Selected: A Thriller

by J. Allen Wolfrum

  Copyright © 2018 J. Allen Wolfrum

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1981498974

  ISBN-13: 978-1981498970

  Ebook ISBN: B078P8T5R2

  Contents

  1

  2

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

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  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  Epilogue

  You Made It To The End… Thank You

  Sign up for the Newsletter

  About the Author

  For my beautiful bride

  1

  Susan Turner looked up through a haze of white dust and saw a group of men in black suits huddled around her body. The muffled ringing in her ears overpowered their voices. The men helped her to her feet and they ran as a group toward the entrance to the underground tunnel. Her hearing slowly returned, screams of panic in the hallway replacing the ringing. As they ran, she recognized the men surrounding her were Secret Service agents.

  Four agents surrounded Susan as they jogged through the underground tunnel together. Ten yards into the tunnel, she slowed down. In mid-stride, she took off one heel at a time and returned to the pace of the group. There were no words exchanged; they moved together in focused silence. Four hundred yards down the tunnel, the group stopped at two large steel doors. The lead agent opened the doors and light from the helicopter pad above burst into the tunnel.

  Before moving toward the helicopter, the agent standing behind Susan shouted into his headset, “Checkpoint Bravo. Waiting for clearance.” He nodded as the response came through and relayed the message to the group: “Let’s move.” They ran from the tunnel into the daylight and across the tarmac to the open doors of the helicopter.

  The agent sitting across from Susan handed her a communications headset. “Ma’am, are you okay? Any injuries?”

  Susan wiped the sweat and dust from her face. “No, I’m fine. My family?”

  “They’re safe. Your children were brought to a safe location under the Pentagon, and your parents are there with them.”

  She nodded. “Is it over?”

  He pursed his lips before responding, “I don’t know. I only heard snippets of radio chatter while we were on the way to the helipad.”

  Susan leaned back in her seat, cupping her hands over her face and replaying the events in her mind. The group stayed in radio silence for the remainder of the brief flight. The helicopter landed at Andrews Air Force Base and the doors immediately opened. Susan and her security detail rushed across the tarmac and boarded the Boeing 747. She walked onto the plane in her bare feet. Jogging on concrete caused the pinky toe on her left foot to bleed. She left a trail of blood down the center aisle of Air Force One.

  2

  Eight Months Prior

  Susan Turner looked over the helicopter instrument panel at the lush green tree line of the Sawtooth Mountain Range in northern Idaho.

  The radio crackled in her headset. “Turner this is HQ. Jacobs is on his way out to finish up your shift. We need you back at HQ.”

  “Roger that.” Susan Turner focused her attention back to the flight gauges and the timber hanging from cables attached to the fuselage of her helicopter. Just outside the drop site, she brought the CH-47 to a steady hover and contacted the ground crew foreman. “Emerson, this is Turner. Waiting for clearance to unload.”

  The ground crew foreman replied, “This is Emerson. You’re clear.”

  “Roger. After this turn I’m heading back to the airstrip. Jacobs is coming out to finish up the shift.”

  “Tommy and Greg causing trouble again?”

  Nobody could ever accuse her boys of being dull. Susan smiled and half-chuckled to herself before responding, “I think so. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Susan gently lowered the last log from the hook to the ground. After the all-clear signal from the ground crew, she pulled back on the stick and began the fifteen-minute flight back to company headquarters.

  She finished her postflight checklist and walked from her helicopter toward the Bighorn Logging corporate offices. Susan kept her shoulder-length brunette hair in a ponytail and wore jeans with a long-sleeved flannel shirt. Her attempts to avoid unwanted attention from the other pilots and loggers were only moderately successful.

  She headed to Mr. Frederick’s office to turn in her flight book. In the hallway outside his office, she saw two men in tailored black suits with freshly starched white shirts guarding the door. Susan approached the doorway as if the men didn’t exist. The man on the left took a step forward to block the doorway and held up his right hand. “Susan Turner?”

  “That’s me.” She casually pointed toward her eyes with her right index finger. “Eyes up here young man.” During her time in the army, she spent the majority of her days fending off unwanted advances. The loggers in Idaho were no better.

  The young man’s face instantly turned bright red and he stuttered, “Ma’am, General LeMae is waiting for you.”

  As she walked past the guards into the office, Susan noted that both men were carrying Beretta M9 service pistols inside their suit jackets. Her boss, Mr. Frederick, and General LeMae immediately stood up.

  General LeMae casually leaned against the desk; with his khaki pants and blue-checkered flannel shirt, he could have been posing for an L.L.Bean photo shoot. He took the cigar out of his mouth and smiled. “Lt. Colonel Turner.”

  “Curtis.” Susan nodded her head. “I see you’re still smoking those Montecristo’s. You know they’re going to kill you one day.”

  General LeMae grinned. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  Susan kept a straight face. “I’ll bite. What’s going on? The file on Mike’s death has been closed for years. I’m done talking about it, on or off the record.”

