by Bobby Akart
“The Flying Dragons,” interjected Drew. “They are some badass dudes.”
“Yeah, that’s what I gather. Nothing has happened so far other than the unrest within Taiwan. But this Flying Dragons outfit is poised to strike because of their close proximity across the Taiwan Strait.”
“What are we doing in response, anything?”
Abbie raised her eybrows and grimaced. “Sarge has redeployed half of the USS Petersen’s strike force out of the Sea of Japan and into the East China Sea.”
“Dang it, Abbie. The ChiComms will flip out.”
Abbie nodded. “Sarge wants to provide a show of force in addition to having a carrier group in position to repel any ambhipious or air invasion.”
“Where is the Ronald Reagan?” asked Drew. He made it his job to keep abreast of the general location of the nation’s primary military assets and any hot spots related to their positioning. His mind was always on his team’s next potential assignment.
“They’re in Singapore, but they’re leaving port and heading toward Taiwan.”
“Wow, Abbie. This is moving fast.”
“It is, which is all the more reason I need to get back to Washington.”
Drew was about to respond when his mother interrupted their conversation. “Everyone get settled and come to dinner. We’ve got plenty tonight thanks to some pretty fine shootin’ from you folks. I reckon they trained y’all well.”
Abbie and Drew began to join the group when he suddenly grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Abbie, what about the ambassador? Jimmy McBride is an old friend of the Judge’s. Is he still in Taipei?”
“Yes, at least for another few hours. He has an afternoon event with their president and then he’s been instructed to head straight for Beijing to confront the Chinese about all of this.”
“Does he have adequate security?” asked Drew.
Abbie smiled reassuringly. “The CIA security team at the AIT facility brought him into the compound. He’ll be escorted everywhere by a Taiwanese military security team.”
“Good, let’s eat. I’m hungrier than King!”
Chapter 42
8:15 p.m.
The Executive Residence
The White House
Washington, DC
The Sargents lovingly prepared Frank and Rose for bed. Sarge wasn’t always able to be around for the eight o’clock hour when the two youngest children were tucked in. Tonight, he read each of them a story until their eyelids succumbed to the influence of the sandman. The two of them stared at their children and exchanged comments about how adorable and peaceful they looked.
Win was seven and a half years old, which allowed him a 9:00 bedtime. He’d lost interest in bedtime stories a year ago and now preferred to read age-appropriate books. His love of reading and the encouragement the Sargents provided him advanced him to a ten- or eleven-year-old’s reading level.
At the moment, Win was immersed in the Harry Potter novels. Next on his TBR list were The Hunger Games novels, a box set that his parents continued to delay by suggesting other works.
Sarge and Julia wondered if Win had experienced too much of the post-apocalyptic world while in Julia’s womb. Studies showed unborn children absorbed and reacted to external stimuli, so pregnant mothers played classical music to them during pregnancy. Win had the pleasure of experiencing the collapse of society and the battle to restore America to a functioning nation.
Sarge entered his room alone while Julia attended to Rose, who had stirred back awake. “Hey, buddy. How’s Harry and the rest of the Hogwarts crew coming along?”
“Pretty good, Dad. It’s a really good story.”
“That’s good, son. Are you looking forward to the Quinns visiting with us over Thanksgiving?”
“Yes, sir. Becca is really good at the games I like and she shows me a lot of tricks. Penny is older and she’ll probably spend her time talking to her friends on the phone.”
Sarge smiled as he thought of the life of teens before and after the collapse. It was amazing how quickly they picked up where they left off. Win propped himself up in bed and leaned against the headboard. A serious look came over his face.
“Win, you seem to have something on your mind. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“Dad, something came up in school Friday.”
Sarge scooted Win’s legs over so he could sit on the side of his son’s bed. “What happened?”
“It was no big deal,” started Win. “Some of the kids were talking about California. They said you don’t like California.”
Sarge, before responding to the statement, decided to probe further to see what else Win had been told. “Why would they say something like that? Did you hear more?”
“Well, only that they said you don’t like California because they’re not like you. They said you only want a country that thinks the way you think.”
“Hmmm,” said Sarge as he pursed his lips and nodded. “Anything else?”
“No, sir. They were older kids and a girl walked by, which made them talk about her.”
Sarge laughed. “Girls can be a distraction sometimes.”
Win simply shrugged and then looked sheepishly into his lap.
Sarge got serious and tried to address his son’s concerns. “I’m not sure I understand what they’re talking about because I happen to love California—Oregon, Washington, and Hawaii, too. Did you know that I’ve been to all of those states in my life?”
“You have?”
“I have and I enjoyed them all,” he replied. He took a deep breath and continued. “Son, here’s the thing. We live in a big country with a lot of different kinds of people in it. We will never completely agree on everything. That would be pretty boring, wouldn’t it?”
Win shrugged again, not completely convinced at the difference in opinion concept. He mumbled, “Nobody would argue anymore.”
