The Trust Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 2)

by Christopher Read

  The handful of watching reporters were busy tapping away on their mobile devices, knowing this was heady stuff and not at all what anyone had anticipated. The feedback on Thorn’s comments appeared online within seconds, everyone wondering what exactly he was leading up to.

  “The powerful speaker and the one who promises what we want to hear – then they’ll be the ones to get our vote. Or maybe we just stick with the same party we always vote for, simply because we’re too afraid of change. We all assume of course that the ballot box is a fair and just way of picking the people to lead this great nation; now we learn that simply isn’t the case, a Spanish company counting the votes and deciding who best should serve in Congress. Thousands of votes incorrectly counted and people disenfranchised without even knowing it; yesterday, in a dozen cities across America, people trying to vote have been turned away, the voting machines having broken down or simply recording votes for the wrong candidate. It’s even worse for the thousands of Americans doing their duty and serving their country abroad, the online and email voting systems well-known to be insecure, with little attempt at verification. And when we all wake up on Wednesday after Election Day, what will we have? A Congress made up of men and women, some of whom are there in error, their first job that of confirming a Vice-President who without a legitimate public vote is but one heartbeat from becoming President of the United States.”

  Thorn’s tone was gradually becoming more determined, perhaps even with a hint of anger, his gaze again traversing the audience as though daring anyone to disagree.

  “In my late role as Secretary of State, I argued and persuaded, pleaded and threatened, doing everything I could to bring peace and stability to our fragile planet. Some of the world leaders I have shaken hands with are nothing more than murderers, savage narcissists who care little for their own countrymen and women, let alone the people of the United States. If we offer compromise, they will simply take what they can and then demand more in a month or a year. What purpose then does the Secretary of State serve when the United States is set upon an inflexible course of peaceful diplomacy, bullied by anyone who calls the President’s bluff?

  “The South China Sea is a prime example where decisive action is essential if peace is to be maintained. For weeks now, I have argued the case that China cannot be allowed to use its military power to take whatever it wants. My objections and the objections of others within the Administration have fallen upon deaf ears. The Philippines have been steadfast friends to the United States, yet President Cavanagh is not prepared to support such an ally against the unacceptable provocation of others. Appeasement is not a concept I have ever been comfortable with and I urge all of my fellow Americans not to trust those who tell you that China will listen to reason.

  “The authority of the President and the elected members of the Congress depends upon the firm belief that our system of democracy is fair and just; once that trust has been destroyed, so surely is their authority to govern. Change is not just needed, it is essential, and as a country, we must not allow a weak president to shrug off such basic concerns. Can anyone truly dispute that an inadequate president should be impeached just as an amoral one is?

  “Some here will convince themselves that I exaggerate, but such is the fear pervading the White House that even the loyalty of the men and women in our armed forces is under investigation, President Cavanagh judging that those willing to give their lives in defence of the United States cannot be trusted. What does that tell us of our Commander-in-Chief?”

  Thorn briefly closed his eyes, almost as though offering up a prayer. “Thank you and God bless you all. God bless this free and great nation of America.”

  There was a few seconds of stunned silence, and then several members of the audience stood up, the applause rippling from front to back, a roar of approval finally sounding out loud and clear.

  Thorn stepped back, determined not to smile or acknowledge the applause, thankful that others had willingly followed his supporters’ lead, the warmth and enthusiasm of the response more than he had dare hope for.

  With the Vice-President’s resignation, Thorn had actually been third in line to the Presidency. Now with one speech he had destroyed his career – either that or he had reignited it with a very different agenda in mind.

  * * *

  Jensen was ushered straight into the Oval office, an agitated Amy Pittman already seated opposite the President.

  “You’re heard what Thorn said?” demanded Pittman. “The bastard’s trying to kill this Administration.”

  Jensen nodded in confirmation and sat down next to Pittman. The President looked surprisingly calm, some handwritten checklist resting on the seat beside him.

