Critical Error

by Murray Mcdonald

  Chapter 13

  Bethesda MD

  Burning Tree Country Club

  The Vice President of the United States was in mid swing when the Secret Service Agent’s phone rudely broke his concentration. On the 17th hole and a stroke behind the Chairman of the GOP to whom he had never lost, the VP was furious at the interruption. Phones were as unacceptable on the golf course as women were which, thanks to the Burning Tree Country Club, was never going to happen. Fines had been imposed but the ultra rich members paid them with pleasure. Even the removal of a liquor license had failed and despite their dry club house, the members of the club still enjoyed their male-only haven.

  “What the hell are you doing with your phone on?!” shouted the VP to the senior agent in his protective duty.

  Tom Sullivan had served the VP for five of his seven years in office as VP and, of course, he knew better than to have his phone with him. “It’s not mine, Sir,” he answered, hiding his irritation. “It’s your hotline phone. It must be an emergency,” he replied calmly and handed the phone to the VP.

  In seven years, the only person to have called that number was the President and even then, only once, three years earlier, after the bomb had exploded in Texas.

  “Andrew Russell,” answered the VP.

  “I’ve got some bad news.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Director Johnson, CIA.”

  “Ah, Allan, what’s up?”

  “Can you talk?”

  The VP walked away from the small group that had crowded around.

  “OK, I can now.”

  “We missed him.”

  The VP dropped the jovial tone. “Missed who?” he asked menacingly.

  “Definitely one and maybe the other.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t want to use names on this line.”

  “Don’t be fucking ridiculous, this is the phone I’d be told the president is dead on, of course you can give me names.”

  “We missed the brother.”

  “Missed?”

  “We think he took out our men. We’ve not been able to get in contact with them.”

  “Maybe they’re just out of cell coverage,” suggested the VP nervously.

  “I don’t think so. They definitely missed him.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because Sam phoned the Secret Service.”

  “What?!”

  “Well, he didn’t give his name but just after my guys were supposed to have taken him out, a death threat was issued by Yuri Andriev against Senator Baker.”

  The VP almost dropped the phone. He had never agreed with the plan, it had disaster written all over it but he had been overruled.

  “Jesus!..And the Senator?”

  “That’s the other thing, he’s gone missing.”

  “My office. Twenty minutes!” the VP threw the cell phone angrily at Agent Sullivan. “We’re leaving! NOW!”

  Chapter 14

  As the door crashed open, Agent Clark fired her Sig Sauer P226. Senator Baker dived to the ground as the bullet ripped through the air, towards him. The bullet didn’t deviate from its trajectory and hit its target dead center. The Senator’s dive was in vain. The bullet striking Agent Travis’s outstretched gun as was always intended.

  “Nobody move a muscle!” screamed Agent Clark over Travis’ cries of pain.

  The two officers behind Travis stopped in their tracks. Clark had them cold. Neither cared to take her on, particularly when her gun was already drawn and theirs remained in their holsters.

  “Travis, step aside,” she demanded, before motioning to the other officers. “You two, take your weapons out, butt first, and drop them. Then move over there.”

  “What the hell are you doing Clark?” managed Travis through gritted teeth, the pain in his hand intense.

  “Protecting the Senator, Travis.”

  “By shooting me?” he shouted.

  “Don’t be such a pussy, I shot your gun.”

  She turned to the other officers who were dropping their guns. “Now move over there. Senator, would you mind picking up the guns, please.”

  “Clark, have you gone insane? We’re on your side!” argued Travis, moving over to stand next to the other agents.

  “Not according to the Senator,” replied Clark.

  Travis turned towards the Senator questioningly.

  “Don’t come the innocent with me, Son,” said Senator Baker angrily as he bent over to retrieve the guns.

  “I haven’t got the faintest idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “You were sent here to kill me,” replied the Senator.

  The two officers, on hearing the Senator’s revelation, pounced. The first dived towards the Senator and the two guns.

  Clark didn’t miss a beat. She drilled the diving officer through his outstretched hand, rendering it useless. The second officer paused, caught in two minds, but his hand was played. They knew he was there for duties unbecoming of an officer of the US Capitol Police Force. With Travis and the diving officer clutching their hands in agony, Clark was struggling to cover all three. She glanced at the Senator who had managed to evade the diving officer but he offered her no more suggestion than a half-hearted shrug. With her eyes averted, the second officer made his move, launching himself towards Clark.

  Clark, however, was not where she was because of stupidity. She had sensed the officer was going to make his move. Her glance towards the Senator was her ‘come on’. As soon as the officer had flinched, the bullet was already heading towards his kneecap.

  With Travis and the two officers writhing around in agony, Clark grabbed the Senator’s elbow and rushed him out of the room. Her first duty was to protect the Senator. Her second and more pressing duty was to find out exactly what the hell was going on.

  Chapter 15

  A number of nervous faces greeted the entry of an obviously upset VP. As the door slammed shut behind him, he took his seat at the head of the table. Present in the room were a number of presidential appointees, all loyal to the sitting President, but even more loyal to his likely successor, his Rottweiler and surrogate son, Andrew Russell. The VP looked at the attendees with contempt.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Each of the three attendees sat silently.

