America's Trust

by McDonald, Murray

The room was uncharacteristically quiet. Wall-mounted TV screens were replacing a number of the regular attendees who were videoconferencing in to the meeting safely secured in their alternate locations. As Jack took his seat to a chorus of ‘Good morning, Mr. President’, a very flustered and out of breath Kenneth Lee raced in behind him, pocketing his cell phone.

  “Glad you could join us, Kenneth.” Jack nodded a greeting.

  “My apologies, Mr. President.”

  “Mr. President,” began the Secretary of Defense, who was on the Raven Rock video feed, along with the vice president and the director of the CIA, “I think we do have some good news.”

  Jack sat up a little straighter in his seat. “Go on,” he urged.

  “It would appear that our deployments are working. The Russians have been repositioning troops. However, from the satellite images, they’re being positioned defensively, not offensively.”

  “The rhetoric, from everything we have been able to tap into within the Russian military,” cut in the director of National Intelligence, who had stayed in Washington, “is one of bewilderment at what is happening. We’re tapping into calls and communications with their top military and there is nothing to suggest they’re anything but surprised at the turn of events. They’re petrified we will attack them.”

  “It could all be a bluff and they know we’re listening,” Kenneth halfheartedly suggested. A few nods around the table and on the TV screens showed it wasn’t just Kenneth that had considered this.

  A shake of the head from the DNI suggested otherwise. “We’re listening to things they have no idea we have access to. For example, we know one Admiral has over seven million euros in an offshore tax haven and we have his internet access details. Trust me, we checked, it’s there. They don’t know we’re listening.”

  The meeting progressed with the Secretary of Defense running through their deployments and progress. In short, in the space of thirty-six hours they had already moved a significant portion of the US war machine into position. Between the US Forces’ own airlift capabilities and the Trust’s commitment, in the interests of national security, to enhance the capability with its significant resources when required, a number of battalions and divisions were already in place well before anticipated.

  “And our allies?” asked Jack.

  The Secretary of State took over. He was on the feed beamed in from Mount Weather. “I’ve spoken with all our key allies and all have stepped up to the plate. They all appear keen to show their support. I have a list of calls for you to make throughout the day to the key leaders, if that’s alright?”

  “Absolutely,” replied Jack.

  “I’d like to add, Mr. President,” interrupted the Secretary of Defense, “the Brits, the French and the Germans are really taking this situation seriously and have thrown everything they have into the pot.”

  “Good to hear. Anything else?” asked Jack.

  So far, he couldn’t have asked for a more encouraging update. If nothing else, the mass deployment would prove an exceptional live training exercise that would justify the trillions of dollars spent on defending the nation, and they’d find out just how resolute the NATO alliance was.

  “Just one thing, Mr. President,” said Rick Holland. “The Chinese.”

  “Yes?” asked Jack nervously. He was really hoping to end the meeting on a high note.

  “They’ve stayed true to their word. Their forces are mounting with some volume all along the Russian borders. It would seem we really do have a new ally in the region. They’ve amassed an impressive force, in particular on the Russian-Chinese border between Kazakhstan and Mongolia. This is their nearest point to Moscow, which clearly indicates that they too are taking this very seriously, although they are still some fifteen hundred miles from Moscow.”

  “Don’t forget, they have a new heavy transport aircraft, the Y-20, and from what we can tell, they’ve built hundreds of them. Combine that with all the commercial transport aircraft the Chinese airlines have been buying lately and you can shift one hell of a force fifteen hundred miles pretty damned quickly,” said the DNI.

  “Exactly how many planes have they been buying?” asked Jack with concern.

  “Boeing and Airbus have hardly delivered a cargo plane to anyone outside China in the last eighteen months,” replied the DNI.

  Jack turned to him. “Apologies, but the production rate for Boeing and Airbus freighters appears to have slipped my mind. Any idea how many actual planes that is?”