  “And,” continued Pittman angrily, “where’s this ‘formal resignation’ of Thorn’s? He wasn’t brave enough to resign in person; no early-morning phone call and if there’s a letter, no-one’s seen it.”

  “There’ll be one hiding somewhere,” Cavanagh said philosophically. “Although, after what he said, I’m surprised Dick didn’t fling it in my face. First the Vice-President and now the Secretary of State – I’m intrigued to know who will be next.” He looked across at Jensen, a rueful smile touching his lips. “I think we’re well past coincidences, Paul; this is definitely a play for power – maybe not by Thorn directly, but he’s certainly part of it.”

  “Just look at what he said,” Pittman interjected, glancing down at her tablet and picking out a few choice words. “’Incompetent, indecisive, gutless, appeasement, bluff’; he’s pulled no punches and has merely given more ammunition to our enemies.”

  “Exactly as he intended,” confirmed Jensen. “Thorn’s sent out three very specific messages: the President can’t deal with the crisis, the voting system is flawed, and those elected have no true authority.”

  “A very public message,” Cavanagh agreed. “And what’s next – I just can’t believe we’ll see tanks heading along Pennsylvania Avenue?”

  “I assume not, Sir. This is more subtle than with Russia and is not a crisis brought about by terror attacks but a collapse from within, the people’s faith in the Administration slowly being eaten away.”

  “Not that slow – it’s barely two weeks since we learnt about Hanson.”

  “McDowell’s been feeding stories to the media for far longer. Certain key figures obviously needed to be taken out of the picture, although I’m not certain as to exactly why: the Vice-President, Dan Quinn, even Enrique Garcia. There must be more to come, something particularly damaging to give those involved a suitable excuse to act.”

  Cavanagh nodded in understanding, “Thorn, or whoever else it is, needs to ensure that the pressure keeps mounting. The South China Sea must be my immediate concern. This Chinese sub – give me some good news, Paul, I could certainly do with it.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, all I have is a mix of uncertainties. The initial data analysis points to the submarine being one of China’s ageing Ming-class, most likely pennant number 310. However, there is an outside chance it’s North Korean, specifically the submarine discussed at the Wilhelmshaven symposium, designated 746.” Jensen pursed his lips, definitely now on unclear ground. “Whilst it might be theoretically possible for Russia to dredge up one of its decrepit Romeo subs and fool us into thinking it’s Chinese or North Korean, there is no evidence to support such a premise. But why then did Hanson travel to Wilhelmshaven? And then we also have Sukhov. To borrow from Sherlock Holmes, the improbable might just be the truth. The information China has so far provided neither confirms nor contradicts the assertion that submarine 310 was involved, and we’re not likely to get anything out of North Korea.”

  It wasn’t the most helpful of responses, but the Intelligence Community was struggling to find anything which would definitely prove China’s innocence or indeed their guilt. There had been an upsurge in communications traffic between China’s military bases but that was probably to be expected.

  Pittman asked, “And if it were North K
orean, this submarine would have the range to reach Vietnam?”

  “It’s about 3000 miles and their range is apparently 9000; so, yes, it’s possible.”

  “It just seems so unlikely,” said Cavanagh. “If they’d attacked a Japanese or South Korean vessel, then that would make far more sense. I just can’t see what advantage they gain from attacking Vietnam. Which brings us back to the unfortunate options of China or Russia.” He gave a deep sigh of frustration, “At least we seem to be making progress on independent arbitration over the disputed territories. Vietnam needs careful handling and the Deputy Secretary of State is already on her way to Hanoi...”

