Selected: A Thriller

by J. Allen Wolfrum

  Earl laughed. “Yup. Brad knew how to use your stubbornness against you. We had some good times up at the cabin with you kids.”

  Susan noticed that Earl’s emotion quickly turned somber and he stared blankly out the window. Susan left him alone with his thoughts. After a brief moment, he turned his attention toward the television and commented to Susan with a healthy dose of sarcasm, “This guy has everything under control. He’s going to put the Soviet Union in their place and make everyone at home rich. We can all rest easy.”

  Susan felt her father’s judgment about her decision to decline the selection to the presidency. “Sure seems like it,” she said. She picked up the basket of clothes and walked upstairs to her bedroom. Folding the laundry could wait. She opened her laptop and typed “Andrew Trumble” into Google. The first result was his Facebook page. Susan clicked on the link.

  Susan scrolled through his Facebook timeline. Andrew Trumble enjoyed posting ridiculous conservative memes with pictures of Chuck Norris, Clint Eastwood, and Ronald Reagan. Andrew Trumble’s posts didn’t show any indication that he was married or had children. Susan discovered Andrew’s army job was 88H—Cargo Specialist. She continued looking through his photos. Andrew’s post-military life revolved around four wheeling, fishing, and water skiing. He still lived in his hometown of Woodlawn, Arkansas, about forty minutes east of Little Rock.

  Susan went back to her Google search. A message board link came up as the next result. Andrew Trumble’s screen name was oathkeeper71. He was an active commenter, or depending on your point of view, an internet troll. Based on his comments, Andrew frequently participated in a thread titled “Preppers Unite.” The thread focused on theories describing how the next apocalypse would happen and techniques for surviving the impending collapse of the United States.

  Her mother shouted, “Susan! Are you still here?”

  Susan ended her online stalking and met her mother in the kitchen. “Mom, what do you need from the store?”

  “Nothing urgent. But we need more milk, bread, and turkey for sandwiches,” said Rose.

  “Okay, I got it. Practice ends at four thirty, right?” asked Susan.

  “You got it. Dinner will be ready when you get home.”

  As Susan walked by, Rose gently grabbed her shoulder and gave her a hug. “Honey, I don’t care if you decline the selection, I just want you to be happy.”

  Susan rested her head on Rose’s shoulder. “Thanks Mom. You know I wouldn’t have made it this far without you and Dad. I just want to do what’s right for Tommy and Greg.”

  A tear welled up in the corner of Rose’s eye. “We will always love you and the boys.”

  “Mom… I’ve already given so much. And we’ve worked so hard to get back to a stable place. I just can’t throw it all away, not again.” Susan tightened her grip around Rose.

  Rose kissed Susan on the cheek. “I know, honey. I know.”

  Later that afternoon, Susan walked through the entrance of Pilgrim’s Market. She put in an order for a pound of sliced turkey at the deli counter. “I’ll take the same,” said a voice behind Susan. She turned her head to put a face with the voice.

  Standing behind her were the two men from the white Ford pickup. Susan’s heart raced. She felt her face turn red. Susan quickly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to face the men. “Gentlemen, you don’t look like you’re from around here. On vacation? Or here for work?”

  “Vacation, ma’am,” replied the man on the left with a smile.

  Susan interrupted before they could elaborate. “Let me guess. Fly-fishing.”

  The man on the right replied with a sinister smile. “I guess we’re not the first out-of-town fly fishermen to visit Coeur d’Alene. We must stick out like a sore thumb.”

  Susan turned back toward the deli counter and the clerk handed her the sliced turkey. Susan walked away and went down the aisle toward the exit. Her heart felt like it was about to explode; she couldn’t catch her breath. Midway down the aisle, she stopped to gather her thoughts. Over the last few days, she’d forgotten about the men following her in the white Ford pickup. The last thing she expected was for them to approach her in a public place. Susan looked down the aisle and saw the men approaching.

  The man on the left grinned. “It’s a shame about Ms. Kline. I hope she feels better.”

