America's Trust

by McDonald, Murray

  “What the fuck!” he screamed, attempting to regain any semblance of dignity.

  ***

  As the scene played out on the screen, Dmitry Simonov issued a dictat, “Nobody leaves this room!”

  The sight before him as their country lay on the brink of war sickened him like no other. A sight that, if leaked, would damage the reputation of one of the world’s greatest ever nations and a nation that he loved above all else.

  “Get me a private line with those buffoons!” he demanded, his voice trembling with rage.

  After a heated thirty-minute conversation during which the president and the prime minister pleaded innocence and claimed that some type of drug must have been used on them, it was clear there was no option but for them to resign. The defense minister would maintain control while urgent elections were organized.

  As he composed himself for his next call, Dmitry wondered where the guards were, why the comms didn’t work, why two men that barely tolerated each other would be partaking in an orgy together. None of it made any sense but they were where they were.

  His call went straight through to the ambassador, who listened without a word while the defense minister explained the situation. When he finished, the ambassador remained silent.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry but are you fucking kidding me?” asked the ambassador eventually.

  “I’m most certainly not!”

  “You want me to tell the Americans, while they believe we have all but declared war on them, that you, the defense minister, have removed our elected leaders from office and taken control?!”

  “It’s not like that,” he argued, realizing how it could be construed incorrectly.

  “The nukes will be flying before I end my call,” the ambassador said, exasperated at the stupidity of his colleague.

  “So what would you suggest?” Dmitry asked more timidly, realizing just how much he had gotten carried away.

  “Get President Chernov on the phone to the US president as a matter of urgency!”

  Chapter 12

  The White House

  Situation Room

  “Mr. President, we have the Russian president on the line,” the Secretary of State said, hiding his excitement well as he passed the call across.

  “Mr. President,” boomed Jack in his most authoritative voice.

  “Mr. President, I am so sorry I have been uncontactable. We have had some communication difficulties,” replied Ilya Chernov, the president of Russia.

  A wave from the back of the room alerted Jack’s attention. He turned and looked at a note held up to him; it read ‘stress’.

  Jack knew the analysts would be all over the phone call, and a stress analysis was obviously suggesting something was very amiss.

  “Mr. President… Ilya… you don’t sound yourself,” said Jack.

  “I’m fine, Mr. President, and devastated by the loss of your plane and your dear friend James.”

  “Thank you, that means a lot,” Jack replied sincerely, looking down the table to a shake of heads. ‘Stress levels increasing’ read the next note held up.

  “I can assure you with great confidence that the Russian Federation wishes no ill toward the United States of America. Whatever happened to flight AA187, we will help with the investigation in any way we can. This had nothing to do with the government of the Russian Federation.”

  Jack looked at his analysts who concluded that the content of the message was true but offered under significant stress.

  “You raised the readiness of your forces?”

  “Only in response to actions taken by the US and the Chinese,” replied Ilya.

  Jack looked at Rick Holland, his National Security Adviser, for confirmation on the Chinese and received some nods. He shrugged his shoulders. That was unexpected.

  “Nobody wants things to get out of hand, Ilya,” said Jack evenly. “Stand your forces down and we can all rest easier.”

  “Of co--” Ilya started to reply, but the line went dead.

  ***

  Dmitry Simonov, the defense minister, hit the mute button on the call, stopping President Chernov from giving a promise to stand down.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked of his own president. He had insisted that he be party to the call with the American president and was listening in to the call from Moscow, while President Chernov was under house arrest in his own castle.

  “What do you mean, you’re averting a crisis?” asked the defense minister, taking over the feed. “What if this is all part of their plan?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” President Chernov said, struggling to hide his contempt for his defense minister.

  “Your guards disappear, you vanish off the face of the planet on the brink of nuclear apocalypse and then appear on screen being fucked up the arse by some two-bit whore and you ask what plan?!”

  The president paused. His office and reputation lay at the mercy of the defense minister. The footage of his indiscretion was something that would forever hang over him. However, it was not that knowledge that kept him silent. The defense minister was right; something far larger was at play.

  “So what do you propose?” he asked.

  “Reciprocal stand down,” suggested the defense minister. “It will ensure we are not caught unawares and taken by surprise from behind.”

  The president did not miss the jibe. “Yes, I agree,” he said authoritatively, trying to recover his power.

  Dmitry couldn’t have cared less what the president thought. He was in charge now. President Chernov would be only a figurehead until they could arrange elections. In the meantime, Dmitry just had to avert a nuclear catastrophe. He unmuted the call.

  ***

  The line remained silent. Upon realizing the Russians had muted the call, Jack had ordered the same. He turned to his Rick Holland, the NSA. “What have the Chinese done?” he asked, a little irritated that nobody had bothered to mention it to him earlier.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President, the news literally just came through to us,” said his most trusted military adviser. “They raised their alert levels on their borders with Russia.”

  “On our behalf?” queried Jack, surprised at the Chinese taking such a stance against one of their oldest allies.