  “Don’t just look at one another, somebody tell me how they’re going to sort out this fucking mess???!!!!” screamed Russell, slamming the table for effect.

  Between the four attendees, they commanded pretty much every member of law enforcement and the military in the country but not one dared return Russell’s glare for fear he picked on them. Russell had, since the day he entered the Vice Presidents office, seven years earlier, rewritten the rule book for Vice Presidents. He was the President’s right hand man and more akin to a Chief of Staff than the normal media friendly political running mate. The President was a thinker, a grand plan dreamer, while Russell was a doer. Many had tried, during the first term, to gain the ear of the President and circumvent Russell; none had survived in politics to tell the tale. The second term had sealed Russell’s power and was, as the election neared, marginalizing the lame duck President for the likely succession of Russell.

  Up until just a few months earlier, everything had been running to plan. He had been the natural choice for the republican nominee in the presidential race. That was until Charles Baker had been thrown into the ring. His liberal views were winning over many of the Republicans as they fought a closely contested fight for the Republican nomination. Russell had reached out and offered Baker the VP ticket but Baker had refused, saying ‘thanks but I’m going to give the big ticket a go.’ In the heartland, Russell was fine but on the coasts, Baker was trouncing him. It was close and for Russell, close was too close. Baker needed to be gone. Plans were in play that Baker would never allow to continue. Too much was at stake. The very future of America and her allies required Russell to be in power.

 
“Jesus, will one of you useless fucks tell me what happened?”

  “We’re still trying to piece things together. As for Sam, we have no idea. Our men have gone off the radar. We have a satellite fly-past on Sam’s property in the next few minutes and hopefully that will give us something,” responded Johnson nervously. Turning to face Jim Gates, the Secretary of Homeland Security, he continued. “As for the Chairman, it seems a couple of Secret Service agents appeared and got to him before our operatives could.”

  With over 200,000 staff dedicated to the protection of US citizens within the US, Homeland Security was the second most powerful department within the US Government after Defense and had within its remit the United States Secret Service.

  “It seems you’re losing your touch, Jimmy boy,” added Johnson, delighted to push the blame for at least one cock-up elsewhere.

  “Our operatives have confirmed they were set upon by a secret service agent who had, believe it or not, already fired upon her colleague.”

  Russell turned to Gates. “Well?”

  “Marx at the Service is surrounded by old guard,” responded Gates shrugging his shoulders. “If he gets a threat against a potential presidential candidate, he’d have to act. What can I say other than if we’d dealt with the brother, everything would have worked perfectly. That’s the problem,” he added, pushing the blame firmly back into Johnson’s court.

  “Anyway, none of this solves the problem in hand. What are we going to do?” asked Russell.

  “Gentlemen,” Henry Preston’s voice boomed across the room. The Director of National Intelligence was an imposing figure with an even more imposing voice. Glasses vibrated as his bass note tones resonated through the room. As he scrolled through his Blackberry, he continued. “Before we came into the room, I instructed each of the sixteen agencies within my control to leave no stone unturned in their search for Charles Baker. The cover story is that he has been taken against his will and is being held hostage, by a team of international assassins. Any sighting is to be reported to Homeland Security and will be dealt with at the highest level. That is, by us. A news blackout has been imposed, so you won’t hear anything. We’ve suggested Al Qaeda to ensure no reporter interferes. The Patriot Act is a truly wonderful thing. I have asked each department for half-hour updates.”

  With every law enforcement and intelligence agency within the US reporting into him, Preston commanded a staggering force.

  “It seems the fly-past has occurred and a detailed scan has been carried out on Sam Baker’s property. It’s not good gentlemen. In fact, far worse than any of us could have imagined.” Preston paused as he scrolled through the rest of the information on his Blackberry.

  “Preston?” urged Russell.

  “Sorry, a lot of techno gobbledygook, basically through various scans, X-ray, infra red etc… they’ve been able to locate a grave with three bodies and in the remnants of a charred cabin, three other remains.”

  “Six remains. We only sent four guys,” interrupted Johnson.

  “Hmm, this is where it gets a bit messy. In the cabin, two of the remains are adults but the third was an infant and from the comparisons, it looks as though it was just a baby.”

  The room went silent as all four computed the information. Taking out a trained operative or even an innocent adult was one thing but a baby was not something even these four would take lightly.

  “Oh and a dog,” added Preston. “They found the remains of a dog.”

  “And they’re definitely all dead?” asked Gates, a distinct tremble in his voice giving away his feelings.

  “I’m afraid so. The satellite can detect a heartbeat and all seven bodies are definitely deceased.”

  “So it would appear we’ve killed his partner, wife or whatever, his child and his dog. And to his credit, he has already dealt with the imbeciles we sent to deal with him and him alone.” Russell’s voice rose with every word. He turned to Johnson.

  “We agreed to take out the brother because you said it would solve a bigger problem in the long term.”

