit, a manufactured sense of humor that bordered on quirky and was considered attractive by most women. He was a master orator, quickly taking full control of any crowd he spoke to, and he easily dominated any man or woman who challenged his authority.
Several pundits had labeled him the second Bill Clinton, but he casually brushed off the comparison with a hearty laugh and a grin, commenting modestly that he wished he were that good. The false humility and his faked reverence for the still popular ex-president had gained him seven points in the polls two weeks before the election. The money paid to the pundits to make the comparison was worth every penny.
“Good evening, Mr. President! Hell of a Thanksgiving,” Jason Combs greeted the leader of the free world as he arrived for his end of the day briefing.
“Mr. President!” Roger Bascome greeted him off-handedly, not looking up from the report he was reading. Both Combs and Bascome were seated on the sofa in front of the fireplace for the briefing per the president’s instructions.
“Gentlemen, just hit the highlights and keep it under ten minutes. The First Lady is expecting me. And Jason, it is one hell of a Thanksgiving. Now, I take it we’ve made progress in handling those fires in Houston?” President Starks asked as he took a seat in one of the two wing-backed chairs which were part of the living room set in front of the fireplace. President Starks felt, as many presidents had, that the living room set provided for a more relaxed setting for conversations with staff or friendly allies.
Starks picked up several papers from the coffee table and struck a pose which made him appear to be deeply involved in thought. The
photographer took several pictures of the president, all from different angles, only a few of which included Combs and Bascome in the field of view before being dismissed by a wave of the president’s hand.
One or two of the pictures would end up in the media tomorrow as it was a standing policy of President Starks to be mentioned daily in the media in a positive light. After one final shot, the photographer took his cue and quickly darted from the room.
“Well, sir,” Jason Combs began his portion of the briefing, “we have personnel from nearly every branch of the military supplementing the security details at every airport within five hundred miles of Houston.
“We are also utilizing them to expedite the incoming emergency supplies in Texas and Louisiana. They are also helping in the assembly, stocking and the maintenance of up to eight FEMA camps in Northern Texas and Western Louisiana should the situation warrant it.
“So far, over two thousand National Guard troops have been deployed in a firefighting capacity, and there are another five thousand Guard troops in the pipeline waiting for deployment as soon as you okay it.”
“Hold on, I take it we won’t have another conversation like we had this afternoon, will we Jason,” the President stated more than asked, referencing the earlier phone conversation that took place during the meeting of the National Security team.
“No, sir. I was out of line. I could have—and should have—waited until we were in private for clarification. It won’t happen again.” Combs’ apology drew a smirk from Bascome.
“I swear. You keep forgetting the first rule of a crisis,” Starks began lecturing Combs. “Never let a good crisis go to waste. Every crisis can help you further your career and your agenda.
“Take this little firestorm in Houston. This provides us with the perfect opportunity to restrict the civil rights of the individual citizen under the guise of protecting them from the bad people in the world. We can start expanding the Patriot Act, cut off public debate of political issues, limit free speech by labeling it hate speech. All of which, by the way, I expect that jackass Speaker of the House to start pushing through like there was no tomorrow. We only have a limited amount of time to get this done. Now, have you got that this time?” Starks snarled.
“Yes, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking this morning,” Combs groveled as the president nodded. Jason Combs took this as a cue to start the briefing again. “It’s just…I’m a little rattled by the terrorist attack. I can’t believe they could do something this big. I just hope we hit them back as hard or harder, sir.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Hit them back? Aren’t you one of the biggest proponents of prosecuting these law breakers in civil courts? Besides, who we gonna hit back? They’re not affiliated with any country. Get a hold of yourself, Jason, or I’ll have to get me a new chief of staff,” Starks barked at Combs who shrank into his chair and didn’t make eye contact, knowing he’d screwed up talking about it. He quickly continued his report, hoping to avoid any further brow beating by the president.
“The State of Texas has mobilized all of their firefighters statewide, as well as all of their emergency responders, National Forest firefighters—you know, the guys called Smoke Jumpers—and police reserves to battle the fires, treat injuries and help control the evacuees and the traffic. Texas is such a large state though, most of the men and equipment are still in route. They’ve also sworn in over fifteen hundred volunteers to help with support services.
“The neighboring states of Oklahoma and Louisiana have sent more than five hundred fire fighters and emergency responders each, plus their equipment. They are being deployed alongside the responders from nearby Texas communities as we speak,” Combs concluded.
“How contained are the fires?” President Starks asked again.
“There isn’t any good news there, sir. The officials on site are predicting that it will be days before they’ve got a handle on this. It is completely out of control. Most of the oil fires are going to be left to burn themselves out. There just isn’t enough fire retardant in the western hemisphere to put them out,” Combs explained.
“Bullshit! Order in more military resources and call our allies. Find the retardant,” the Commander in Chief ordered. “Strip it from every airport in the country if that’s what it takes. Have the military transport it ASAP!”
