by Dale Brown
“Zakharov was commander of a regiment of short-and intermediate-range nuclear ballistic missiles near Kirov, northeast of Moscow,” Kallis said before Chamberlain could begin. Alexander Kallis had degrees in international relations from Dartmouth and Harvard. He joined the CIA after receiving his master’s degree and quickly rose through the ranks to become a deputy director in charge of policy before being nominated to serve as the National Intelligence Director, the office that combined all the federal, civil, and military intelligence activities of the United States of America. “After the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty was put into effect in 1988, his unit was deactivated. Zakharov publicly denounced the treaty and was quickly retired.
“He entered politics and joined the new Liberal Democratic Party of Russia in 1990, which was started by ultranationalist Vladimir Zhirinovsky,” Kallis went on. “Zakharov was the party boss in Kirov Oblast, the district in which his unit was headquartered, and was considered a major factor in Zhirinovsky’s rise to power and a candidate for a major office in Zhirinovsky’s government, perhaps minister of defense. But he obviously saw the handwriting on the wall, because after Zhirinovsky’s defeat in 1991, even though Zhirinovsky and the LDPR were still very powerful, Zakharov left politics and became a vice president of a pretty good-sized independent Russian oil company, KirovPyerviy.
“Zakharov became very wealthy, and combined with his military and political following, was starting to enjoy another tremendous surge in popularity,” Kallis said. “That might explain why the Russian government just a few years ago announced the decision to allow a foreign company, TransGlobal Energy, to acquire a majority stake in a private Russian oil company—and why that company turned out to be KirovPyerviy. Zakharov left KirovPyerviy…”
“No, Director Kallis—Zakharov went berserk,” Chamberlain interjected, quickly tiring of being upstaged by the youngster Kallis. “He threatened to blow up his wells, stage a coup, kill the Russian President, kill our President, kill Kingman…”
“Did you ever meet him, Mr. Chamberlain?” Kallis asked. “Sounds like you know him pretty well.”
“I met him once, at an energy conference in Scotland,” Chamberlain said dismissively. “He was full of himself, all right—acted like he still had the Red Army uniform on. We dismissed him as a stressed-out nutcase and figured he’d just drink himself to an early grave, like most of the nouveau riche in Russia.”
“Well, he didn’t,” Kallis said. “He sold off all his shares, took his fortune, and disappeared. He then shows up aligned with GAMMA, an environmental and human rights group based out of Brazil, helping the terrorists bomb dams and energy facilities, most of which belonged to TransGlobal Energy.”
“According to the report from your task force that went down to Brazil, Mr. Chamberlain,” Lemke said, “this Zakharov is not just ‘aligned’ with GAMMA—he’s taken over and tried to assassinate both leaders of the group.”
“It would appear so.”
“And now he’s back in the United States,” the President observed. “Any idea where he could have gone or what he might be up to?”
“No, Mr. President,” Wentworth said, “but it’s imperative that we do everything we can to hunt this guy down. At one time this guy commanded a force of hundreds of battlefield nuclear weapons ranging in size from ten to two hundred kilotons. Stripped of their safety devices, fusing mechanisms, and reinforcements, making them suitable for mobile ballistic missile use, the warheads he commanded would make ideal portable nuclear weapons. He’s apparently not only got his hands on some, but he’s managed to bring them into the United States—and it’s obvious he’s continuing to exact his revenge on TransGlobal Energy.”
“I would agree, Mr. President,” Chamberlain agreed. “We need to find this guy right away. It should be our top priority.”
“What do you suggest, George?” the President asked.
“The biggest worldwide manhunt since the hunt for Osama bin Laden, centered right here in the U.S.,” the Attorney General said. “A joint coordination effort of all Cabinet-level agencies and Homeland Security military forces, headed by Director Kallis, reporting directly to you. All operations coordinated by Director Lemke from Washington for the U.S.”
Chamberlain shifted in his chair and nodded slightly but said nothing. “I delegated operational control of antiterrorist activities to the National Security Adviser,” the President said. “Director Kallis can continue to coordinate his activities with me through Mr. Chamberlain.”
Both Wentworth and Lemke looked decidedly uncomfortable at that point. Wentworth finally took a deep breath and said, “Mr. President, we feel that Mr. Chamberlain’s efforts at organizing and directing our nation’s antiterror activities have been completely ineffectual, and we request that you take control away from him and give it to Directors Kallis and Lemke.”
Chamberlain’s face remained impassive. The President glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction but was unable. “Robert?”
“The Attorney General is referring to Task Force TALON, I’m sure,” Chamberlain said. “I admit that the team hasn’t lived up to expectations…”
“ ‘Lived up to…’ Chamberlain, are you serious?” Lemke exploded. “The task force never came together—there’s been infighting and a lack of coordination right from the beginning. Then several members of the task force—including the commander you picked, Jefferson—head off to Brazil…”
“I authorized that mission and got White House approval…”
“Chamberlain, those people nearly started a war in Brazil—not just in one city, but two,” Lemke went on.
