Commander in Chief

by J. A. Armstrong

  “I understand that. This could be exactly what they want.”

  The president sighed. “It could.”

  Candace looked at the clock on the wall. “I have to leave in fifteen minutes. It’s a ten-minute ride to St. John’s. What are the chances we can loop Jim into a call in the next five minutes?”

  “I’ll speak to you in three.”

  Candace disconnected the call. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  ***

  “Where’s Mom?” Marianne asked.

  “She’s in the other room on the phone?”

  “Reviewing with Cassidy?” Marianne guessed.

  “No.”

  “JD?”

  “I don’t know, Marianne. President Wallace called.”

  “Maybe he wanted to wish her well before you left.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  ***

  “You have five minutes, Jim,” Candace said. “Make your case.”

  Jim Bryce looked at the president. Wallace nodded. “We have a three-hour window. Anything beyond that and we risk losing our chance.”

  “Our chance to what?” Candace asked.

  “To remove a terrorist cell in Brussels. State Security Service is on board so is MI6.”

  Candace sighed heavily. “I see. You believe that the SVR is behind this?”

  “There’s reason to believe that,” Bryce replied.

  “Behind the plan to attack our embassies?” Candace sought to clarify.

  “There are SVR agents embedded in this cell. The intelligence came from MI6.”

  Candace let the information roll around in her brain for a moment. “What’s their end game, Jim? The KGB wrote the playbook we all follow. What’s the goal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the intelligence you have is correct; if SVR agents have penetrated this cell and have been promoting this plot, what makes you think they didn’t do it solely for you to get this information?”

  “It’s possible. These are not our friends.”

  “No, they are not,” Candace agreed. “My concern is why the SVR would engineer this. Their reasons seldom lie on the surface. If you’re right; something else is driving this. Don?”

  “I agree.”

  “You want us to sit it out,” Bryce guessed.

  “I want you to get an asset in there,” Candace said. “Our asset, not anyone else’s.”

  “That might not be easy,” Bryce replied.

  “I don’t expect it will be,” Candace said. “Get someone on the inside. That’s the best solution.”

  “They might move before we…”

  “Then, I would suggest we move now.”

  President Wallace grinned. “It’s a good plan, Jim.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Bryce said.

  “If it was simple, everyone would make these decisions,” Candace chimed. “I’m not prepared to play into Russia’s hand. With that said, it remains President Wallace’s call.”

  “I agree,” Wallace said. “Unless you can provide something more concrete; we look to infiltrate and assess from there.”

  “MI6 is reliable,” Bryce said.

  Candace bit her lip. Reliable? Intelligence was only as reliable as the source. She’d spent hours with Alex and Jane covering this topic. Her discussions with her incoming National Security Adviser encompassed all these issues. Intelligence operatives were not only charged with gathering information about threats and the intentions of foreign governments. They were also tasked with planting disinformation. That meant that every bit of information received had to be vetted carefully.

  “MI6 is not the CIA, Jim. It’s not NSA. It’s not DOD. Get me something I can use by the time I get to The White House this morning. Otherwise, my position stands. I will respect President Wallace’s decision, however.”

  “I’m in agreement,” Wallace said. “You need to get to church,” he said. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  “I was looking forward to it,” Candace joked.

  “Welcome to the job,” he replied. He turned to his Secretary of Defense. “She’s right.”

  “It’s not about right, Mr. President. Sometimes, it’s about action.”

  Wallace nodded. “Sometimes it’s about not reacting,” he said. “Call Joshua Tate.”

  “That’s not protocol.”

  “Since when does protocol dictate good sense? Call Tate. Apprise him. She needs everyone at the ready the moment I depart the Capitol.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Wallace let out a long sigh. The job of the president was never-ending. He hadn’t humored Candace. Her questions and her recommendation were clear, concise, and sensible. He smiled. She’s ready.

  ***

  Jameson took Candace’s hand when the door to the limousine closed. Candace had been quiet on the ride to St. John’s Episcopal Church. It was obvious that something was on her mind. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” Candace replied. She squeezed the hand in hers gently.

  “What happened this morning?”

  “Let’s just say I got an early start.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “Sometimes, Jameson, there are no good decisions to make. Outcomes are always unpredictable. I’m confident I made the best decision I could. That’s all I can hope to do.”

  Jameson nodded. “I hope it didn’t spoil today for you.”

  “Not at all,” Candace said. “It reminded me what today is all about.”

  ***

  Candace closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the car rolled through The White House gates. In a few hours, this would be her home. Deep breath, Candy. Deep breath.

  Jameson leaned over to whisper in Candace’s ear. This would be their last minute alone for many hours. After pictures with President and Mrs. Wallace, Candace would join the president while Jameson visited with Marion Wallace for a short time. They’d finish with coffee together. Candace would leave The White House with the outgoing president. Jameson would accompany the outgoing First Lady on the short trek. From that point until they returned to this majestic place to get ready for the evening’s events, Candace and Jameson would be surrounded by people. Everything they did, every gesture either made, every shared expression would be scrutinized by someone.