“That might be true, but throughout the history of the world, people have been at odds with each other. It’s a part of human nature that we can’t change. As president, I have to deal with it every day.”
“Are people in California not like us?”
“Yes, they are exactly like us, and believe it or not, they want the same thing for America that we do. Some of them have a different way of going about things than we do.”
“They think different?”
“No, not all the time. But on some issues, they do. My job as president is to try to bring all sides together for a common goal of rebuilding America and making it a great place to live. Now, I have certain principles that have been a part of my way of thinking since I was a young boy like you. I’ve never changed my mind regarding these principles because they were formed by my studying American history and the Bible.”
“Like me?” asked Win.
“Yes, Win, just like you. Even at seven, you are deciding right from wrong. You are also deciding how you interact with friends and strangers. As you get older, you will form principles that will guide you, just like I did.”
Win smiled as he began to comprehend what his dad was saying. “What if we disagree?”
“That’ll be fine too because I will always love you as my son.”
“What if I hear people saying the wrong things about you? Lies, like those kids were saying.”
Sarge glanced over his shoulder and saw Julia leaning against the doorway, listening to the conversation. Sarge noticed it was nine o’clock, so he assisted Win in sliding under the covers.
“The Founding Fathers, our ancestors from my family and your mom’s, fought hard to give everyone in America the freedom to express themselves and to speak their minds. Their words may be lies, hateful, and the opposite of what you believe. But it’s their right to speak them because we live in a free country.”
“That’s in the Bill of Rights, right, Dad?”
“That’s right, Win,” replied Sarge as he tucked the covers up to the young man’s chin. “Every time you hear a conversation like that
, let me remind you of an old rhyme, you know, the one about sticks and stones.”
Win recited the rhyme. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”
Sarge smiled and rubbed his hand on his son’s head. “Here’s the lesson from that children’s rhyme. If more people would live by these words, the world would get along better. Don’t let words hurt you. Brush them off and go about your day. The people who allow another’s words to consume their feelings and make themselves angry are the ones who are inflicting pain—upon themselves.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll try extra hard not to let their words bother me.”
“That’s my boy. Just let ’em stew in their own madness.”
“What’s that mean, Dad?”
“Yeah, let’s leave that discussion for another night. I love you, Win.” Sarge gave his son a kiss on the forehead.
“I love you too, Dad.”
PART THREE
The day before Thanksgiving
November 2024
Chapter 43
4:00 a.m. ET
Undisclosed Location
Taipei City, Taiwan
Hell began precisely at four o’clock in the afternoon following Ambassador Jimmy McBride’s departure from the Presidential Palace in Taipei City. It all happened so fast—suddenly, but with little violence. After a night of unrest in which the demonstrations intensified, the sunrise brought a new day, and business as usual once again returned to Taipei City.
His event with the Taiwanese president followed the schedule laid out for him by their diplomatic corps. The media was present, recording every interaction between Ambassador McBride and the officials of the Taiwan government.
Following the ceremony, he was escorted out of the building by palace security and handed over to his own detail. These appeared to be the same members of the Taiwan military detail assigned to AIT, although one face seemed unfamiliar to him. He would rack his brain in the hours to come as he wondered whether his instincts were correct about the new face.
November was one of the best times of the year to visit Taiwan with mostly sunny and pleasant weather. But in the windowless cell—no, steel box in which he was held, the subtropical sun seemed to be directly overhead, beating mercilessly down upon him.
The steel box provided him little or no air. A smattering of air holes the size of a pencil eraser provided him sufficient oxygen to keep him alive. They afforded him little or no opportunity to view his outside surroundings. The steel door was bolted shut, providing no means of escape.
Nor could he escape the insects that seemed to thrive on the interior heat of the steel box and the profuse, salty sweat that poured out of him. He wondered how many bugs had joined him through the tiny portholes to the outside. All he knew was the insects who accompanied him made it their mission to do everything they could to hurt or offend him, which, in his mind, was as concise a definition of hell as anything he’d learned from the Mount Zion Baptist Church in Nashville.
Ambassador McBride had been trained for possible capture, although it was many years ago in a time long before his life in politics began in Middle Tennessee. He’d been through the survival, evasion, resistance, and escape course—the SERE school. It was something you had to do if you flew airplanes for a living, and it was intentionally the most demanding thing in the military because it did things to otherwise pampered Naval and Air Force officers that even Marine drill instructors would find cringeworthy.
The experience in SERE school for Ambassador McBride, as for most others, had been one he would never willingly repeat, or forget. Yet here he was, captured by an unknown enemy in a well-executed kidnapping. He was repeating SERE school, but not of his own volition.
He knew he was alone here. He’d tried shouting, hoping to attract the attention of someone friendly. There was no response. He made every attempt to listen for his captors. All he could discern were muffled voices and shuffling feet. For a while, he tried to keep track of time by watching the sun, then darkness came and the sun never returned.