“They were hot on the trail of this Zakharov character and nearly got him…”
“But only succeeded in almost getting everyone killed,” Wentworth said. “SATCOM One News has agreed to keep the story quiet for now, but they won’t do so for long. I’m afraid the government’s liability in this incident is extreme…”
“Bull, George,” Chamberlain said. “Skyy would’ve gone anyway, you know that—she’s got a reputation to uphold. If Richter and Jefferson didn’t go with her she would’ve gone alone and possibly gotten herself killed right away in São Paulo.”
“The unfortunate truth is that Jefferson and Richter did go, which could lead many to believe that it was a secret government-sanctioned action,” Wentworth said. “We’d be forced to defend the decision, defend the task force, reveal the task force…”
“So what, George?” Chamberlain interjected. “Americans want to see the United States government act. Americans are being greatly inconvenienced and challenged on their own soil every day because of restrictions, government intrusions, a loss of freedom and rights; some are suffering. I think they would feel better knowing their government is out there with our best technology hunting down the terrorists.”
Wentworth fell silent and looked at the President. They all knew that the President hated long arguments in the Oval Office—he wanted each side to present their arguments and then shut the hell up and wait for a decision. The President turned to Chamberlain. “What’s the status of Task Force TALON, Robert?” he asked.
“I confined them to their training base in New Mexico indefinitely until my office completed its investigation…”
“An investigation which so far does not include the FBI, CIA, or any other agency except for the office of the National Security Adviser,” Wentworth said. “The execs at SATCOM One News are screaming bloody murder—they are completely incommunicado with their people. At best we’re going to make some enemies in New York. At worst…well, we’d start with false imprisonment, habeas corpus, violations of the First, Third, Fifth, Sixth, and Eighth Amendments…”
The President looked suspiciously at Chamberlain, but apparently decided his actions, although extreme, were warranted. “I think the quicker we hush this thing up, the better,” the President said. “Robert, I’m disbanding the task force.”
“But, sir…”
“You ca
n continue your investigation if necessary, but I’m going to turn the military guys back over to their units,” the President said. To Secretary of Defense Collier, he said, “Russ, you’re in charge of the task force personnel. If any indictments come down, refer them for punishment under the UCMJ; for the rest, issue them constant warnings to keep their mouths shut or else they’ll be cleaning up polar bear shit in Greenland.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Collier said.
“George, assist Robert on investigating what happened with the task force in Brazil,” the President ordered. “But I have a feeling these guys were just trying to do their jobs and they got a little overzealous. The FBI and civilians involved will still be included in the Justice Department and military investigations, of course, but they can be released immediately pending the outcome.”
“I agree, Mr. President. I’ll cooperate in any way I can.”
He paused for a moment; then he shook his head resignedly. “I think, given what’s happened with the task force lately and Mr. Chamberlain’s investigation into this Russian terrorist connection, it makes sense to hand off running the antiterror operation to other agencies. George, give your proposal to Victoria, let us staff it for a few days, and we’ll give you a decision. Robert will, of course, be able to add his input to it, as usual.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” the Attorney General said.
“Robert, you know I hate to go only halfway and turn around on anything,” the President went on, “but your task force’s actions leave me no choice. Complete your investigation, send any recommendations for criminal or punitive action to Justice and the Pentagon, then dissolve the task force.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” he said simply.
“Anything else for me?” the President asked. When no one replied, he asked, “What’s the status of my proposal for a declaration of war on terrorism, George?”
“Mr. President, I’m afraid it’s a nonstarter,” Wentworth said. “We simply cannot find any legal, legislative, or historical precedents for such a thing. For a congressional declaration to have the force of law, it must meet the basic legal structure: a victim, a crime, a loss, but more important a perpetrator. We simply can’t indicta…a state of mind.”
“The word I’m getting from the congressional leadership says the same thing, Mr. President,” White House chief of staff Victoria Collins said. “Your supporters say the American people won’t stand for any more hardships in their lives that declaring war on terrorism would certainly bring. Plus, if your request for a declaration of war is defeated in Congress, it would be a crushing defeat for you and your party, and they’re not willing to risk their political futures on it. Your detractors say it would be perceived as nothing but grandstanding on the worst possible level, and win or lose they would be sure to present it as inflaming the nation’s emotions for nothing but political gain. It’s a loser either way.”
The President turned to Robert Chamberlain. “Robert?”
“You know my thoughts already on this, Mr. President,” Chamberlain said. “I don’t care about historical precedents or the political fallout—we need to act to defeat terrorism, plain and simple. Sure, the American people are getting tired of the restrictions, hassles, surveillance, and intrusions—but I don’t think they would get so tired of it if the President and his Cabinet made an all-out commitment to defeating the forces that threaten their lives. If we don’t at least go before Congress and the American people and make the case for all-out war against terrorism, people will forget why we’re doing this…and soon, it’ll just be our fault for making their lives miserable, not the terrorists.”
The President nodded his thanks, fell silent for a moment, then said, “George, I’d like you to stay on it.”
“Mr. President…”
“Mr. Attorney General, instead of looking for precedents, how about let’s come up with reasons why we should set a precedent,” Chamberlain interjected. “Instead of finding out that no one’s ever done it before, how about some good reasons why we should do it?”
