by Dale Brown
Because of all the cutbacks in every level of government following the severe double-dip recession of 2012, the West Wing of the White House was a much quieter place these days than it was during the Martindale and Gardner administrations under which Phoenix previously served: no staffers constantly running in and out of the Oval Office, no ringing telephones, no queue of cabinet officials waiting for yet another meeting. The Oval Office was actually a haven again. Ken Phoenix took off his jacket, hung it up on the stand behind the door to his private study, poured himself a mug of coffee, and turned on the four hidden Oval Office high-def wall monitors — no one around to do all those little things for him anymore.
One satellite news channel was showing Vice President Page’s and FBI director Fuller’s press briefing — it looked to the president as if Ann was winding it up quickly, as they agreed to do beforehand — but another monitor was showing more coverage of the search for survivors in the wreckage of the Thompson Federal Building in Reno by the two Cybernetic Infantry Device manned robots. The president winced when he saw the video of the plane crashing to the ground with the one robot clinging to the front of it, and he breathed a sigh of relief — he had seen the replay a half-dozen times now, but he always had the same reaction — when he saw the second robot pull the first out, and they walked away apparently unharmed.
Minutes later there was a knock on the door to the Oval Office, and a moment after that Ann and Justin walked in. “I know you’d be willing to do a longer press conference, Director,” Ann was saying as they came in, “but believe me, less is more. Save the longer briefings for when you have something good to report.”
“I agree with her, Justin,” Phoenix said as he watched his monitors.
“And may I suggest, Mr. President,” Ann said, “that you not be quite so anxious to apologize for any executive decision you make. You made a tactical decision not to release any information about the FBI operation or stolen materials, and you had no way of knowing that the materials stolen would be used so soon after being stolen, or if public observation and reporting, however accurate or timely, could have helped stop the attack. You have nothing to apologize for, and you end up writing your critics’ copy for them.”
“I believe the American people want honesty and sincerity from their leaders in times like this,” Phoenix said. “My critics don’t seem to have any problem writing copy about me, with or without my help.” Nonetheless, he nodded to Ann that he understood her recommendations, which she silently acknowledged, then motioned to his monitors. “Man, I never get tired of watching that video of those robots in action,” he said. “Wish we could afford an entire brigade full of them.”
“What video is that, sir?” the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Justin Fuller, asked. Fuller was a twenty-five-year veteran of the FBI, with a very similar background to Phoenix’s: former U.S. Marine and law degree before joining the FBI. He looked at the flat-panel TV, which was normally hidden behind a painting on the Oval Office wall. “Oh, the CID robot units. Yes, sir, amazing technology.”
“They all but succeeded in stopping the Turks in Iraq, and just two of them destroyed that Russian base in Yemen,” Phoenix said. “But I think those two in Reno are the only ones left.” He stood and shook hands with Fuller. The FBI director was a few years older but looked considerably younger than the president. Phoenix motioned Fuller to a seat, muted the monitors, then took his place at the head of the conversation area, where Ann was already seated. “Okay, Justin, what’s the latest on the investigation of the attack in Reno?”
“Another HRT officer has died of his wounds,” Fuller replied somberly. “Fifteen-year FBI veteran. Father of two.”
“My God,” Vice President Page breathed. Ann Page was in her early sixties, a physicist and engineer, former two-term California senator, and a veteran astronaut; in the trimmed-down Phoenix White House, she acted as chief of staff and national security adviser as well as performing her duties as vice president. “What an incredibly brazen and violent attack. Any suspects, Director?”
“We’re looking at a number of extremist groups in the West, ma’am,” Fuller said. “The pilot of that King Air made a radio call to the Reno Airport control tower and used the phrases ‘live free or die’ and ‘the Lord has spoken.’ We’re back-checking those phrases to see if they’re associated with any particular groups. The use of the King Air, the direction of flight, and the target are all being factored in as well. The search teams we sent to the crash site also found a homemade flag belonging to a well-known extremist group.”
“Who are they?” the president asked.
“They call themselves the Knights of the True Republic, sir,” Fuller said. “They’re based in a fairly isolated part of northwestern Nevada near the town of Gerlach. They’re led by a minister named Reverend Jeremiah Paulson. It’s a collection of old-timers, military veterans, bikers, ranchers, outdoorsmen, miners, and even Native Americans. They claim to be a community of like-minded so-called sovereign citizens that oppose federal, state, and county government interference in local affairs. We’ve made some arrests and are conducting searches of members’ properties — nothing yet. Paulson was questioned, but the community is compartmentalized enough that they know very little about the terrorist side of the organization. But eventually someone who lost a loved one in Reno or is fearful of the leadership will drop a dime.”
“You don’t sound very hopeful, Director,” Phoenix observed.
“It takes time to infiltrate one of these groups, sir,” Fuller said, “and there are hundreds of such groups in the western states alone. Most are very small and isolated and don’t resort to any sort of violence; this one obviously wants to prove they have the will and the resources to take on the federal government. We’ve been after them for months. We got them on tape buying weapons and explosives and were about to take them down until they asked about large quantities of radioactive material. We decided to delay the arrests. We took a chance, hoping to nail more members or associates and uncover more plots. The plan backfired.”