  The discussion continued, Thorn’s accusations glossed over, the Joint Chiefs supposedly agreeing with Cavanagh’s policy of gentle persuasion. Not so the media or the public, the White House switchboard inundated with calls, everyone demanding to know how the President was going to respond to Thorn’s stinging remarks. A basic press release was considered the best first step, giving the White House at least a few hours to come up with something rather more definitive. Theoretically, Thorn was still Cavanagh’s Secretary of State, his letter of resignation presumably stuck somewhere between the State Department and the White House; the President had for the moment held fire on signing a formal letter of dismissal, preferring not to make matters more complicated than was necessary.

  To Jensen, Thorn’s speech was full of distortions and downright lies. Cavanagh’s decision to send the Gerald Ford south was the stick to the diplomacy carrot, and there had never been any suggestion that the United States would fail to come to the Philippines’ aid. Beijing had apparently been furious with Cavanagh over the redeployment of the Carrier Strike Group to the South China Sea, arguing that it broke the concept of military forces being held at their present levels, but the President had rightly countered that U.S. naval forces had never once been part of that discussion.

  Thorn knew all of that, but chose to ignore it because it didn’t fit in with the message he was determined to get across. It was the same with Thorn’s claims concerning the Midterms: the software used to process online votes was produced by the Tampa-based SOE, bought by a Spanish company in 2012 – not exactly votes counted in Spain. The problems highlighted by Kristen Ulrich, and reinforced by Thorn, were valid but not quite as extreme as suggested, with States well aware of the potential problems, checks in place to ensure accuracy. Personal security and the potential for fraud via online and email voting was a concern but again verification was carried out at various stages, with no evidence to suggest either was a serious problem.

  Thorn had also turned Jensen’s unofficial investigation into the U.S military against them, the President not willing to blame Jensen for taking sensible precautions. If there was to be a coup, some military support would be essential, with Washington an obvious and key target. The Washington Post had become the first broadsheet to print an article speculating about the possibility of a coup, its author a Nicholas Redmane; it took almost an hour before anyone in Homeland Security had realised the name was in fact an anagram of Michael Anderson.

  Jensen wasn’t surprised, and Anderson was more of a nuisance than a real concern, the FBI investigation into Garcia’s murder suggesting that the Englishman was most likely being framed by McDowell. A more thorough forensic analysis of Garcia’s house had finally identified the presence of Jon Carter’s DNA as well as that of a Lee Preston, the latter matching the description of one of the men involved in the Mississippi killings.

  The search for McDowell himself was now concentrated to the west and south of D.C., all police leave cancelled in anticipation of the next phase: protests, strikes, terror or cyber-attacks – Jensen was prepared for just about anything.

  The Koschei – 22:30 Local Time; 15:30 UTC

  Karenin sat in his small cabin and reread the decoded signal from Vladivostok, still puzzled as to why the Koschei’s orders had changed. When he had first read it some six hours earlier, for a brief moment he had been tempted to ignore the signal and continue with his original instructions, but it just wasn’t in his nature to disobey a direct order.

  In Vladivostok the plan had been for the second target to be a Philippine patrol boat or if that proved impossible, then something of similar value to HQ-17; it hadn’t even been a requirement that the second target be sunk, just as long as the torpedoes had a minimum run of five minutes. With the sonar trace plus additional data from America’s military satellites, there should be little doubt it was the work of a Chinese submarine.

  Now, Karenin had been given a list of potential targets in order of priority, with orders to sink at least one. Not a Philippine patrol boat or a fifty year-old Vietnamese frigate, but a modern warship from the United States. This wouldn’t a quick and clinical strike against a lone and inattentive enemy; this would be an attack against a skilled and experienced crew, the warship equipped with state-of-the-art sonar and anti-submarine systems, traveling as part of a defensive unit, the dipping-sonars from a swarm of protective helicopters lashing the surrounding waters to seek out the enemy.

  The Koschei was hardly up to such a challenge, it lacking the speed, agility and noise reduction expected of a modern hunter-killer sub. Some of the technology it could call upon might be relatively modern but the submarine was armed with elderly torpedoes without the sophistication to even know a real target from a decoy.