  Susan’s panic turned to anger. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know Ms. Kline, right? Tommy and Greg’s English teacher. She’s out sick today. She’ll be fine in a few days, it’s probably just the flu. A friend of ours is substitute teaching for her. He’s a really nice guy and great with kids.” Both men abruptly walked past Susan toward the exit.

  For a brief moment, Susan stood frozen in shock. Then she reached in her coat pocket for her cell phone. It wasn’t there; she’d left it in the car. Susan dropped her basket in the aisle and rushed out to her car.

  General LeMae leaned on the hood of Susan’s car in the parking lot. He saw the panic on Susan’s face as she briskly walked toward the car. “What’s wrong?”

  “The men from Calypso’s coffee shop — the men in the white Ford pickup who followed me — they’re here and they have Greg and Tommy.”

  “No they don’t.”

  Susan opened the door of her car. “They just told me someone from their team was substitute teaching for Greg and Tommy’s teacher. We need to get to the school immediately.”

  General LeMae gently put his hand on the door. “They lied to you. Agent Edwards is at the school. Ms. Kline is teaching English class today. There is no substitute teacher. Our last check-in was five minutes ago, Greg and Tommy are sitting in English class with Ms. Kline. Agent Edwards has eyes on them right now. They’re safe.”

  Susan shook her head. “Why are you following me? Are you sure Agent Edwards is okay?”

  “Yes, I’m certain. I found out more information on the men following you. You were right, they’re former Special Forces Operators, but they aren’t dangerous. They’re hired thugs.”

  Susan interrupted, “Hired by who?”

  “Are you familiar with Pacific International?” replied General LeMae.

  “No. Should I be?”

  “Most people don’t know the name Pacific International, but you’ll know the names of the companies they own: Chase Bank, Boeing, Lockheed Martin, General Electric, Exxon Oil, AIG Insurance, and American Aluminum, just to name a few.”

  Susan furrowed her brow. “I don’t get it. Those are the biggest companies in the world. They’re all owned by a single company? What does that have to do with me?”

  “It’s complicated, but yes. The consolidation happened a few years ago. There was no media attention; the structure of the deal allowed all the subsidiary companies of Pacific International to keep their status on the stock exchanges. In the eyes of the public, nothing changed and there was no need for media coverage.”

  “Okay, I get it, big companies. Get to the point. What do they want with me?”

  “Although you may have put the selection out of your mind, the world hasn’t. You’re still the primary selection to be President of the United States. And whether you like it or not, the person sitting behind the desk in the Oval Office is the most powerful person in the world. I have a feeling they don’t want you in that chair.”

  “What does me being the president have to do with Pacific International? I’m not putting the pieces together,” said Susan.

  “You haven’t been watching the news.”

  Susan shook her head. “No, I’ve been intentionally avoiding it.”

  “Andrew Trumble is getting a large volume of positive press from conservatives and liberals. The media might love him but he’s no match for Boris Rosinski and the Soviet Union. Boris Rosinski is going to manipulate Andrew Trumble into making some horrible mistakes, and once public opinion gets behind the war machine, it’s impossible to stop.”

  Susan fidgeted with the car keys in her right hand. “But what
about the Joint Chiefs and the other advisors?”

  “The Joint Chiefs and most of the other permanent advisors are former or current military generals. When difficult decisions need to be made, men fall back to what they know. If you ask a military man to solve a political problem, he will choose a military solution ten out of ten times. When all you have is a hammer, everything is a nail,” said General LeMae.

  Susan crossed her arms. “Wait a minute. You think Pacific International wants Andrew Trumble as president because he can be manipulated by Boris Rosinski? And somehow that’s a positive for the company?”

  “I know it sounds far-fetched.”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Sure does.” She opened the car door and got inside. “I’d love to stand here and talk geopolitics with you all afternoon, but I’m going to check on my boys.” Susan quickly closed the car door and drove away to check on Tommy and Greg.