“When I need your advice, Mr. Chamberlain, I’ll ask for it, thank you,” Wentworth said acidly.
“That’ll be all, everybody, thank you,” the President said quickly, rising to his feet. Wentworth, Kallis, and Lemke departed the Oval Office silently, firing angry glares at Chamberlain.
“Well, I think you’ve succeeded in alienating just about everyone in the Cabinet now, Robert,” Victoria Collins remarked.
“What’s the use in even having a Cabinet if they won’t do what you tell them to do, Mr. President?” Chamberlain asked. “I understand this is no small task, but all I’ve heard so far is why it can’t be done. Why don’t you just do it and let the American people decide if they’ll accept it or not?”
“I want the entire Cabinet squarely behind me before I proceed, Robert,” the President said. “It’s getting harder to get there when you browbeat and insult them like that.”
“I apologize, Mr. President,” Chamberlain said. “I’ll stop antagonizing them. But I wish they’d show some backbone, that’s all.”
The President looked at his National Security Adviser for a few moments, then nodded noncommittally and went back to the papers on his desk. “Thanks, Robert.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Chamberlain said, and departed the Oval Office.
The President waited a few minutes, then buzzed his inner office secretary. “Bring him into my private office, please.” He went into the private room adjacent to the Oval Office and stood behind his desk. A few moments later the door opened, and the President straightened his suit jacket and smiled. “Welcome, Harold,” he said, moving around to the front of his desk and extending a hand in greeting. “Sorry to keep you waiting so long.”
“No problem at all, Sam,” Harold Chester Kingman, president of TransGlobal Energy, said. “Your staff made me very comfortable.”
The President motioned to a leather chair in the small office as a tray of coffee was brought in and beverages were served. “You’ve been briefed on the situation with these Russian terrorist suspects?”
“Yes, I have,” Kingman said. “I appreciate being kept informed very much.”
“We definitely believe the terrorists are targeting your company around the world, Harold,” the President said, “and we want to do as much as possible to protect your company. You and your company are very valuable to our nation’s energy future. You heard our conversation in the Oval Office?”
“Yes,” Kingman said, taking a sip of coffee. “Zakharov is in the United States? That’s very worrisome. How could Chamberlain and your Homeland Security people miss that guy?”
“Apparently he had an airtight alias, developed many years ago—completely legitimate. Basically he used his money and connections in the Russian government—and his position in TransGlobal Energy, I’m afraid—to get passports and visas into Mexico. He got himself a legitimate business, got his American visas and entry documents. Then he turned himself into a sleeper agent, going about his normal activities right under our noses, just waiting to activate himself.”
“My lack of faith in this country’s immigration system has been fully justified.”
“You remember this guy?”
“Of course,” Kingman said casually. “Think of Joseph Stalin on a good day. The guy’s a heartless, ruthless psychopathic killer. I cannot overemphasize the incredible danger we’re in to have him loose in America, especially if he has valid identification and financial resources. And I remember Pavel Khalimov too, his ‘enforcer’ in the KirovPyerviy oil company—he’s even worse. At least Zakharov would consider your value to himself and his schemes first before putting a bullet in your head: Khalimov wouldn’t waste the brainpower.”
“Why didn’t you have Zakharov eliminated yourself, Harold?” the President asked. He knew that Harold Chester Kingman certainly chose murder as one of his tools for corporate success—and he also knew that he was probably the only man in the world that Ki
ngman would allow to ask him such a question.
“He got away and disappeared before I could tag him—to South America, it now appears,” Kingman replied. “I should have searched for him harder, but he had tons of money from his Russian oil company and he paid better than I did in Brazil.”
“What’s Zakharov after, Harold?”
“Me,” Kingman replied matter-of-factly. He lit up a cigar without asking the President’s permission—payback for him asking such uncomfortable questions. “He’s a twisted egomaniacal son of a bitch, Sam. He’s engineered dozens of killings and attacks against TransGlobal facilities all over the world for months, and now he’s after me here in the U.S. Only a wacko could ever believe he’d get away with it. If he can’t get me, he’s content to kill thousands of innocent persons.”
“What’s his next likely target?”
“Since he was based in the Bay area and returned there, I’d say he’s lining up something out there,” Kingman said. “Our corporate headquarters is in San Francisco, but it’s a relatively useless target—we’ve dispersed corporate functions out to dozens of different and more secure locations long ago. An attack there would be mostly symbolic—and Zakharov doesn’t really do ‘symbolic’ stuff. He likes to go for the jugular. He’s already gotten TransGlobal’s number-one petroleum and natural gas facility in the U.S. at Kingman City, Texas. Our number-two facility is in Atlantic City, New Jersey, but our number three is in Long Beach, California, and our number-four is in Richmond, California. My best guess: Richmond. He’ll kill several birds with one stone there: disrupt our Bay area oil terminal, along with five other companies’ facilities; take a swipe at my corporate headquarters; and attack right in my hometown.”
“We’ll deploy investigators and protective forces to all of your facilities in the U.S. and as many overseas as they’ll allow, Harold,” the President said, “but we’ll concentrate on Richmond. If he’s there, we’ll get him.”
“Thanks, Sam. I appreciate that.”