  Johnson opened his mouth to interrupt Russell but a deadly look from Russell made it clear that would not be a good move.

  “So far, going after the brother has resulted in two innocent deaths and the failure of the assassination of Charles Baker. It has been a total and complete disaster. Explain to me again why I listened to you?”

  Johnson composed himself before he replied, Russell was not a man known for his patience. Whatever Johnson was about to say would potentially be the difference between him remaining in post or having to spend the next week looking over his back and around every corner, wondering how they were going to kill him. He had fucked up but he still believed taking Sam out was imperative; four highly trained killers were testament to that.

  “Because you have to trust me when I say you want Sam Baker dead.”

  “And why would that be?” asked Russell.

  “Because if he were alive, he would not rest until he found his brother’s killers and eliminated each and every person involved. Including the four of us in here.”

  “I am the Vice President of the United States of America and soon to be the President. We are talking about one man here. Get a grip Allan. What’s the big deal?”

  “Because if I wanted to assassinate the President of the United States, he’d be the one man I’d turn to, to get the job done.”

  The words hung in the air as each of the men digested exactly how highly the Director of the CIA regarded Sam Baker.

  A rather less indignant Russell eventually spoke.

  “So why the hell didn’t you send a better team to deal with him, four amateurs to kill an assassin, are you mad?”

  “Of course not, I sent four ex-Special forces killers. They weren’t amateurs, anything but. That’s exactly why we needed to take him out!”

  Before Russell could respond, his phone rang.

  “Russell,” he announced as he answered the phone.

  Gates, Johnson and Preston sat and watched as Russell’s demeanor instantly changed to that of a chastised child. After what seemed a lifetime, Russell spoke.

  “Yes, Sir,” he replied and replaced the handset.

  Visibly shaken, he turned to his audience. “Guys, I cannot emphasize enough how imperative it is that we find and eliminate the Bakers.”

  All were interrupted by a knock at the door as Russell’s assistant entered the room.

  “Sir, sorry to interrupt but I have the President holding on line 2. I just realized you had finished the other call.”

  All three attendees looked at each other in shock, the question clear in each other’s faces. The VP had just called someone ‘Sir’. They had all assumed he had been talking to the President, the only person the Vice President was ever likely to call ‘Sir’. Who in the hell was pulling the strings and who were they working for?

  Chapter 16

  “Taxi!” shouted Senator Charles Baker for the first time in many years. Agent Clark did what she did best. She watched and surveyed everything and every person in sight. So far, it seemed they had evaded whatever the hell was going on. Although it did seem apparent that the Senator’s life was in danger, it was not from Yuri Andriev. Travis, it appeared from the indignation in his face, was on their side but the Senator had been clear he trusted nobody but Clark and even then, Clark didn’t fully believe him.

  As the taxi stopped at their side, Clark gave the driver a once over before allowing the Senator to enter the vehicle.

  “OK, where to?” she asked turning to Baker.

  “BWI, train station,” announced Baker. As the driver pulled away, he smiled. Baltimore Washington International train station was a thirty mile run and outside the city limits. That would be a hefty bill and from the passengers’ attire, he knew they were good for it.

  “What the hell for?”

  “Sam has a plan. Actually, Sam has a plan for everything. Anyway, if he gave me a warning or if ever I were in danger, he planned
a route for me. In fact, sorry, do you have a cell phone?”

  Clark reached into her pocket and handed Baker her phone. Without so much as a thank you, Baker flicked the cell through the open window of the cab, quickly followed by his own.

  Clark could only turn and watch as her cell, with five years of stored numbers, disintegrated under the tires of the car behind. It wasn’t the loss of the phone that upset her, it was forgetting to back up the memory of all her contacts that was really pissing her off.

  “Anything else they could use to track us?” asked Baker, ignoring Clark’s look of horror over the loss of her phone.

  “Not sure if they can track my radio communicator,” she answered realizing she had to get back to the job in hand.

  “Well, now is not the time to risk it, Get it off and out the window please.”

  As Clark disposed of her radio communicator, Baker sat back and tried to remember all the steps Sam had talked him through many years earlier. It had all seemed like nonsense at the time but Sam had made Charles repeat every step twice as he had talked him through his escape route. He had argued how ridiculous it was. He was a Senior Senator and was going to be Head of the Defense Committee, not the President. Sam had cautioned that it was for exactly that reason that he was talking him through the plan. He had emphasized more than once that Charles had no idea what he was getting himself into by accepting the Chairmanship. He was going to be playing with people whose life was war and where contracts were measured in billions of dollars and hundreds of thousands of jobs. These were not people you wanted to upset and as Chairman for the United States Senate Subcommittee for Defense Appropriations, you were going to upset a few people, no matter what you did. Sam needed to disappear for a while but only if Charles would take him seriously. They had argued long and hard over Sam’s decision to retire. Charles wanted him to come to Washington and talk about the explosion but Sam had had enough. Also, if Charles was going to be Chairman, he had to go. Sam had been called before the committee on a number of occasions and felt any future appearance could do nothing but embarrass his brother.