“Can you round them up again?” Ann asked.
“We may be able to, ma’am, but they’ve scattered,” Fuller said.
“When do you hope to take this group down, Director?” Ann asked.
Fuller spread his hands. “We’re almost at square one with the Knights, ma’am,” he replied. “It took several months to get a confidential informant close enough to make a buy for the radioactive materials, and now he’s dead. Local law enforcement is plainly scared because of the group’s power and reach — the sheriff’s department lost more men than the FBI that morning. They destroyed four helicopters and killed twelve officers.”
“God,” Phoenix said under his breath. The president paused, then rubbed his temples in frustration. “And all this because of my economic austerity programs. People are out of work, and there is very little or no government to help them, so they resort to banding together to share whatever little they have. And if they feel they’re not getting enough protection from the government, they turn to violence.”
Ann looked to the FBI director, giving him a silent order. Fuller caught the glance and said to the president, “If there’s nothing else, sir, I’ll get back to work.”
“Of course, Justin, of course,” Phoenix said. He stood and shook hands with Fuller. “Let me know when the funerals for your agents will be — I’d like to attend.”
“Of course, sir,” Fuller said, then turned and left the Oval Office.
“What a loss he’s suffered,” Phoenix said somberly after the FBI director departed. “It’s got to be crushing him.”
“I’m more worried about you, Ken,” Ann said directly. “You’re blaming yourself for what this nut-job group did yesterday? Are you insane?”
Phoenix’s eyes flared at his vice president’s words. “These extremist groups didn’t exist before my austerity programs went into effect, Ann…”
“Of course they did, Ken,”
Ann snapped. “But law enforcement went after them more than they do today. How? By borrowing trillions of dollars, raising taxes, or printing money, that’s how. Your programs, your decisions, your leadership stopped the destructive financial practices that were driving local, state, and the federal government into the ground . Less government. Across-the-board spending cuts. Across-the-board tax cuts. No bailouts for failed institutions or irresponsible actions. All of that has been good for the country. Right-minded folks can see real hope out there.
“But there will always be whack-jobs and extremists who see the continued unemployment and the disparities between the haves and the have-nots and conclude that government isn’t working and they need to take the law into their own hands,” Ann went on. “You can’t reason with them or try to understand them, and you certainly can’t look at their murderous actions and blame yourself. The only thing you can do is use every resource at your command to stop them.”
She went over to Phoenix and softly put a hand on his shoulder — an unexpectedly gentle gesture, Phoenix immediately thought suspiciously. As if verifying his doubts, she then said sharply, “So snap out of this funk, Ken. I know you well enough to know this is unlike you. I know as former attorney general that you’re close to law enforcement in general and the FBI in particular, but you can’t let those cops’ deaths keep you from forgetting to lead . I don’t want to see you wallowing in self-pity, Mr. President — I want to see you act .”
He looked directly into her eyes and recognized exactly how serious she was, then nodded and said, “Sometimes I regret giving you permission to always respond openly, honestly, and directly to me, Ann… but this is not one of those times.” She slapped him on the side of the shoulder, pleased with his response and with the return of his positive attitude. Phoenix returned to his desk. “We need to give the FBI all the resources they need,” he said. “If Fuller’s got hundreds of extremist groups spread out over the West, he’s going to need unmanned aircraft, surveillance equipment, sensor operators… all the stuff we were using in Iraq to monitor the borders.”
“I’m sure the Air Force and Army would love to assist the FBI,” Ann said. “I’ll call a meeting and get it set up.”
“I remember that defense contractor Dr. Jon Masters had the equipment to be able to provide precise surveillance of several hundred thousand square miles of varying terrain in Iraq from one aircraft,” Phoenix said. “Find out if he can assist. I’m not sure if there’s any money in the budget to pay him anything, but maybe he’d be willing to make a donation.” Ann smiled, nodded, and made notes to herself on her PDA. While she did this, the president’s attention was drawn back to his computer monitors, one of which was still playing a replay of the Cybernetic Infantry Devices’ incredible activities at the crash site in Reno.
“Ann, I need you to contact the Justice Department and the solicitor general and get a ruling on something,” Phoenix said.
“Regarding what, Mr. President?” When he didn’t reply right away, Ann turned toward him, then followed his gaze to the computer monitors. “The robots? What about them?”
“I know they’ve been in action in the Middle East and Africa, but do you remember the last time they were used inside the United States?”
“Of course I do: San Diego, during the implementation of the guest-worker identification program. They were afraid of mass riots and violence on both sides of the border against the Nanotransponder Identification System, so the robots were deployed around the city.”
“And?”
“It was a nightmare , that’s what,” Ann said. “People were more afraid of the robots than of the rioters.” She paused in thought, then said, “I’m not sure if the president issued an executive order banning their use within the United States, but I remember the hue and cry against them was pretty intense after that. Why?”