  “It would appear so, shooting down the plane of our ambassador to China is a massive insult, worthy of war, it would appear.”

  “If they were shot down,” reminded Jack. “Until we see categorical proof, this is all still a maybe.”

  “Yes, Mr. President, although we’re talking about one of the most remote areas on the planet, some of it almost inaccessible. It could take months to piece together what happened.”

  “Well you’d better get a move on because we haven’t got months. I want an answer in days, not weeks.” He turned away and unmuted the call, leaving Rick with the headache of making the impossible possible.

  “Ilya, it seems your communication problems are continuing at very inopportune moments,” he chided.

  “I apologize, Jack. I don’t know what’s hap--”

  “So where were we?” interrupted Jack. “You were about to stand down your forces.”

  “I’m not sure that’s where we were, Jack. I mean, with yourselves and China both being at heightened states, it is only appropriate we also remain in a similar state.”

  “Hmmm, that’s most definitely not the answer I was looking for, Ilya. In fact it is a very disappointing and alarming one. May I remind you that we are the ones with spilled blood here?”

  “Not of our doing, Jack.”

  “The evidence on the table suggests otherwise, Ilya.”

  “It’s wrong information, Jack, and as soon as your people start to relax, our forces will reciprocate.”

  “I need more than that, Ilya. I have a plane down, I need you to offer me something.”

  The wave from the end of the table alerted Jack to another update from his analysts. ‘He’s under duress and
he’s not in control’ they concluded. Jack read the card with little surprise. He had met Ilya many times, even before he was president, and knew him to be a decent man. Ilya’s disappearance and subsequent reactions to the crisis were very out of character.

  Jack shook his head, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. “It looks like the evidence from the crash scene is going to be vital for both our nations,” said Jack. “You won’t mind if I leave this call and concentrate our efforts, would you?”

  “Of course not. Any assistance we can offer is merely a phone call away.”

  “Thank you, although in this instance, perhaps it’s best if the crash scene were left solely to us. In the meantime, if you were to relax your forces, I would reciprocate.”

  “Understood,” replied Ilya sincerely, praying that Dmitry would do just that.

  Jack killed the line and looked around at the sullen faces before looking back at the threat board. DEFCON 2 was lit boldly. He rose from his seat and walked towards the door. He turned again to the threat board. The implications of being at that level were frightening. Being at that level for potentially weeks as they searched and examined the crash scene would in itself probably lead to war.

  “Take us to three,” he announced, heading for the door.

  A sigh of relief filled the room behind him, although it was still the highest level since a brief spell during the 9/11 attacks and was about to result in a massive relocation of troops and equipment to bolster the US’s defenses. However, at least the weapons wouldn’t be cocked and locked at DEFCON 3.

  “Wait!” called the youngest and lowest ranked member of staff in the room, not raising his eyes from the screen before him.

  Chapter 13

  All eyes spun towards the young lieutenant who manned one of the information stations. The look of shock and horror at his behavior towards the Commander-in-Chief was not hidden by the military members present in the room. The civilian members’ horror was reserved for the information that had led to the young soldier stopping the president in his tracks.

  “What’s wrong, son?” asked Jack, walking towards the young lieutenant, whom he knew, no matter what he was to impart, was in for the roasting of his life when he left the room.

  The lieutenant said nothing; he just pointed towards one of the 50-inch screens that adorned the wall of the Situation Room. All heads turned as one. The picture sent an audible gasp and subsequent silence throughout the room.

  A mushroom cloud of smoke rose high into the sky of what the news channel reported to be South Dakota.

  “An earthquake in the order of 5.2 has been recorded in the area,” said the lieutenant somberly.

  Jack turned to Rick, whose fingers were racing across a calculator. “Anything from 20 to 500 kilotons depending on the height of the explosion,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  Jack knew that the kilotons referred to the equivalent amount of TNT required to cause the same scale of explosion. He also knew 20 kilotons was the size of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima to end World War II and 500 kilotons was the average size of a Russian warhead in their smaller missiles. Rick Holland’s reference to height was simply that a missile exploding at ground level caused far greater shockwaves through the earth, while one detonated above the earth, an airburst detonation, caused fewer shockwaves but far greater damage across a wider area.

  Silence descended once more as the repercussions of what had just been described hit home before a cacophony of noise exploded. Orders were being barked throughout the room.

  Jack remained silent, watching the cloud rise ever higher above his country. A country he had sworn to protect and defend. He knew the US’s military capability better than any man in the room. He had been the ultimate head of the armed forces. He now sat above even that exalted position and had the intelligence community below him as well. This made no sense. No sense at all.

  “Silence!” he shouted and turned to all in the room.

  Conversations stopped mid-word as all waited for their president to tell them what needed to be done. The look of desperation showed that even the most senior of his staff believed they thought this was it. Armageddon.

  Before Jack could speak, the doors to the Situation Room burst open and four Secret Service agents rushed in. “We must get you to the bunker, Mr. President,” said Frank, the lead agent.

