Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises

by Cliff Roberts

  “We could tell the public that you’ll be opening up the strategic reserve to help increase the availability of oil, so that suppliers can provide all the oil needed to the refineries that haven’t been affected by this temporary challenge,” Combs stated, providing verbiage for the speech writers and avoiding setting off the president over the borders issue, which Combs didn’t think Starks was prepared to address at this time.

  “That’s all well and good, but what do I say about the gasoline shortages that will be happening as of tomorrow?” Starks asked the duo. “By the way, just how much refining capacity have we lost?”

  “Well, sir,” Bascome interjected, “Houston houses thirty percent of our refining capacity, but we still have refineries on the east coast and in Louisiana, along with a few smaller refineries dotted across the heartland and out west, but Houston was actually second on the list of refinery capacity. Baton Rouge, Louisiana is actually first with just over forty percent of the nation’s refining capacity.

  “Rather than give them the satisfaction by backing new refineries, I think it’s time to open up a conversation with Hugo in Venezuela. During the campaign, you spoke about how we needed to have a more open relationship with our neighbors to the south, and that we needed to mend the fences that were broken by the last few administrations.

  “I think Hugo will jump at the opportunity for all the positive press a meeting with you would provide him. He’ll probably volunteer to help us, showing the world just how magnanimous and benevolent he can be when shown the proper respect,” Bascome offered. “I’d be willing to bet that he’ll welcome a trade agreement to ship us refined gasoline at a fair market price in return for a continuing dialogue. He’s also got several items on his Christmas list that we could provide, instead of the Russians or the Chinese,” Bascome finished his thought as all three men nodded, knowing that the words ‘continuing dialogue’ and ‘Christmas list’ were code for selling them weapons on the sly.

  “Sir, you may want say the gas shortages will be temporary and that as of tomorrow, Friday, all gas prices are frozen at the price they started at today to avoid any gouging of the consumer,” Combs answered the president’s question about what he should say, then added, “And Roger’s idea is an excellent idea. I’ve got polling data that shows over fifty-six percent of the public wants closer ties to South America and that poll included white Americans.”

  “What about Mexico? Think we can get them to help make up some of the shortfall?” the president asked.

  “President Kruse has been pretty quiet since you took office,” Bascome responded. “I think he’s just waiting for the chance to appear to be dominating the relationship with the US. It’ll give him a boost with the Mexican public. Plus, world opinion will swing his way if he can also appear to be extending the olive branch to us in light of the recent border incidents.”

  “I’d say this situation in Houston gives us the opportunity to appear to be humbled in our hour of need while building new relationships with our southern neighbors. All while providing them with a major PR coup at home by having it appear that they are dictating terms to us,” Bascome shared.

  “Can we be sure these guys will play fair with us? I can’t have the American public thinking I’m begging them for a handout or worse, getting a stick up the ass with a bad deal. The Republicans are looking for anything to bitch about,” the president explained.

  “I’m reasonably sure. After all, both of them publicly supported you in the election, and they both want the limelight that being your friend offers.”

  “Jason, how do you think our PR firm will react if we move on this? Do you think they’ll be offended by my trying to make friends with these two despots?” the president asked, using the words “PR firm” to refer to the Middle East money men who had funded his campaign and continued to fund Congressional races—along with each of the three men’s retirements through off-shore bank accounts under aliases and secret code names.

  “I believe they will see this in a positive light. After all, who else could we go to? It’s not like the Persian Gulf States can provide refined gas. They barely have enough refinery capacity for their own use,” Combs reassured the president.

  “Okay, get me on the networks tomorrow at eight o’clock, prime time,” the president grinned as he spoke, enjoying the chance to be the center of the world’s attention. He was feeling confident that this situation would propel him to a historically high ranking as a diplomat, something his predecessor failed at miserably.

