Selected: A Thriller

by J. Allen Wolfrum

  General Estes, the air force commanding general, replied, “Yes it is. The S-400 surface-to-air missile systems are complicated to operate, but in the hands of a trained crew they are very effective. The Soviet military trains their operators for six months exclusively on the S-400 and it takes an entire trained team of four to operate the system. This is the first fixed wing aircraft we have lost to a surface-to-air missile since the Vietnam War.”

  Susan followed up again. “Do we know with certainty who fired the missile? Or where the missile system was located?”

  General Estes responded with confidence, “The missiles were fired from either the Soviet Union or just across the border into the Ukraine. Our current intelligence found no evidence of the Ukrainian military or the Ukrainian rebels possessing an S-400 surface-to-air missile system. We believe the missile was fired by the Soviet Union with the explicit intention of destroying a United States aircraft.”

  Before Susan could reply, General Gillingham interjected, “Madam President, we have put the air force’s Eighty-Sixth Fighter Group out of Ramstein Air Base in Germany on full alert—”

  Susan interrupted, “I appreciate the initiative. But I want to make sure I understand the situation.… What I believe I heard was that we have circumstantial evidence that leads us to believe the Soviets were responsible for the missile? Is that correct?”

  Susan listened while all four Joint Chiefs of Staff started talking at the same time, defending their response plan.

  In recent months, the Joint Chiefs of Staff witnessed the Soviet military continually press closer to the borders of Eastern Europe. The recent movement of Soviet troops near Latvia and Belarus could only be interpreted as a precursor to a Soviet invasion. Arianna Redmond remained silent. Her crossed arms and stern facial expression made it clear that she did not approve of the military action agreed upon before President Turner walked into the Situation Room.

  From the perspective of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, this incident provided an opportunity to push back on the Soviet military. The response plan created by the Joint Chiefs of Staff included military strikes against Soviet troops on Soviet soil near the borders of Ukraine, Belarus, and Latvia.

  General Gillingham’s voice silenced the room. “Yes, the evidence we have at this time is circumstantial, but the situation should be interpreted within the context of recent Soviet troop movements, the mobilization of Soviet troop reserves, and the Soviet intervention in the Ukrainian civil war. If the Soviets don’t believe we will react with force to military aggression, they will continue to escalate the situation.”

  Susan looked around the room, studying each face at the table. “I can see you all have made a decision on our response before this meeting. What’s your plan?”

  General Gillingham spoke for the group. “We are prepared to conduct air strikes against Soviet troops and air defense systems near the borders of Ukraine, Latvia, and Belarus. And we will immediately launch a search-and-rescue mission near the crash site.”

  Susan took a long drink of water before responding; it was the only way to stop herself from screaming. She responded in a rushed voice, “What I think I just heard was that we should start a war with another nuclear power. Please tell me I’m wrong?”

  General Estes continued to defend the plan. “We are absolutely not suggesting we start a war with the Soviets. What we are suggesting is an appropriate response to Soviet aggression, a defensive measure.”

  “Attacking Soviet air defenses is a defensive measure? That is insane. What do you expect the Soviets to do when we begin air strikes? Back down? Do you think they aren’t going to defend themselves? We’re going to end up in an all-out air war within minutes.… What don’t you understand? If we escalate, the Soviets will escalate. What then?” Susan paused. There was no immediate response.

  Susan answered her own question. “I’ll tell you what will happen: within five minutes of launching your plan, Rick, the very nice Secret Service agent standing outside the door holding a suitcase handcuffed to his wrist is going to walk in this room. And I’m going to have to decide whether or not to respond to a nuclear attack from the Soviet Union.”

  Susan paused again to catch her breath. Susan’s forearms trembled from her grip on the table.

  General Gillingham’s face turned bright red with anger. “Madam President, allowing the Soviets to shoot down a United States aircraft without an equal military response is a sign of weakness. The Soviets have been probing us for years, waiting for this type of weakness. Make no mistake, they will exploit your weakness.”

  Susan looked General Gillingham in the eye and responded, “I appreciate your warnings but we are not responding with air strikes. Call General Kenney at Ramstein Air Base and have him stand down the Eighty-Sixth Fighter Group.”

  General Gillingham’s eyes went cold with hatred. He made no move toward the secure line on the desk. Susan locked eyes with General Gillingham and they stared at each other; neither moved a muscle. Susan swiftly got up from her chair, grabbed General Gillingham’s briefing folder, and quickly found General Kenney’s phone number. She picked up the secure line and dialed the number. She stared at General Gillingham as the line rang. General Kenney picked up the line in Germany. Susan continued staring at General Gillingham as she spoke to General Kenney.

  “This is General Kenney.”

  “This is President Turner. Be advised that the Eighty-Sixth Fighter Group is to stand down; you are no longer on full alert. Return to normal operations. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Thank you, General.”

  Susan hung up the secure line and stared at General Gillingham before walking back to her chair at the head of the conference room table. The room was silent. Susan took her time to scan the room. She intentionally looked at each person and studied their expressions.

  “Gentlemen, we have work to do. We need to find those pilots. General Estes, I want a full update on the situation tomorrow morning. In the meantime, if anything significant happens, alert me immediately.” Susan stood up and left the room.