“The FAA may not like us taking the retardant from the airports. What if a commercial flight should crash?” Combs asked sheepishly.
“Tell the FAA to stuff it. You let Director Simons know that I ordered it, and he had better toe the line unless he wants to be working at a burger joint,” Starks raged at the suggestion that the FAA had any say in National Security matters.
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell the military to strip it from the airports nationwide and get it shipped to Houston, ASAP!” Combs replied. Then, he continued. “Ah…FEMA estimates that there has been a significant amount of damage done to the refineries and they fear the electrical grid along with the city’s sewage system may have also suffered major damage, but it is too soon to ascertain the scope of the damage. They also estimate that ninety percent of the windows in the downtown section of Houston and the adjacent residential neighborhoods of the second and third wards have been destroyed,” Combs read on without emotion from the report in his hand.
“Wait a minute?” Starks interjected. “FEMA says it is too soon to tell the full scope of the damage?” Starks questioned what Jason had just said.
“Yes, sir. It has to do with the fact that they are still fully engaged fighting the fires, setting up shelters and dealing with the evacuation. The areas where the fires have occurred are still too dangerous to enter since the fires are still burning. It’s estimated that ninety percent of the structures in a three mile radius of the original refinery explosions have been damaged or destroyed. We have major fires covering forty linear miles along the shipping canal that runs from downtown Houston thru Deer Park, Galena Park, Pasadena, Baytown and on down to Texas City. The entire area has been designated a hot zone by local fire officials and FEMA.”
“Yeah, Yeah, Yeah! Call Ketchell at FEMA,” Starks barked at Combs, “and tell that son of a bitch to bring in air tankers to fight those fires from the air, as well as the ground. Then tell him I want some choppers up in the air by eight a.m., and I want a preliminary assessment of the damages by ten a.m. or I’ll personally…well, you know, blah, blah, blah! And be sure to throw in that I won’t be made to look like Obama during the oil spill in 2010,” the president ordered Combs.
“Roger, what do you have?” the president then asked his National Security Advisor, signaling the end of Combs’ input for now. Combs picked up his cell phone and started making calls right away.
“We’ve got very little hard evidence. But we believe this is no accident based on the discovery of several propane tanker trucks and gasoline tankers that were wired with Semtex and C-4. It was sheer luck that they were able to disarm them just minutes before they were set to explode.
“The FBI is looking into the whereabouts of every known and suspected terrorist within our borders, as well as seeking the manufacturer of the explosives found on the unexploded trucks in an effort to determine their origin to see if perhaps that can lead us to a suspect or suspects.” Bascome continued without waiting for the president to interject.
“It is still too early to tell how many people were killed in the initial blasts and the resulting fires. However, the City of Houston believes its fire department lost ninety percent of its men and equipment.
“The largest blast took place forty-five minutes after the first call went out. All but a dozen support members of the department were on the scene when that blast occurred. It registered 6.9 on the Richter scale or about the size of a medium-sized nuclear bomb. Thank God it wasn’t nuclear,” Bascome quickly added.
“Per your orders,” Bascome continued, “we’ve upped the security threat level to Extreme and all of the appropriate steps have been enacted. We h
ave allowed overtime for the Border Patrol Agents and Customs Officers at border crossings and instigated a question and search protocol for any suspicious vehicles leaving the country.
“On the media front, we’ve been careful not to suggest that this is, or was a terrorist attack per your orders, though it isn’t stopping the media from calling it one. However, according to polling, that is causing the public to be apprehensive due to the conflicting messages.” Bascome took a breath at this time and President Starks interjected.
“You better get with your sources, Roger, and you too, Jason. Get the word out that we aren’t willing to jump the gun on this and they should be cooling the rhetoric until we can confirm the circumstances that led to today’s tragedy. And regardless of the nature of the disaster, it’s a police matter, end of story. Make them understand that,” the president ordered.
“Yes, sir. In addition to the incident today,” Bascome continued, “it seems that there were several incidents at this particular refinery where gasoline thefts had occurred, along with small gasoline leaks and damage to storage tanks over the last several months, which have been traced back to a Houston street gang—an off-shoot of MS-13. The FBI is preparing for several raids in the Houston area as we speak.
“It could turn out to be domestic terrorism. I think you need to go on TV tomorrow and reassure the public that we have it under control, and despite the temporary challenges we’ll face, the country will be fine,” Bascome suggested.
The president turned to Combs, his look asking the question. “I agree, sir,” Combs spoke up. “You should reassure the country that we have it under control and that the police and FBI will do all that can be done to apprehend these criminals. Reassure them that the full weight of the law will be brought to bear on these cowards.”
“What about the Republicans? They were already calling for more drilling and more refineries, as well as for making a real effort to control the borders,” the president asked, knowing that several Republicans had already been on TV demanding energy independence and more off-shore drilling.
Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises Page 12