“The FBI needs help in taking on these extremist groups,” Phoenix said. “The FBI’s budget has been cut by fifty percent, just like everyone else’s budget, and that Knights group seems much more heavily armed and just as connected as the FBI. Maybe it’s time for the FBI to get some additional firepower. Why stop at UAVs and sensors?”
“Give the robots to the FBI?” Ann asked incredulously. She thought about it, her expression seeming to indicate a firm rejection of the idea… and then after a few moments, she nodded. “Send them out west, into more isolated parts of Northern California and Nevada…”
“If they go into the cities, they can do humanitarian assistance stuff like they’re doing on TV,” Phoenix said. “I think most folks like to watch those things searching that building — I know I can’t stop watching that replay. I’m so amazed that one robot got up out of that wreckage and walked away as easily as if he had jumped into a haystack. But we keep them operating in the countryside, far from population centers, unless they’re needed. They have excellent speed and maneuverability.”
“But no weapons,” Ann said. “I think the thing that freaked people out most in that San Diego deployment were those weapon packs they wore — once people realized they were carrying enough machine guns and missile launchers to take on a squadron of tanks, they were scared. The FBI has plenty of firepower — the robots can be their equalizers.”
Phoenix wore a pained expression. “I hate tying their hands, Ann,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “I think it would best left as a judgment call by the task force commander. If he’s faced with threats like advanced weapons or dirty bombs, the robots should be armed appropriately.”
“That might be a hard sell to Congress or the American people,” Ann observed. “But after the attack in Reno, maybe they’ll be open to giving the FBI and Homeland Security more gadgets.”
“Agreed. I think the robots would have a much smaller footprint than the Army or Air Force.”
“I’ll put together a proposal and send it up to the leadership in Congress,” Ann said. “Of course, they’ll tweak it to make it sound like their idea.”
“Fine with me.”
“Speaking of Reno and reopening the airspace: Director Fuller passed on an interesting tidbit of information to me,” Ann said with a sly smile. “There was an airspace violation east of Reno the morning after the attack.”
“There was ?” the president asked incredulously. “Does he think it was connected to the attack in Reno?”
“No, although they are still investigating,” Ann said. “But guess who was involved?” Phoenix shook his head — he knew Ann Page hated guessing games, and now that she was indulging in one with him, it got his attention. “Patrick McLanahan.”
“ Patrick? You’re kidding ! What in hell happened?”
“Apparently our friend is a pilot in the Civil Air Patrol out of Battle Mountain, Nevada, and he was involved in a search for a missing plane when the attack in Reno occurred,” Ann explained. “Patrick’s son is also a member, and he was actually part of the ground team that found the missing plane and rescued a passenger. It was all over the national news this morning.”
“Unbelievable! Good for little Bradley — although I’ll bet he’s not so little anymore. But how did Patrick violate the airspace?”
“The owner of the land where the rescue took place flew the survivor to the hospital, and afterward they were cruising around the local area close to the military air base out there.”
“That doesn’t sound like something Patrick would do.”
“It wasn’t. The pilot of the helicopter is a big-time mucky-muck rancher that I guess owns half of Nevada.”
“Doesn’t matter. Homeland Security and maybe even the Justice Department should put the fear of God into that guy.”
“Fuller said they tried, but the rancher has more friends in high places than Billy Graham,” Ann said. “He said even Attorney General Caffery got a call. Fuller said that because they were involved in a Civil Air Patrol rescue, everyone decided to back off, but they’re continuing their investigation deep in the background.”
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sp; Phoenix nodded, then shook his head in amusement. “I thought Patrick would just retire and take it easy out there,” he said. “I should have known he’d be doing something , keeping his hand in the flying game. He’ll never change.”
“I could sure use him here in Washington, sir,” Ann said. “He’s the only guy still advocating for the Space Defense Force, and there’s that rumor of a bill before Congress to ramp up defense spending again.”
“Do that,” the president said. “If he’s working for living expenses only out in Nevada, I’m sure he’d be willing to do the same in Washington. Besides, Battle Mountain is closing next year, if I’m not mistaken — they’re moving everything to Fallon Naval Air Station.”
“Is that… situation of his still an issue?” Ann asked.
“Unfortunately, yes, and it’ll probably stay like that until President Truznyev of Russia is out of office,” the president said. Patrick McLanahan was the head of a secret nongovernmental military operation that had attacked Russian commando and space operation forces in Africa and the Middle East, and since then the Central Intelligence Agency and Federal Bureau of Investigation counterespionage units had intercepted hit squads, supposedly sent by Truznyev, that were intent on assassinating him. “CIA and FBI still say they can spot a hit squad easier if he’s isolated rather than in Washington.”
“Maybe so, but I’d like him back in Washington,” the president said. “We can protect him. I just wish we could pay him what he’s worth, but there’s just no money in the budget.”
“I’ll find a place for him, sir,” Ann said. “He’ll probably want to stay until Bradley graduates from high school, so next summer.”
“Put him to work in the meantime. I want a ten-year plan for space forces and long-range strike ready by the time this economy turns around, and he’s the guy I want to work on them.”