  If it wasn’t to become a suicide mission, then Karenin would need to ensure captain, crew, technology and submarine worked seamlessly together, the Koschei likely to have but one chance to strike. He had been supplied with the latest satellite and intelligence reports concerning the U.S deployment, the Gerald Ford Carrier Strike Group of ten vessels – plus probably at least one Los Angeles-class attack submarine – moving south to join up with the four-ship detachment led by the USS Milius.

  If the two squadrons behaved as predicted, the Koschei was now in the ideal target position, and also protected to some extent by relatively deep water. Karenin didn’t understand the logic of what he was being asked to do but assumed his superiors had good reason for the change of target – it was just a shame that they didn’t seem to understand they were demanding the impossible.

  With a deep sigh of resignation, he stood up and moved back to the control room, his concerns hidden behind a veneer of confidence. For well over an hour now the Koschei had been creeping along, operating the strictest of silent routines, tracking an elusive set of contacts as they moved ever closer. Temperature variations and the sea’s complex currents were distorting the sonar signals, the exact type and number of vessels as yet uncertain.

  Karenin moved to stand behind the sonar chief, watching the operators at work, impatient for answers.

  “Confirm four contacts,” announced the sonar chief. “Leading vessel identified as Arleigh Burke-class destroyer USS Milius. Bearing one-two-five; range 22 kilometres; speed 18 knots on heading three-one-two. Targets designated as Gold-One through Four.”

  “Active sonars?”

  “Nothing detected, Sir.”

  Karenin felt a wave of relief spread through him: the Milius might be low down on his target list but at least it offered an easier option than he’d feared. The Americans’ over-confidence was their one weakness, and better a destroyer than the Koschei sunk in a futile attempt to attack an American Aircraft Carrier.

  The Koschei drifted silently, those in the control room awaiting their captain’s orders with a mix of eagerness and fear. Karenin offered a quiet word where necessary, checking everything, holding his own concerns in check; he wanted the U.S. squadron to get close enough for the Chinese torpedoes to at least have a reasonable chance of success, setting a fairly arbitrary target of six thousand metres.

  “Active sonar detected: bearing zero-one-zero; range thirty-plus; high probability AQS-22 dipping-sonar.”

  “Any other contacts close to that bearing?” It was consistent with where the Carrier Strike Group should be, just a little earlier than K
arenin had expected.

  “Passive contacts only, Captain; at least six, range sixty-plus; signals too distorted to classify.”

  Sixty kilometres was close enough, Karenin’s main concern the accompanying Los Angeles submarine. The Koschei’s eight torpedo tubes – six forward and two aft – were already fully loaded, the submarine a relatively noisy and inferior relic from a past era, yet still hoping to fight one last duel.

  “Set solution for tubes one through six as Gold-One; two degree spread. Tubes one to three passive setting; tubes four to six active setting.”

  The tension in the control room was palpable, the fact they were about to attack an American destroyer somehow more momentous than before – after all that is what the submarine had originally been built for.

  “Solution confirmed, Sir; Gold-One: bearing one-zero-eight, relative zero-one-five; speed 18 knots; range 6500 metres.”

  Karenin moved to stand close to the XO, eyes drawn to the fire-control console. “We will fire in two salvos, starting with tubes one through three.”

  The XO confirmed the orders, before flicking up the red safety covers on the console in front of him.

  “Open outer doors,” said Karenin quietly. “Prepare to fire on my mark.”

  The XO’s right hand hovered close to the firing buttons, a slight tremor revealing his own nervous anticipation.

  Karenin waited; every extra second would give the torpedoes a better chance of success while conversely increasing the risk to the Koschei. “Fire one through three.”

  The three dull thumps followed in quick succession, the deck juddering slightly. Karenin silently counted to twenty, forcing himself not to speed up.

  “Fire four through six… Helm, left five degrees rudder; come to course zero-three-zero; all-ahead one-third.”