  Everyone in the Situation Room stood as Susan left the room except General Gillingham.

  Arianna Redmond looked down at him from across the conference room table and scowled.

  General Gillingham stayed silent and stared daggers back at her. He remained seated as the others left the room. When the room cleared he opened a new page in his notebook and wrote, “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” The quote from Tolstoy served as a helpful reminder throughout his military career. He witnessed the downfall of many great military men because of their short tempers. Obtaining the rank of general is technically a military decision, but at that level, the promotion criteria is weighted heavily toward political savvy. Military leadership skills are much less important.

  General Gillingham began making a list of White House staff members and the political leverage he held over them. One way or another, President Turner would regret embarrassing him in front of the entire Situation Room.

  18

  President Rosinski heard the sharp beeps on the electric collar switch from five second intervals to a steady quarter-second interval. Instinct and adrenaline took control. He sprinted forward ten steps, hurdled over a downed tree trunk, and pushed through a small thicket to get in position. His pace slowed to a creep and he focused on a small clump of brushes to his right. The bushes came alive with a sharp rustling sound, followed by a booming thunder. In one smooth motion, he snapped the shotgun into the crook of his shoulder, flipped the safety forward, put the small gold bead at the end of the barrel just ahead of the partridge, and squeezed the trigger. The adrenaline masked the kick of the shotgun in his shoulder. His German Shorthaired Pointer, Jake, watched the partridge fall out of the sky and leaped forward to find the downed bird. In less than thirty seconds, Jake retrieved the bird and dropped it back at President Rosinski’s feet.

  President Rosinski stuffed t
he dead bird into the pouch on the back of his hunting vest and patted his dog on the shoulder. “Good boy, Jake.” Jake took off to find more birds and President Rosinski yelled toward the rustling he heard in the bushes twenty yards to his left. “Nikolai, is that you over there?”

  Nikolai Tremonov, director of the Soviet KGB, replied, “Yeah, it’s me.”

  President Rosinski shouted over the wind and rustling leaves, “Let’s walk the edge of this swamp for another hundred yards, then head back up to the ridgeline. What do you think?”

  KGB Director Tremonov ducked under a tree branch and shouted back, “Sounds good. It’s about time to quit for the day.”

  Back at the cabin, President Rosinski sat on the porch with his dog Jake between his legs. Jake rolled over on his belly and President Rosinski carefully cut the burrs out of the hair on his legs and underbelly. He checked Jake one last time and patted him on the shoulder to let him know the job was done. “Good boy… let’s get you some dinner.”

  After President Rosinski fed Jake he grabbed the birds from the back of the truck and laid them out on the table to be cleaned. He also set out on the table: a pair of kitchen scissors, a clean bucket of water, and his Karatel knife. KGB Director Tremonov walked over to help clean the birds and picked up the kitchen scissors. The men settled into the process of cleaning the birds.

  President Rosinski kept his focus on the birds and asked, “What do we know about the American pilots?”

  KGB Director Tremonov grunted, “They’re being held by Chechens. Our men have them under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

  President Rosinski nodded and paused before responding, “We need to let the pilots go. I don’t want the Americans focusing any attention on the Ukraine or Eastern Europe. They need to stay in the dark about our Eastern European plans as long as possible.”

  KGB Director Tremonov set his knife on the table and turned toward President Rosinski. “That’s going to be a problem.”

  President Rosinski washed the blood and feathers off his hands and turned toward Tremonov. “Explain.”

  “What’s to explain? They’re Chechens. The perimeter of the building is booby-trapped and every security guard is wearing a suicide vest rigged with explosives. All they have to do is stand next to the American pilots and push the button.”

  President Rosinski crossed his arms and exhaled deeply. “Eventually the Americans will know our plans to take control of the Ukraine, Belarus, and Latvia. But I want to keep our efforts a secret until it’s too late for them to respond. Any attention from the Americans on the Ukraine is bound to cause problems for us.”

  KGB Director Tremonov looked down at the ground and jabbed the toe of his boot into the ground. “Understood. The Chechen group’s leader, Alexander Umirov—he has a family. I’ll find out how much he loves them.”

  President Rosinski uncrossed his arms. “Do what is necessary.”

  Later that evening, inside his hunting cabin in a remote region of the Caucasus Mountains, President Rosinski sat alone at his desk. He kept a dossier on every foreign leader. He’d brought one dossier with him to study during the hunting trip. He pulled out the folder titled SUSAN TURNER — PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES and opened the cover. Rosinski carefully reviewed the notes he’d previously made in the margins of each page. He took a break, looked up from the documents, and focused on the picture of his first wife Anna, who died during the famine four decades ago. Forty years later, Boris still carried the burden of her death with him every day. He kept her picture on his desk to remind him of his duty to the Soviet people.

  As a young metal worker, Boris witnessed the life improvements brought forth by providing productive work for a community. His small town moved from a starving agricultural community to a community able to consistently feed itself and support the Soviet people with the excess wealth. The economic prosperity of the Soviet people was the fuel for his drive to become president. He believed the key to long-term prosperity for the Soviet people was economic freedom—no matter the short-term costs.