  “I’m not sure when I’ll get to say this again,” Jameson said. “I love you more than anything, Candace—more than anything.”

  Candace took Jameson’s face in her hands. Her eyes sparkled with affection and gratefulness. Her fingertip faintly traced Jameson’s lips. “I love you,” she promised with a gentle kiss. She wiped the corner of Jameson’s lips with her thumb. “I always seem to leave something behind,” she commented.

  “More than lipstick,” Jameson replied cheekily.

  Candace shook her head.

  Jameson shrugged and then laughed.

  “What?” Candace asked as the car came to a stop.

  “I was just thinking we have a unique advantage.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Most couples have to get through this day without any alone time.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  “Well, we use the same bathroom,” Jameson explained. “You know, everyone expects women to go in pairs.”

  Candace fell into a fit of laughter. “You are a complete lunatic.”

  “That’ll be First Lunatic, Madame President.”

  Candace continued to laugh softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  ***

  Joshua Tate entered the small conference room with the incoming Secretary of State, Jennifer Gorham, the incoming Secretary of Defense, Gil Rodgers, Secretary of Defense, Jim Bryce, President Wallace’s National Security Adviser, Evan Shore, and the current Secretary of State, George Bennington. He measured the room as he always did, gauging the posture of Wallace’s team. “I’ll assume this isn’t a party to celebrate,” Tate surmised.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Bryce replied. “Pres
ident Wallace and President-Elect Reid asked that we come together before today’s ceremonies. Shortly, this will be placed in the new president’s hands, and tomorrow in yours.”

  “We’re listening,” Jennifer Gorham said.

  “This morning, I proposed a covert operation in Brussels aimed at a known ISIS cell that we have reason to believe is planning attacks on several diplomatic targets in Europe. The president and president-elect were both made aware of the intelligence we’ve received and concurred that at this time, the best course of action would entail placing an intelligence operative or operatives within the operation.”

  “You disagree,” Tate guessed.

  “It’s not my place to agree or disagree, Director Tate. It’s my responsibility to provide the information and my assessment of it. It’s the president’s job to decide how we proceed.”

  “But you have an opinion,” Tate said.

  “Placing someone will not be easy. Our MI6 contact spent four years infiltrating that cell.”

  “What was the president’s reasoning?” Gil Rodgers inquired.

  “It was the president-elect’s recommendation. The president concurred,” Bryce explained.

  Rodgers was a former Rear Admiral who would formally replace Bryce the next day. He continued his questioning. “She had a reason. What was it?”

  “There is evidence that the group may also have an SVR presence; one that may have greater influence than our allies,” Bryce said.

  Tate had to remind himself to remain stoic. He’d been entrenched in the spy game for more years than he cared to count. Little surprised him. When it involved the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service, he expected the unexpected. Without all the details, he regarded Candace’s directive as prudent. In his experience, elected officials often lacked the ability to act rather than react. The intelligence world was a global chessboard full of self-appointed kings and queens, and pawns deluded into believing they were knights. It sounded horrible to say; it was horrible, but the fact remained that for most people involved in espionage, their work was their life, and their life was a high-stakes game. Money bought influence. Influence equated to power, and everyone involved had something to gain and something to lose in the equation. He understood the majority of Washingtonians had little if any concept of what happened in the underbelly of covert operations. The United States had no clear allies nor defined adversaries. Alliances were constantly shifting. The best defense was a strategic offense; one that employed savvy, loyal emissaries. Loyalty was a rare commodity. That is why Candace exercised caution.

  Candace had been counseled by Alex Toles and Jane Merrow. In Tate’s estimation, there were no two people with more first-hand knowledge of the inner-workings of the global intelligence community. The president-elect had clearly taken notes. He considered his response to the room. His career was public knowledge. He’d been an assistant director at the FBI, he’d worked at Treasury at FINCEN, and had spent the latter part of his career as Director of the National Security Agency. His law enforcement background was as well-rounded as it was well-known. Few people understood the knowledge he carried from those years. He too had worked off the grid. He leaned back in his chair and looked directly at Secretary Bryce.

  “Who did the intelligence come from?” Tate asked.

  “Our MI6 partner.”

  Tate nodded. “That’s the source of the SVR intel as well?”

  “It is. It’s not a hundred-percent certainty,” Bryce said.

  Tate almost laughed. A hundred-percent certainty? Nothing ever rose to that level until an operation reached completion. “And, what is Russia’s interest?”

  “That’s the perplexing piece,” Bryce said.

  Evan Shore entered the conversation. “It’s a possible diversion.”

  Everything’s a possible diversion. Tate nodded. “The question is whether an SVR agent’s directive is to attack us physically. To use ISIS for that attack as a diversion or if they hope to divert us by convincing us an attack is imminent.”

  “That we can’t say,” Shore admitted.