  7

  Susan woke up to the buzzing of her alarm at 6:30 a.m. on September 15, the day of her official decision. She went through her morning routine and mentally linked together her schedule for the day. Take the boys to school, go to City Hall, get next week’s work schedule from Mr. Frederick, pick up dry cleaning, and return a dress at Kohl’s for Rose. If everything worked out, she would have enough time to get it all done and still make it home in time for a game of checkers with Earl before dinner.

  Susan walked downstairs into the kitchen. The rest of the family was almost finished with breakfast. Before she sat down at the table, Rose snapped at Susan.

  “Susan… Elizabeth… Turner. You cannot wear jeans and a flannel shirt to the presidential selection ceremony. Do you want the entire world to think you were raised without any manners?”

  Susan snapped back at her, “Mom, this isn’t going to be a news event. The press won’t even be there. They’re all focused on Andrew Trumble.”

  “I don’t care. The President of the United States of America is a position that deserves respect,” said Rose.

  Susan knew her mother was correct. She didn’t put much thought into what was going to happen at City Hall in a few hours because she’d already made her decision. It didn’t matter; there wasn’t time do her makeup and put on a suit. She was already going to be late dropping the boys off at school. Susan deflected her mother’s concern. “You’re right, Mom. I’ll figure something out. Greg, Tommy, finish up your breakfast. We’re going to be late for school.”

  The boys both nodded as they drank the last bit of milk from cereal bowls. Susan checked the clock in the car as they pulled out of the driveway: 7:15 a.m., just enough time make it to school before the late bell. Before they pulled into the school parking lot, Tommy asked, “Mom. What was Dad like?”

  Susan paused before answering. “You haven’t asked about your dad in a long time. What made you think about him?”

  Tommy replied, “I was sitting on the couch with Grandpa yesterday watching the news and they were showing pictures of you and Dad in your army uniforms. I don’t really remember him. I’ve seen pictures of him holding me and Greg but I don’t remember much else. Just him pushing me on a swing.”

  Susan fought to hold back tears. “Well… your father would be very proud of you boys.” She pulled into the school parking lot and the boys jumped out of the backseat. Susan rolled down the window and shouted, “Greg… Tommy!” Greg and Tommy turned around. “I love you.” The boys replied in unison, “Love you, too, Mom,” and ran toward the school doors.

  Susan pulled out of the school parking lot and headed toward City Hall. A sign for Memorial Gardens on the opposite side of the road grabbed her attention. Her hands began to shake and she stopped breathing. Susan pulled into the next neighborhood side street and stopped the car. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths. She regained control of her breathing, opened her eyes, and drove back to the cemetery.

  Two large brick stanchions and an iron gate marked the entrance to Memorial Gardens Cemetery. Beyond the entrance there were five large sections separated by tall pine trees. In the middle of the cemetery grounds stood a United States flag surrounded by flags representing each branch of the military. At the far end of the cemetery, memorial walls stood as tributes to the lives lost in military conflicts.

  Susan parked next to the memorials at the far end of the cemetery and walked toward the Global War on Terror memorial. She found the section of the wall titled Operation Iraqi Freedom - OIF. The names engraved on the wall were listed in alphabetical order. Susan found her husband’s name, Lt. Colonel Mike Turner, United States Army, Combat Aviation Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division. Her eyes welled up with tears. She pressed her lips to the cool marble and kissed her husband.

  Susan regained her composure to find two more names on the wall, Captain Joshua Tilmore and Captain William Henson. The world closed in around her as the memories came back. After leading her squadron through the toughest and deadliest fighting since the Vietnam War, Susan left the combat zone to train new helicopter pilots.

  Two weeks after returning stateside, two of her best friends, Captain Tilmore and Captain Henson, were killed flying a solo support mission for an infantry raid. Official protocol stated that only one helicopter was required to support an infantry raid. As squadron commander, Susan never allowed her pilots to fly solo missions. Far too many times she’d seen the enemy try to lure helicopters into dangerous situations. Susan knew the only way to safely operate was in teams. She never forgave herself for leaving her squadron during combat operations. She lived with the memories of their funerals every day. The memories of what could have been, distraught widows, and fatherless children. Not a day went by without thinking of them. The regret hung around her neck like a noose.