  Suddenly, an even larger smile broke across his face. “Set it up for me to meet with Hugo and Kruse in two weeks, but start the lower level stuff right away—first thing tomorrow. I’ll have only one chance to put the right spin on this. I don’t want to end up looking like Obama did, with that oil rig disaster in the Gulf back in 2010. Pick some neutral spot, some exotic island in the Caribbean for the meeting. Jason, I want you leaning on the appropriate people on the Hill, so we have a solid front. Make sure they understand its importance to our economy and their reelection. I want all the Democrats singing the same tune as me,” Starks demanded and then added, “Try to get those two rhino Republicans to back the move, as well. Offer them the usual campaign contributions or any other reasonable favor that we can provide. Plus, keep our PR firm in the loop. I don’t want the golden goose to get blindsided by any of the political game playing which is bound to take place,” the president ordered.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll take care of it,” Combs stated confidently.

  “I’ll brief the Secret Service on your new travel plans and prepare briefs for you about each man and his family,” Bascome added. “Families are the sacred cow down there. It’ll pay to know which buttons to push,” Bascome stated as he made notes in his leather bound notebook. When he finished, he added. “I’ll also alert the Ambassadors and the CIA, DOD, NSA and the rest of the circus.”

  “Sir,” Combs interjected, “Governor Wilcox of Texas has requested that you declare martial law in Texas and release the rest of the staged National Guardsmen to help enforce it. What do you want me to tell her?” The interruption drew a sideways glance of disdain from Bascome.

  President Starks studied a spot on the carpet for a moment before he spoke. “I’m not prepared to go to a state of martial law just yet. We still haven’t determined the real scope of this event. Tell her that it is premature to invoke martial law, but I will release the Guard to help with the ongoing fires and evacuations. Tell her that she can invoke a curfew if she’d like, but I don’t want the Interstates blocked. And I don’t want to see any racial profiling of any kind. It’ll send the wrong message to the public.”

  The president then switched subjects and started to issue orders for Combs to carry out. “We’ll reopen the borders tomorrow. I don’t want the Canadians and Mexicans feeling we don’t trust them, you know, NAFTA. But keep up the searches at the border. It’s good for the media’s and the public’s consumption. Let them think we’re doing more than we actually are,” Starks stated off-handedly.

  “Yes, sir. Will you be flying out to Houston to inspect the damage?” Combs wanted to know.

  “No,” Starks blurted out. “Not to inspect the damage but to review the Federal response. Then, I’ll be making recommendations for the strengthening of our efforts. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Get me out there tomorrow. I want a chopper tour of the area and some face time with people on the ground. It’ll be a great photo opportunity,” the president stated, obviously pleased with himself. “Oh, yeah, let my photographer know that he’s going with me tomorrow and to the Caribbean when I meet with Hugo and Kruse.”

  “But sir, your critics will have a field day with the fact you’re not going to Houston. It’s a big mistake not to be seen as caring and being involved with disaster,” Combs whined.

  “Jason, just shut up and do as I tell you. I don’t need to be seen in Houston. I’ll address the public when have more information. Have Billings, my press secretary, hold a
briefing first thing tomorrow—nine a.m.—and then schedule briefings throughout the next couple of days. That should be enough for the public,” Starks reprimanded Combs again.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll handle it. It’ll be a full scale media event,” Combs replied, clearly disappointed in Starks’ reaction. “What about the emergency G7 meeting in Rome, sir? Will you be attending?” Combs asked unenthusiastically.

  “What the hell do I need to go there for? Those damn bankers can’t speak plain English or any other damned language. Send what’s his face at Treasury over there. He can bring me back the highlights,” Starks gruffly snapped.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll send Treasury Secretary Hobart to Rome for the G7. What about the health care bill, or the additions to the Patriot Act, or the Economic Stimulus, or the Cap and Trade bills, sir?” Combs added.

  “I thought I told you to hit just the highlights,” Starks snapped.

  “It’s just that all of these bills are hitting committee this coming week, and I thought you might want to give some last minute direction,” Combs replied sheepishly.