  Tate had spoken with Jane Merrow the previous day. He had taken a call from Alex Toles’ brother, Jonathan Krause a week earlier. Krause remained deeply involved with international security at the Central Intelligence Agency. No mention had been made of any ISIS operations targeting diplomatic entities in Europe; at least, none that were credible. There was always the lone-wolf. ISIS tended to use the hand of young, impressionable men. They created zealots to carry out attacks. There was no question that they were organized, but they were not nearly as discerning as Russian intelligence operatives were. Tate suspected something was amiss. The intelligence was a house of cards; one that someone hoped would fall on Candace Reid as she took office.

  “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we appreciate the heads up,” Tate said.

  “You agree with this course of action?” Shore asked his counterpart.

  Tate shrugged. “You don’t know what the agenda is. You’re not operating in some cave in the deserts of Afghanistan, Evan. Everyone is paying attention to Europe.”

  “You think someone is throwing bait?” Evan Shore asked.

  “It’s possible. In my experience when you’re dealing with more possibilities than probabilities, prudence is your ally,” Tate said.

  Shore nodded. “She’s lucky to have you,” he complimented the man who would play the role he had for three years.

  “Not at all,” Tate said. “It’s my honor to serve her.”

  ***

  “Sorry I had to make that call this morning,” President Wallace apologized.

  “Don’t be. I appreciate the consideration.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, this is your ship to steer now, Candy.”

  “Let’s hope I don’t run into any icebergs on my first day.”

  Wallace grinned. “You rattled Bryce.”

  Candace was curious.

  “He didn’t expect you to take command,” Wallace explained.

  “I meant what I said, Don. This is still your call. This is still your home.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “I agree with your appraisal of the situation.” He sipped from his coffee cup. “Shore and Bryce have your team in a conference room at the Capitol.”

  “That should be interesting.”

  “Tate was a smart choice.”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re ready,” Wallace said.

  “Is anyone ready?” Candace retorted.

  “No. You’re more prepared than I was.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Don’t. Don’t doubt it for a second. You are. If you need anything—an ear, a shoulder, a good bottle of scotch…”

  Candace chuckled. “Be careful what you offer, Don.”

  “I’m a phone call away. I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could bend John’s ear.”

  Candace sobered. She missed John Merrow’s friendship, his humor, and the way he could deconstruct a situation that demonstrated his perspicacity. She was grateful for the man seated across from her. Don Wallace was a thoughtful man of integrity. Candace was confident she would seek his counsel often. “He would have loved to see this,” she said. “You and me sitting in his old office sharing coffee before a changing of the guard. Two rusty old senators who managed to win the White House.”

  Wallace laughed. He got up from his chair and pulled a bottle of scotch from a cabinet. “I think this calls for a toast with something a little stronger.”

  “Before I take the oath?”

  “It’s tradition. Don’t tell anyone.”

  Candace laughed. “Pour the scotch, Mr. President.”

  ***

  “Ready for the move?” Marion Wallace asked Jameson.

  “I hope so. Cooper and Spencer were up at the crack of dawn,” she said. “Wondering when they could go to the big white house.”

  Marion grinned. “It’s been a while since this house had young children runnin
g through the halls on a daily basis.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Coop and Spence will make up for all that lost time. I know Cooper will miss him, though.”

  “It’s one the hardest parts of the change,” Marion observed. “It’s not as if our children weren’t already away at college when Don took office. It’s not easy to travel at your leisure here. Balance is important, Jameson. No matter what, don’t let Candace get lost in these hallways.”

  Jameson nodded.

  “Don did his first few months here. He didn’t sleep. He barely talked when he came to bed. Not because he couldn’t share things. He was so afraid he would miss something, I think. Then he did.” She sighed. “He missed Bridget’s birthday.”

  Bridget was Don and Marion’s youngest daughter. Jameson had met the Wallace children a handful of times. She would see them again shortly. She’d noticed that President Wallace seemed to have a close relationship with Bridget.

  “Let me guess; he beat the hell out of himself.”

  “He did,” Marion said. “Over and over for days. Bridget was eighteen. She took it in stride. He was the president. She was wrapped up in her new boyfriend.” She laughed. “When he realized she wasn’t all that devastated; he started coming back to the real world.”

  “I can’t imagine it’s easy dealing with what they have to all day and coming home as if it’s perfectly normal.”

  “No, and that’s why home needs to be normal, JD. As much as possible, let Cooper run through these halls. Encourage the kids to visit. Toast marshmallows, eat pizza; do the things you’ve always done. You’ll never forget where you are. It’s impossible. There are reminders everywhere. Make where you are home—for all of you. She’ll need that more than she understands yet.”

  “The real role of the First Lady,” Jameson said.

  “It is,” Marion agreed. “I think so. Shaking hands, Easter Egg hunts, interviews, answering mail, working with charities—it all matters. Nothing matters more than keeping the person you love steady.”

  Jameson nodded. “I think I understand.”

  Marion stood and took a deep breath. “Let’s go find those two and make sure they haven’t consumed that whole bottle of scotch in the corner cabinet.”