  Susan stumbled as she stepped back from the wall. She steadied herself and continued reading each name on the memorial. The thumping sound of the flags waving in the wind brought Susan back to the present. She took a long deep breath, turned to look at the memorial wall one more time, and walked back to the car.

  As Susan pulled out of the cemetery, she looked down at the clock on her dashboard: twenty-six minutes before the recording of her official decision at City Hall. Not enough time to change clothes. The world would have to see her in jeans, a flannel shirt, and a ponytail.

  Susan walked through the front doors of City Hall with a sense of purpose. Reporters swarmed around her shouting questions. A man in a black robe introduced himself as the official selection judge. “Hello, Mrs. Turner, we’ve been waiting for you. Follow me.” Susan followed the man past the media circus into a room with a large oak desk, four leather chairs, and a couch.

  “I apologize for being brief out there. I’m not much of a media person and we don’t have much time. My name is Judge Mickels.”

  Susan shook hands with Judge Mickels. “Susan Turner, nice to meet you.”

  “Are you familiar with the selection process?”

  “I am not. What do I need to know?”

  Judge Mickels explained, “Well, actually not much, it’s a brief process. We will both walk out together to the podium in the foyer. I’ll read from the official selection document. The last paragraph will be a question for you: Susan Turner, do you accept or decline the selection to the office of President of the United States of America? There are two options for your response. You can say, ‘I accept’ or ‘I decline the selection.’ ”

  “That’s it?” asked Susan.

  “Yup, that’s it. After your verbal decision, we will both sign the formal documentation on camera. I have 8:26 a.m. on my watch so we should get going. Are you ready, Mrs. Turner?”

  “I think so. Let’s make it happen.” Susan smiled and followed Judge Mickels out of the office back into the media frenzy. Susan and Judge Mickels stepped up to the podium in the foyer of City Hall. On queue, at exactly 8:30 a.m., Judge Mickels read from the presidential selection document. Susan strained to keep her focus. Finally he said her line. Judge Mickels boomed, “Susan Turner, do you accept or decline th
e selection to the office of President of the United States of America?”

  Susan locked eyes with Judge Mickels and replied, “I, Susan Turner, accept the selection to the office of President of the United States.”

  Inside the Pacific International headquarters, the CEO, Mr. Anderson, leaned back in his chair and smiled. It was all coming together as planned. Mr. Anderson had commissioned a group of psychologists to analyze Susan’s medical and military history. He knew Susan Turner better than she knew herself. Her personality and background were the perfect fit to assist in implementing the Board’s strategic goal of Unified Peace.

  8

  Susan walked down from the podium and the crowd quickly overwhelmed her with congratulations. Her heart raced; she felt boxed in and the fear showed on her face. She didn’t know how to process the barrage of questions. She repeated the phrase, “Thank you, I’m honored,” in response to every question. Judge Mickels quickly rescued Susan from the crowd and escorted her back to the office where they met before the ceremony.

  Judge Mickels chuckled. “That wasn’t what I expected.”

  Susan shrugged her shoulders. “Me, either. Thanks for getting me out of there. I didn’t know what to do besides smile and say thank you.”

  “Yeah, I could see the panic in your eyes. Reminded me of witnesses on the stand for the first time.”

  Susan sighed. “Well… it’s been a long day.”

  Judge Mickels laughed. “President Turner, it’s not even 9:00 a.m. The day just started.”

  Hearing the phrase “President Turner” for the first time shocked Susan. Judge Mickels gently put his hand on her left shoulder. “Why don’t you take some time to collect your thoughts. I’ll get the bailiff; he’ll escort you past the crowd to your car. I’ll be right back.”

  The bailiff escorted Susan down the hallway, past the crowd, and out to her car. Susan drove out of the parking lot past a crowd of reporters flowing out of City Hall. Susan wondered if her parents and the boys heard the news. She needed to get home.