  His plan for producing economic prosperity for the Soviet people involved gaining control of the oil and gas natural resources in the Ukraine. With a virtually unlimited supply of natural resources, he planned to build a pipeline through the Ukraine, Belarus and Latvia for distribution. Pipeline construction would bring immediate jobs and maintenance of the pipeline would provide employment for generations. He began moving ground troops toward the Soviet borders with those countries in anticipation of violence. He believed an overpowering swift show of force would quickly stop the local uprisings and result in a lower probability of retaliation from the Americans and their allies. President Rosinski accepted the risks involved with the strategy. The Soviet economy was on the brink of collapse, this was the best option. He couldn’t bear the thought of being responsible for fellow Soviets meeting the same fate as his dear wife Anna.

  19

  A white van turned left into the parking lot of Lincoln Elementary at ten Wednesday morning and came to a stop at the Secret Service checkpoint. The driver rolled down his window. “Mornin’ gentlemen. I’ve got a work order for a heating vent repair.” Mr. Jones reached into the passenger seat, grabbed a clipboard, and handed it to the agent. The agent took a brief look at the work order repair and replied, “I’ll need to see your driver’s license.”

  Mr. Jones reached into his wallet and handed over a fake Virginia State driver’s license along with the clipboard and work order. The agent took the documents and walked back to a black Chevrolet Suburban parked fifteen feet away. Mr. Jones knew exactly what would happen next. They would run the plates on his vehicle, do a background check with the fake driver’s license, and make sure the company listed on the work order was legitimate. Mr. Jones couldn’t focus on anything except the urge to itch the fake beard he wore to match the picture on the driver’s license. A wig of long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and a Washington Nationals baseball cap made up the rest of his disguise.

  The agent swiftly walked back to the van with the clipboard in his left hand and driver’s license in his right. He handed Mr. Jones the driver’s license and clipboard. “You’re all set, Mr. Dickinson. Check out with us before you leave.”

  Mr. Jones took the clipboard and driver’s license. “No problem, shouldn’t take me more than an hour. Have a blessed afternoon.” Mr. Jones parked the van at the back of the school near the maintenance entrance, out of the Secret Service agent’s view.

  He methodically pushed his tool cart down each hall of Lincoln Elementary, verifying that each hallway and exit in real life was identical to the architectural drawings. It was overkill but being lazy is how men in his line of business died at an early age. Before every mission, Mr. Jones reminded himself of the stories he heard about great contractors, legends in the business, getting killed because they failed to do the basics.

  Mr. Jones walked into the school nurse’s office and introduced himself. “Hi, Ben Dickinson, Renaissance Heating and Cooling. I have a work order for a faulty temperature controller.”

  The school nurse looked up. “Thank goodness, I’ve been freezing in here all morning. The temperature control is over on the back wall.”

  Mr. Jones smiled and nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll take a look.” He pushed his tool cart into the corner of the room and set his tool belt down on the floor next to a row of chairs. He grabbed a screwdriver and walked toward the temperature control unit in the back of the room.

  The school nurse caught his attention. “Excuse me, sir. I need to use the restroom, I’ll be right back. I’m going to leave the door unlocked. If any children come in while I’m gone, don’t let them open any of the drawers.”

  Mr. Jones nodded. “No problem.” He went back to work taking apart the temperature controller and looked down at his watch. It read 10:14 a.m.

  Mr. Jones heard a knock on the door, a pause of silence, and then the door slowly crept open. A voice came from the other side of the door.
“Nurse Freemont?”

  Mr. Jones replied, “She’ll be right back. Come on in.”

  Greg Turner’s shaggy brown hair and blue eyes poked around the corner of the door. Mr. Jones smiled. Greg was right on time. “It’s all right, come on in and have a seat. The nurse will be right back.”

  Greg cautiously sat down in a chair against the wall and remained quiet. The repairman made him uncomfortable.

  Mr. Jones walked toward Greg, leaned down, grabbed the electrical volt tester from his tool belt, and showed it to Greg. “Do you know what this is?”

  Greg nodded his head. “Yeah.”

  His response surprised Mr. Jones. “Really? What is it?”

  Greg confidently replied, “It’s a volt tester, you use it to test electrical current. My grandpa showed me how.”

  Mr. Jones raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Sounds like your Grandpa has got you on the right track.”

  Nurse Freemont interrupted their conversation. She rushed through the door and looked at Greg. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Give me a minute to get your allergy shot prepared.”

  She turned and looked at Mr. Jones. “And thank you for keeping him occupied.”

  Mr. Jones smiled. “Not a problem, give me about five more minutes and I’ll have your heat back on.”

  Later that afternoon, Mr. Anderson called Mr. Jones for an after-action report.

  Mr. Jones began to describe the events at the school. “Overall, it was a success. Other than the Secret Service agents outside, security is nonexist—”

  “Sounds like some good reconnaissance work. Can you do it again?”

  “Yes, but I need twenty-four hours’ notice and obviously only on a school day. Greg Turner gets an allergy shot every day at 10:15 a.m. That’s our best chance to get him alone without drawing attention.”