  General LeMae stared at Susan while he took a puff on his cigar. He exhaled and turned toward Mr. Frederick. “Would you mind lending us your office for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, sir,” replied Mr. Frederick as he stumbled out the doorway past the security guards. He gave a nervous glance back at Susan as he walked out of the room.

  The security guards closed and locked the door, leaving Susan and General LeMae alone. General LeMae walked over to the couch, sat down, and took another long drag from his Montecristo. Susan sat down in the chair across the room and stared into General LeMae’s eyes. “Okay, Curtis, enough with the charade. What do you want? This clearly isn’t a social call.”

  General LeMae tapped his cigar and looked out the window. “Susan, I have good news. You’ve been selected as the next President of the United States.”

  Susan stared for a moment at General LeMae with cold eyes. She broke the silence. “You know I don’t want the job.”

  General LeMae stood up, walked to the window, and paced back to the door. He turned back toward Susan. “We thought you might have this reaction and that’s why—”

  “Excuse me
? Who is ‘we’?”

  “The Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  Susan snapped back, “Last time I checked the newspaper, you were a former member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  General LeMae raised his eyebrows. “True… but I don’t have to remind you that after the Dove Revolution, the President, the Senate and Congress are selected at random every two years—”

  “So you’re here to threaten me? Nice, Curtis.” Susan straightened her back in defiance.

  General LeMae raised his hand in defense. “All right, slow down, no need to get aggressive with me. I was in the room when the random selections to public office were generated and I knew you’d decline. I’m here as a friend.”

  Susan watched General LeMae pace back and forth across the room puffing on his cigar. Her heart raced. She took a sharp, deep breath and exhaled to regain focus before speaking. “My answer is still no.”

  General LeMae nodded. “I know you don’t need a reminder, but your official decision can’t be recorded until September fifteenth, seven days from now. Take some time to think about it. As a friendly warning, this year’s selection names are being announced to the public this evening at six p.m.” General LeMae thumped the ashes of his cigar onto Mr. Frederick’s desk.

  “That still doesn’t answer the question of why you’re here,” said Susan.

  General LeMae briefly looked down at the floor. He picked his head up and looked Susan in the eye. “I’ll be frank. Our relationship with the Soviet Union is headed in a dangerous direction. It’s been over a generation since two nuclear powers have threatened each other in such a serious manner. The country needs a real leader. You’re the right person for the job and you know it. Don’t put that burden on someone who can’t handle it.” General LeMae paused. He could see the frustration and shock in Susan’s face. “When you get your thoughts together, give me a call.” He handed Susan a scrap of paper. General LeMae stared out at the airstrip for a brief moment while taking a puff off his Montecristo. He sharply turned and walked out the door and down the hall, followed by his security guards.

  Susan sank into the chair and sat alone in the office.3

  On her way to pick up Greg and Tommy from soccer practice, Susan’s cell phone vibrated itself from the passenger seat to the floorboard of her truck and settled under an empty McDonald’s bag. She wasn’t proud of it, but every once in a while she succumbed to a McGriddles sandwich and hash brown for breakfast. Susan turned up the radio to drown out the buzzing and post-McDonald’s guilt in her head. Tom Petty blared on the radio.

  Susan walked through the doors of the indoor soccer field just in time to see the end of practice. Greg and Tommy were all smiles. Susan wished she could freeze the moment in time. Seeing the joy on their faces made all the hardships worth it. After practice, Susan locked eyes with Greg and Tommy as they walked into the lobby and they came running toward her.

  “Mom, you’re going to be the president!” shouted Tommy as he reached up to give her a high five.

  Greg jumped in. “Do I get my own bodyguard? Do you think they’ll let me use those cool earpieces they wear? It’s going to be awesome! Are they going to come to school with me? Do you think they’ll teach me their cool jiu-jitsu moves?” Greg finally paused to take a short breath.

  “Okay, okay. I get it—you’re excited. I don’t know what any of it means right now.”

  Without hesitation, Greg started again with rapid-fire questions. “Andrew’s Dad said we would have to move to Washington, DC Mom, are we moving? Are Grandma and Grandpa coming with us?”

  Tommy chimed in, “I don’t want to leave Grandma and Grandpa.”

  Susan recovered from the initial barrage of questions and regained her command presence. “Boys, that’s enough. Grab your bags, we’re late for dinner. Grandma made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans.”

  “With bacon?” asked Tommy.

  “I’m sure Grandma made the green beans with bacon. Grab your bags. Let’s go home.” Susan could feel the eyes of every person in the arena staring at her as she followed Greg and Tommy out the door.

  Susan pulled in the driveway and Greg and Tommy ran screaming across the yard into the house. She walked in the door and was greeted by her mother with a beaming smile.

  “Sooo… do you have some news you’d like to share?” Rose said.

  “Seems like you’ve already heard the news.”

  “So when do you start? Did President Wilkes call you yet? I just love watching his speeches. Such an eloquent speaker. And he dresses so nicely. Reminds me of Clark Gable.” Rose put her hand over her heart and fluttered her eyes.

  Susan interrupted at the first sign of a pause. “Mother. Stop it. You’re worse than Greg and Tommy.”