Ambassador McBride then turned to his faith. He was afraid to pray for death, a thought that he was unable to admit aloud, even to himself. In a way, it would be an internal admission that he’d given up on God, something he would not allow as long as he was breathing. Besides, if he prayed for deliverence to Heaven, and it didn’t come, then his faith would be shattered even more and he might start to die inside. And with that, his soul would be lost.
For Ambassador McBride, that was how despair began to set in as he contemplated his fate. It was a slow realization at first; then it came at him in a rush, not with a few thoughts, but with his unwillingness to ask God for a solution that might not come.
Chapter 44
4:50 a.m.
The Quinn Residence
Washington, DC
Donald’s phone was ringing, he was sure of it. But in his dream, he was fishing off the banks of Prescott Peninsula with Susan and the girls. Cell phones weren’t working after the grid collapsed. So he disregarded its incessant ring-buzz cacophony and focused on casting another line. Then his beloved shoved him, not because he was snoring and needed to roll over. She heard the ringing and wanted it to stop.
“Dammit!” he grumbled.
He forced his left eye open and studied the clock. Oh dark thirty. His brain began to function. Not good. Yet his need for sleep forced his mind to debate whether or not to answer his phone. He knew he had to—his job required that it not go unanswered.
The ringing stopped. Donald breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, hoping to return to that time at Prescott Peninsula when cell phones didn’t exist and there was downtime, allowing him to fish with his girls.
When he was asked by Sarge to be his Chief of Staff, he hadn’t realized how much work there’d be. And neither had Susan. Early on, she’d tolerated it better than he’d hoped. As the years passed and Sarge’s administration was challenged by a variety of tests, Donald was summoned to adapt new approaches to problem-solving. The proverbial 3:00 a.m. phone call had not occurred until now.
A second ring! This time he pounced on the phone.
“Quinn,” he barked into the phone.
“Sir, please hold for the watch commander.”
“Yes, of course.”
The overnight watch commander for the Situation Room came on the line. “Sir, I’ve been instructed to contact you by the State Department. Ambassador McBride has gone missing in Taipei City, sir. He had completed his diplomatic engagement with the president at the Presidential Palace and entered his vehicle with the Taiwanese security team. They never arrived at the AIT, sir.”
“Has the president been notified?” asked Donald, knowing that the protocol was to call the Chief of Staff first.
“No, sir. We have notified the chairman of the JCS. He is en route. Sir, we are sending a driver and an escort for you per the Secret Service’s instructions.”
“Um, okay. I will contact the president and advise him of the situation. Thank you.”
Just as Donald disconnected the call, Susan turned on a bedside lamp. “That didn’t sound good,” she mumbled as she wiped the sleep out of her eyes.
Donald sat there for a moment and slowly digested the information he’d just received. “No, well, we don’t know for certain yet. It appears Ambassador McBride has disappeared.”
“Kidnapped?”
“The watch commander didn’t use that word. I’m sure I’ll learn more shortly.”
Donald swung out of bed and headed immediately for the bathroom and started the shower. He was a morning person by nature, but a shower helped him wake up further.
Susan started some coffee and warmed a sausage biscuit for him to get something in his stomach. While she readied this light breakfast, two Lincoln Navigators arrived outside their home, and several men in dark suits emerged to prepare for Donald’s trip into the White House.
He appeared and hugged Susan around the waist. “Don’t be al
armed, dear. It’s just protocol. You never know when an isolated event is part of a bigger operation by people who don’t like us very much.”
She grabbed both of his hands, turned and gave him a loving kiss. “I know. Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to the unusual aspects of our life. Most soccer moms would be envious of the drama we get to live.”
Donald laughed and poured a cup of coffee into a spill-proof tumbler. “Circle January 20th on your calendar. It’ll be over then.”
“I already have,” she said with a smile. “This has been an interesting eight years, but I’m ready to slip into a life of our own, aren’t you?”
Donald didn’t reply because he honestly didn’t know how he felt about that. The hectic days didn’t allow him to consider what’s next. Donald kissed his wife again and set out the front door with a purpose, managing an I love you as he strode down the sidewalk toward the Secret Service team.
Chapter 45
6:00 a.m.
The Situation Room
The White House
Washington, DC
Sarge’s National Security team greeted him with a mixture of cautious apprehension and an edginess he hadn’t felt in prior sessions. Even Donald appeared to be on edge, having received the urgent wake-up call at the ungodly hour.
“Everyone, please take a seat so we can get started,” said Sarge as he took his place at the head of the table. He was fully dressed for the day. The matters unfolding in Taiwan were just part of a day that would test his presidential mettle. “Do we have any new intel on the location of our ambassador?”
“No, Mr. President,” offered Brad. “As you know, the demonstrations in Taipei City have escalated each evening for the past several days. The demonstration started peacefully in the middle of the day with protestors carrying printed signs that read Taiwan is not China. Matters escalated when activists in opposition to the One China policy beheaded the statue of Chiang Kai-shek and drenched it in red paint.”