  “Yes, that might be more helpful. Our best guess is about fifty to sixty aircraft, all 747s or A380 freighters.”

  “That doesn’t sound like that many,” said Kenneth.

  “Son,” chirped in the Secretary of Defense, “that would move about thirty thousand fully armed troops in one flight.”

  Kenneth ignored the ‘son’ jibe. The man, after all, was old enough to be his father. “Mmm, that does sound a lot,” he conceded.

  “Okay,” said Jack, keen to move on. “So much for how we’re reacting to what happened. Any idea as to who did it?” Both the DNI and the CIA director sat quietly, neither rushing to be the first to speak.

  Jack was in full swing. He had forgotten just how much he enjoyed being in the driver’s seat. “Gentlemen?” he pressed.

  “We’ve got nothing, Mr. President,” replied the CIA director.

  “The B2 pilot just took it upon himself to kill his co-pilot and bomb the Kremlin?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Nothing,” reiterated the DNI, the CIA director’s boss and the person responsible for every arm of the vast US intelligence community.

  “Payments, affiliations, anything?”

  “We’ve been through everything, checked everything, and found nothing. The guy was squeaky clean, and I mean squeaky clean. He lived alone, has casually dated only a few women, no porn, no hidden accounts. Nothing.”

  “Parents, family?”

  “Both dead, no other family.”

  “So you’re telling me that a highly trained American-born pilot woke up yesterday morning and decided that he’d bomb the Kremlin today and we’ve got no fucking clue why?”

  “Well yes, although technically, he wasn’t American-born,” replied the CIA director.

  “Technically? What the fuck does technically mean?” fumed Jack.

  “His parents fled Vietnam. Major Lee Marr was born in Saigon and moved here as a baby,” replied the CIA director.

  “So he was Vietnamese?”

  “Well yes, but his parents worked with the CIA. We pulled them out just before Saigon fell. They saved many American lives.”

  Jack shook his head. “Seriously, you don’t think that there’s just a chance they were Communist agents who suckered us in and managed to get their son flying one of the deadliest pieces of equipment in our arsenal?”

  “We considered it,” the DNI stepped in. “Although we have absolutely nothing to go on.”

  “Other than dropping a fucking bomb on the Kremlin, you mean?’ Jack’s temper was flaring. “It’s no wonder the Russians didn’t give him to us. He’s probably drinking champagne with the Communist generals who could well be trying to take control of Russia by starting a war with us. While you two get your act together,” he said to the Intelligence chiefs, “does anyone have anything else, before we all go and get some work done?”

  “I just wanted to get some time with you this morning, Mr. President,” asked the director of Homeland Security. She was also in Mount Weather with the Secretary of State.

  “Is it about the bunker?” asked Jack. He had expected a call from her. The Secret Service ultimately reported to her and if he was refusing to use it, she’d be the one to give him a hard time.

  “No. What’s wrong with the bunker?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” replied Jack. He’d have to give Frank a pat on the back.

  “The attorney general and I just wanted to run through a few legal issues we’re having with the rationing and things.”
>
  Jack checked his watch; 9:55 a.m. He looked at Kenneth. “10 a.m.?”

  “Ten thirty would be better, Mr. President,” said Kenneth, a cold sweat beginning to build as they neared the 10 a.m. deadline for the Future Leaders’ videoconference.

  Jack had calmed down from his annoyance at the intelligence imbeciles. “Fine, we’ll call you at 10:30.”

  “Okay, folks, let’s get through today and if there any problems or bullshit, call me.”

  The video feeds were cut to a chorus of ‘Thank you, Mr. President’.

  As everyone began to filter out of the Situation Room, Jack caught the arm of the DNI. “Find the link with the pilot. That’s how we’re going to stop this from getting further out of hand.”