  “Mmm…you’re right. Set up meetings with the committee chairmen for each bill and we’ll twist some arms together. We gotta make sure they stay on track with the agenda and we keep the public’s mind off what’s really happening. So, follow the plan. If we do this right, we’ll be in office for many years to come and the people will just have to live with it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Combs replied as Bascome smirked behind his papers.

  “Well, gentlemen, that covers all I want to deal with right now. I trust you will hold the fort and not wake me unless someone’s bombing the White House, okay? Whatever happens, happens. It can wait until seven a.m. unless it’s incoming nukes or something.” He grinned, stood and walked out of the room briskly, headed for the residence.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Mommy, it’s too early to go shopping, my eyes ain’t woked up yet,” four-year-old Nicole whined to her mother as they drove down the street leading from their off-base housing to the main road. They were making their traditional Black Friday shopping trip to a nearby shopping mall.

  “It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and today, everybody goes shopping real early because that’s when you get the best deals on Christmas presents,” her mother replied.

  “Nah-uh!” she insisted. “Daddy didn’t come, not everybody Daddy’s not here. Will Daddy come later?” Nicole continued to question.

  “Daddy’s at work,” Ryan, her older brother by almost two years, informed her.

  “Is Daddy at work, Mommy?” she questioned his information.

  “Yes, Nicole. Daddy is at work.”

  “When is he coming home? Tell him to bring pizza,” she giggled. “I like pizza.”

  “I don’t think he’ll bring home pizza today, little girl. We’ve got lots of turkey leftovers and you know how Daddy loves his turkey,” Mom replied to the request.

  “Daddy is a turkey,” Ryan blurted out with a giggle.

  “Daddy’s not a turkey!” Nicole exclaimed loudly coming to the defense of her absent father. “Mommy, Ryan says Daddy is a turkey!”

  “Well, sometimes Daddy is a turkey, and you can tell him that for me,” Mom retorted.

  “Don’t say that! I’m telling!” Nicole shrieked loudly as she sat back in her car seat and began to pout.

  “Daddy is a turkey, Daddy is a turkey, Daddy is a turkey!” Ryan chanted, teasing his little sister.

  “Mommy!” Nicole finally cried out in a deafening roar trying to drown out her brother’s chanting, but he just yelled louder. Within seconds, the playful taunt had turned into a screech fest between two shrill little voices. Mother, hoping to remain sane, quickly forced them to cease and desist.

  “Knock it off, Ryan,” Mom shouted over the din. “Nicole, you stop screaming, too. He’s only teasing and so was I. Now behave, we’re almost there.”

  Like most kids, Nicole and Ryan exchanged a few more verbal jabs before quieting down. But as they neared the mall parking lot, silence gripped the car as their attention was drawn to the huge Santa’s sleigh perched on the roof of the mall. It was far more interesting than fighting with each other, at least for the moment.

  “See, we’re there. All we have to do now is find a good parking space, and we’ll be shopping in no time. Did you bring your lists?” Mom asked.

  “I got mine,” Ryan shouted loudly as if his mother might have suddenly, without reason, gone deaf.

  “Mine’s in my pocket,” Nicole stated in a quiet voice, so soft it was almost impossible to hear, as she continued to stare at the huge Christmas display.

  Mother drove up close to the building and quickly discovered that the Black Friday sale had drawn a lot more people than she expected. Even though the mall was just opening, Mom had to search several aisles before finally finding a parking space a good hundred yards from the mall’s entrance.

  As they unloaded from the car, Mom gave her usual instructions. “Now remember the rules, you have to stay with me at all times. When we cross the street or are in the parking lot, you have to hold my hand; and when we’re in the store you have to do what, Ryan?”

  “Stay very close. I don’t have to hold your hand, but I can’t go more than five feet away. If I do, Daddy will spank me when he gets home,” Ryan replied, with a look of loathing on his face, which was turned away from his mother.