  “Stand down, I’m going nowhere,” Jack barked with such command that the most highly trained bodyguards in the world stopped as one. Even the president did not have the power, in theory, to overrule their duty to protect him. However, Jack was a man who knew how to take command of a situation like no other; it was a position he had not found himself in for years and it was a position that had him smiling to himself. He hadn’t lost it.

  “DEFCON One?” asked the Secretary of Defense.

  Jack shook his head. “Not DEFCON One! Some fucking answers would be good before any of you trigger happy idiots get us all killed.” He pointed to the screen. “Why no warning? Where exactly is that? What was the target? How big was the explosion and most importantly, who the hell did it?”

  As everyone realized he was waiting for the answers, the cacophony of voices returned. This time a more coordinated approach had taken over the room with a few voices taking the lead and barking out directions. It took less than five minutes for the Secretary of Defense to be in a position to call for silence.

  “Mr. President, we believe this was not a missile. No evidence of any projectiles were picked up by our warning systems and everything is functioning as it should. As soon as we know more, we will update you.”

  Jack outwardly relaxed. The worst case scenario was eliminated, it was not a first strike by Russian missiles.

  “Where,” continued the Secretary of Defense, “is Elk Point, South Dakota, population around 2,000. Nearest large area is Sioux City, Iowa, about 25 miles to the Southwest. Elk Point is home to one of the largest oil refineries in the country,” he said, watching as those in the room who had not already been made aware of this fact relaxed.

  Jack watched smiles break out across the room. He slammed his fist onto the table in front of him, startling everybody in the room, including himself as a surge of pain shot through his wrist, which he managed to hide.

  “This isn’t a fucking coincidence people. We have at least a 20kt explosion in one of our cities and we are fucking pleased?” he bellowed, nodding for the Secretary of Defense to continue.

  The secretary once again addressed a grim-faced audience. “The president is correct, first estimates are 20kt, as this was a ground explosion, and we are anticipating the deaths to be between 30 to 50. This is a very modern, highly automated plant, only opened in 2014 and run by a skeleton crew.

  “As to the who, I’m afraid we have no idea as yet. We’ve been unable to get word from the plant for obvious reasons and the chances of any staff on duty surviving what we believe to be the largest refinery explosion in history are slim.”

  “I want answers, yesterday, people!” Jack demanded as his Blackberry, set to Do Not Disturb, began to ring loudly.

  “Remain at DEFCON Two?” asked the Secretary of Defense.

  Jack looked at his Blackberry, considering the secretary’s question. The danger of staying at such a high state was tantamount to declaring war. However, the thought of such an explosion being a coincidence and not a part of a more coordinated attack was unlikely. The Russians were sneaky fuckers and he must maintain a strong stance. He nodded his head as he answered the call.

  “Mr. President, I have the FBI director for you,” announced the president’s PA, Joan, the only person who could override his Do Not Disturb setting. A click announced she had connected him before Jack had a chance to protest or accept.

  “Mr. President,” the FBI director began without preamble, “I have terrible news. A massive explosion has taken place in South Dakota.”

  “Yes, I’m watching the video feed just now,” replied Jack.

 
“It’s about your cousin, Victor…” continued the FBI director.

  “Oh God! Was he caught in the blast?” exclaimed Jack.

  Victor was the black sheep of the family and had been run out of the Army by Jack, court-martialed for the misappropriation of weapons. He hadn’t thought about nor heard Victor’s name in over 15 years. The son of his father’s cousin, he wasn’t even that close a relation, and certainly not close enough to overly concern Jack.

  “Uh,” the director hesitated, “not exactly, sir.”

  “What exactly?” pressed Jack.

  “He caused it, sir,” blurted the director.

  “Sorry?” said Jack in shock. “Would you please clarify?”

  “Victor is the head of a survivalist group in the Midwest. It seems they got it into their heads that Armageddon was coming and initiated their survival plan, part of which involved securing a few tankers of fuel to maintain their generators and vehicles for the future.”

  “And?”

  “A team we had watching them tried to stop the theft from the Elk Point refinery and a gun fight ensu--”

  “Hold on!” commanded Jack, placing the phone on mute and standing up to leave the Situation Room for a second time. Turning to the Secretary of Defense he said, “I’ll explain more later but take us to DEFCON three. Elk Point is not your concern, the FBI have it.”

  He walked out of the room, and he could almost hear the gasp of relief as all realized they would see their families again. Something that, twenty minutes earlier, had seemed highly unlikely.

  Jack unmuted the call. “Who fired first?”

  “That’s not clear at this time,” replied the director nervously.

  Jack didn’t press it further. The FBI director’s discomfort spoke a thousand words.

  “Casualties?”

  “None. The gunfight seemed to trigger a chain reaction that took some time to activate. All of our agents and the survivalists escaped unharmed. Our agents had to back off as a result of overwhelming firepower from the survivalists.”