  The man smiled and nodded his head in agreement. Jack’s during the meeting had been aimed firmly at the CIA director. Jack passed the note back which the DNI had given him during the meeting. It detailed the ethnicity of the B2 pilot and the links of his parents to the CIA. They were trying to cover up a monumental fuck up. Jack had played along and the CIA director had just been hung out to dry in front of the whole meeting. Jack would have replaced him in a second. His major problem was that whoever was in that seat would have tried to cover it up.

  The attorney general waited for the president to finish with the DNI and then spoke. “If you don’t mind, Mr. President, I’ll call in from my office, rather than wait here.’

  “No problem,” he smiled, rising from his seat to leave himself.

  “Mr. President?” asked Kenneth as the AG left the room, leaving himself and the president alone.

  “Yes, Kenneth?”

  “Apologies, sir, but we have one more meeting in here,” he said meekly, handing Jack a few sheets of paper.

  Jack looked down at the heading on the paper and had the screen not jumped to life with two hundred and fifty eager and excited students pledging allegiance, he would have swung at Kenneth.

  Chapter 41

  “Wait a minute,” said Butler, grabbing Swanson’s elbow.

  “What?” she said pulling at his grip, eager to get off the street.

  “Listen,” paused Butler. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “The Humvees…they’ve gone the other way.”

  Swanson listened. Butler was right. Their engines had revved loudly and their tires screeched as they left the parking lot, but they had turned South, not North towards them, or where she and Butler had been directed by the drug boss.

  “Code of the street, don’t snitch!” she surmised.

  “Must be. So what do you think he told them?”

  “He knew we were going to stay in Baltimore, so the opposite of that I’d guess.”

  “Shit, that means they’ll cover every conceivable entry point between Baltimore and Washington. So much for our plan.” He looked around, trying to find some inspiration.

  “Any ideas?” he asked when nothing came to him.

  Swanson thought long and hard. She had an idea but knew it wasn’t even worth mentioning.

  “Go on,” prompted Butler, seeing her deliberate.

  “I know the FBI’s Special Agent In Charge here very well.”

  “Very well?” Butler interrupted, raising his eyebrows.

  “God, no, not that well!” she replied, disgusted at the thought. “Not that that’s any of your business.”

  “It’s too risky,” replied Butler. “You have no idea who we’re up against.”

  “You keep telling me that and I keep getting glimpses, so why don’t you just fucking tell me!”

  Butler shrugged. It was a good point and he had kept her somewhat in the dark. “Fair enough, but not here,” he replied, leading her back towards the Red Rug Inn.

  “You’ve got to be fucking joking. I’m already covered in bug bites, never mind the massacre in the parking lot.”

  “Exactly. It’s the last place they’ll think we would stay.”

  Swanson could think of numerous reasons not to stay beyond the bed bugs. The police would be crawling all over the place following the incident in the parking lot. However, all that became irrelevant when the first military personnel carrier rolled down the street, quickly followed by many more. Inside anywhere seemed to be a good idea.

  Butler hurried her along as they reentered the fire exit from the wrong side with ease. Another issue to add to the many. He rushed into the room and watched the TV station inform their viewers that a state of emergency was in place. Rationing was underway to stop the panic buying and the National Guard had been called in to support local police forces.

  “Holy shit! We really need to get you to the president!” said Swanson, as similar footage was relayed from every major city in American.

  “We do. But you’re right, I need to tell you what I know. Just in case we both don’t make it,” Butler said.

  Swanson nodded timidly, nervously anticipating what Butler was about to tell her.

  “What do you know about the Trust?”

  “What, like what it does?”

  “Its history?”

  “It was set up over a hundred years ago by the great industrialists to protect America’s future. It cleared the crippling national debt and began to rebuild our infrastructure.”

  Butler nodded as she spoke, agreeing with everything she had said.

  “All bullshit. What if I were to tell you that four years ago, the Trust didn’t even exist? What if I were to tell you that the money doesn’t really exist?”

  “What money?” she asked.

  “The Trust’s twenty four point five trillion dollars.”

  “That’s it? That’s what you’ve got?” she asked. “I’ve put my career and life on the line because they don’t have money?”