  “Nicole, what are you supposed to do?” Mother asked.

  “I have to stay next to you. But why can Ryan walk around?” Nicole objected.

  “Ryan can’t walk around. He has to stay by me, as well. Now come on, this will be fun and you’ll get to eat lunch at any place you want in the food court. How’s that for a treat?” Mom asked.

  “Yeah, okay,” Ryan replied sullenly. He took his mother’s outstretched hand as they started to walk towards the mall entrance.

  “I want pizza,” Nicole exclaimed as she took her mother’s other hand cheerfully.

  “Yes, you can have pizza,” her mother stated as she led them towards the doors. She didn’t notice the gasoline tanker that was parked at the far edge of the parking lot. Nor did she notice the black van parked by the entrance to the mall with the three men inside, all dressed in black.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Yousef and the cell from Houston spent the night spread all over San Antonio and its suburbs. They had waited in pairs, sleeping in the cabs of the stolen gasoline tankers in closed gas stations, truck stops, or highway rest areas. One man was always on watch as the other caught a few hours of sleep before switching. Thankfully no one, not a single truck, was questioned by passing police cars. Even more of a blessing was that no one had to take any action that would have caused them to make any changes in their choice of targets this morning.

  En masse, the trucks and cell members arrived at the mall in the predawn hours well before the scheduled opening of the mall. They had taken different routes to the mall to avoid drawing attention to themselves. In addition to the men in the gasoline tankers, there were six additional men in two black panel vans from a separate cell in San Antonio. The group met up at the mall’s main entrance for brief, last minute instructions.

  Yousef knew each man and the task he was to perform and was confident they knew their tasks, as well. After a quick time check and a double check of the wireless comlinks that were provided by the cell from San Antonio, they went straight to their initial staging points to wait for the go signal.

  The four gasoline tankers went to the outer ring of the parking lot to wait. Each truck parked at the end of the aisle that led to one of the malls main entrance points which were aligned with the points of the compass. Thus the malls name—The Path Finder Mall.

  The two vans, each carrying three heavily armed men including the driver, parked in the taxi stand areas near the mall’s two smaller entrances located on opposite sides of the mall. The men in the vans had been assigned the job of stopping the infidels from using these exits as escape rout
es after the attack began. Their instructions were simple—kill everyone who came through those doors who wasn’t dressed exactly like them.

  Yousef sat patiently in the passenger seat of the gasoline tanker he’d ridden in from Houston. He was dumbfounded by the number of holiday shoppers that were willing to get up at daybreak to seek what Americans deemed holiday bargains.

  Starting at seven a.m., the crowd slowly began to grow. At first, there was only a handful of people who arrived well in advance of the mall’s opening. They mostly remained in their cars waiting for the doors to open at eight. As Yousef watched the crowd, it grew from a few to a handful to several dozen to several hundred to several thousand in less than an hour; and that was just at the two doors he could see. He was amazed at the large number of cars and mini-vans that continued to pour into the parking lot. The lot filled up quickly and just as quickly, tempers flared. All around him people were shouting insults at each other over parking spaces. So much for the American’s claim of the moral high ground. They were no better than the rest of the world when it came to treating each other civilly.

  He reveled in the knowledge that he had orchestrated the coming slaughter of these uncivilized infidels on what was their holiest of days dedicated to the God of shopping, Black Friday!

  Allah willing, twice in just over twenty-four hours, thousands of the infidels would be slaughtered by his hand. The fires in Houston still raged twenty-four hours after the attack, and yet, no warning had been given on the radio newscasts of the possibility of further terrorist attacks. Either his entire plan had somehow been discovered and at any moment their SWAT teams would swoop down upon them, or the American government was being very foolish. People should have been warned. At the very least, the police should have been put on alert and on the lookout for anything suspicious. Four gasoline tankers arrayed around a shopping mall without a gas station for miles was suspicious, yet the police had driven by two or three times and hadn’t bothered stop and question anyone while they waited.