  “Your father and I are just so proud—”

  “Thanks, Mom. But can we eat dinner first? All I had to eat today was a granola bar.” Susan stopped her mother before it went any further.

  Rose announced to the house that dinner was ready. “Greg, Tommy, Grandpa. It’s time for dinner.”

  Immediately after grace, the conversation turned to Susan’s presidential selection. More rapid-fire questions from Greg and Tommy, followed by well-timed jabs from her mother. After forty years, her mother had not lost the ability to push Susan’s emotional buttons in just the right spot.

  Susan and her father remained silent throughout the barrage of questions. Greg, Tommy, and her mother seemed perfectly content asking and answering their own questions. Intermixed with the questions was dramatized speculation about how glorious it would be to live in the White House in Washington, DC.

  The conversation finally paused. Susan’s father, Earl, looked up from his plate, wiped his mouth, and took a sip of water. “So, I take it you’re going to decline the selection.”

  “Earl, how could you say that? Of course she isn’t going to decline the selection,” said Rose.

  Susan spoke up. “You’re right. I’m going to decline the selection.”

  “Moooommmmm!” Greg and Tommy shouted in unison.

  “Stop. Everyone calm down. We’re just now getting to a good place as a family and we all know that it wasn’t easy to get here. I’m not going to ruin it. We’re staying right here in Idaho. In a week, this whole thing will be over.” Susan paused and looked around the table. She looked across the table at the boys and continued, “Greg. Tommy. Wipe those frowns off your faces and pay attention.”

  Greg and Tommy looked at Susan.

  “At school there are going to be a lot of questions. Your friends are going to be jealous and they’re going to tease you. Remember our talk about how you handle those situations?”

  Without hesitation, the boys responded in unison, “Acknowledge, de-escalate, and deflect.”

  “Perfect. I do not want to hear about you causing trouble at school over this.”

  “But Mom, are we really not going to Washington, DC?” asked Greg.

  “No. We are not. I know both of you have homework to finish. So go make it happen. No stories from Grandpa until your homework is done.”

  For Susan, Greg and Tommy were a daily reminder of her husband. Greg had his smile, his brains and his short temper. Tommy inherited his dad’s tall muscular frame, athleticism, and his golden blond hair. It was impossible for Susan to look at the boys and not see the qualities she loved so dearly about Mike in both of them. Preparing Greg and Tommy for the world and giving them a chance for success was her only remaining goal in life.

  Later that evening, after taking a shower, Susan walked over to the shadow box with her husband’s army medals and the flag she was given at his funeral. She opened the lid and ran her fingers over each medal in the case. She read Mike’s Medal of Honor citation and couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face. It was the first time she’d had the courage to read it since the funeral.

  At a private estate outside of Ouray, Colorado, the group known among their members as the Board gathered for their quarterly mee
ting. The senior members argued over the results of the random selection for the next President of the United States. The newly appointed chief operations officer, Mr. Anderson, startled the room by taking command of the decision.

  His deep bass voice boomed over the group. “I don’t know what we’re arguing about. Susan Turner is likely to turn down the selection. The Dove Revolution is still on the forefront of the American psyche. If the American public senses any foul play in the presidential selection process, the strikes and riots will start again. And I don’t think anyone wants more economic disruption.”

  A voice from the crowd interrupted, “And if she accepts?”

  Mr. Anderson stood up and casually put his hands in his pockets. “She’ll play right into our hands without even knowing it.” Mr. Anderson responded to several disgruntled murmurs from the crowd. “I can assure you, Susan Turner will not delay our mission. Unfortunately, she will be collateral damage incurred on our path to Unified Peace.”

  4

  On her way to work the next morning, Susan stopped at Calypso’s for coffee. She impatiently scanned the room while standing in line. She grabbed for her phone and opened the news app. The screen filled with headlines about her.

  10 THINGS YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT SUSAN TURNER

  I MADE MY MOM EXPLAIN WHY SHE THINKS SUSAN TURNER WILL BE A GREAT PRESIDENT

  Susan closed her eyes and put the phone back in her pocket. Her attention turned to the man at the register talking to the barista, Claire. The man finally gave up on his awkward attempt at flirting with Claire and Susan stepped up to the register.

  “Mrs. Turner? I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  “Yeah well… I still need to show up at work,” replied Susan.

  “I guess that’s true. You know, I just… I don’t really know how to say it… but we’re all really glad to have you as our president.”

  “Thank you, Claire.” Susan grabbed her coffee and turned toward the door. She didn’t have the heart to tell Claire about her decision to decline the selection.

  As Susan walked toward the front door, she noticed two men sitting near the piano in the front lounge area. They looked out of place. The men were in their early thirties with two-day-stubble beards, fresh haircuts, and the build of a Men’s Health cover model. They were dressed in what appeared to be standard work clothes for a job site: tan, steel-toed boots, jeans, and flannel shirts. Their boots weren’t dirty and no logger wore clean jeans to work. The contrast between their dress and appearance triggered a warning for Susan.