  Butler shook his head. “No, that’s just the beginning,” he began. For the next three hours, he talked more than he had in the last two years, laying out clearly what he had uncovered, constantly checking she was following. Swanson was a sponge and soaked up every detail, gasping at times, muttering swear words at others. By the time he finished, she sat motionless and speechless. Her mind was racing with the information and its implications.

  “Holy fuck,” she said finally. “We are so fucked.”

  “Not yet,” argued Butler, unconvincingly.

  Swanson shook her head in disagreement. They were fucked and it appeared had been for some time.

  “Your FBI friend, does he have kids?” asked Butler.

  Swanson realized why he was asking. It was unlikely he would survive if they involved him and Butler didn’t want the death of a father on his hands. Swanson considered her answer carefully, given the situation.

  “No, he’s single.”

  Chapter 42

  Jack’s inspirational and motivational speech brought the house down, followed by a five minute standing ovation. He felt a tinge of satisfaction that he had made the speech. He knew it would change the life of at least a few of the students watching. It wasn’t that he thought he was anything special. He certainly never thought of himself in that way. He had just taken the opportunities and used his skills and abilities to their best. A similar talk by a senior general at the same age had made him choose an Army career.

  Once the applause died down, Roger Young stood up and thanked the president once again for his time, particularly given the current situation.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. President,” added Roger, “but if you had a few minutes, we have some members who would love to ask you a few questions. Well, actually, I’m sure all two hundred and fifty would!”

  Jack checked the clock. He had three minutes before he was due for his 10:30 call. He looked at the expectation on the faces of the group on the large screen. “Okay, but I’m afraid I’ve only got about five minutes or so.”

  “Excellent! Thank you, Mr. President.” Roger turned to the audience and picked out Lauren, as promised the previous evening.

  Jack watched the screen fill with the face of a very beautiful young woma
n. “Good morning, Mr. President. My name is Lauren Swann and I wanted--”

  “I had a master sergeant called Swann, not a very common name,” interrupted the president absentmindedly.

  “My Uncle Bill,” she replied. “He never tires of telling us how he’d known the president when he was just a lieutenant, fresh from West Point.”

  “Best damned sniper in the Army, Miss Swann. How is the old shooter?”

  “He’s great,” Lauren beamed, amazed that the president remembered her uncle from all those years ago.

  “You tell him Jack King was asking about him,” he smiled. “The stories I could tell you about your uncle,” he began, before realizing two hundred and fifty students were hanging on his every word and had absolutely no interest in Miss Swann’s Uncle Bill. “Anyway, you send him my best wishes, Miss Swann. Now what’s your question?”

  Thirty minutes later and long after he should have ended the call, he apologized that he really had to go and do some work, particularly if they wanted him to avert a war. Few laughed, which was a rather sobering note on which to end the conference. Reality was calling.

  As the video feed ended, the Trust’s logo appeared on the screen and under its name, ‘America’s Savior, America’s Future’ was left on the TV screen.

  Beware the Trust.

  Jack instantly thought of Tom Butler’s comment. He wondered what had become of Butler and the FBI woman. Was Butler a threat or was he a voice of sanity in a world that had suddenly and for no apparent reason gone mad? He didn’t know but it was clawing at him. He couldn’t seem to lose it. Sitting there just beneath the surface, every time he had anything to do with the Trust, he seemed to think of Butler and his comment. Why would Butler warn Jack if he was trying to kill him? Why would the FBI woman go AWOL with him? There were too many questions and not enough answers.

  “Shall I dial you into the AG?” asked Kenneth. Although outwardly he remained calm, internally he was doing cartwheels at how well the videoconference had gone.

  “No, call them and tell them I’ll be another ten minutes. We’ll do it from the Oval Office,” said Jack, rising and exiting the room. He scrolled through his contacts on his cell and dialed the FBI director, bypassing the pleasantries. “What’s happening with Butler and the FBI agent?”