Selected: A Thriller

by J. Allen Wolfrum

  Jack nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.” Emily quickly looked down at her plate, then looked into Jack’s eyes. “Things haven’t been going great at the paper. I’ve only got two stories published in the last four months. I’m behind on the rent, things are tight.”

  Jack scowled. “I provide more than enough for you and Zoe to live comfortably. We’ve had this conversation before. The money is to be used for living expenses and the excess is to be spent on Zoe. It is not for you to—”

  Emily cut him off. “I don’t need a lecture from you about money. I think you forget that the only reason Cheryl hasn’t divorced you is because I’ve stayed quiet. Not to mention what your friends would think if I—”

  Jack put down his fork and snapped. “Stop. That’s enough. I think you forgot who I am… take a second to think about it.” Jack paused, exhaled deeply, and briefly closed his eyes. “I’ll increase your monthly draw from the trust.”

  Emily nodded. “Thank you.”

  Jack tapped his finger on the table. “Are you interested in getting back into covering the White House?”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “I don’t have the drive. That beat is tough. There’s a hundred reporters stabbing each other in the back for the same story.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, I know, it’s a tough gig. What if I gave you an exclusive story? You wouldn’t have to fight for it. You’d just have to write it.”

  Emily couldn’t hide her skepticism. “I’m not going to do anything illegal for you.”

  Jack raised his hands in defense. “I promise, it’s nothing illegal.”

  Emily shook her head. “Jack, I don’t know.”

  Jack replied, “You won’t have to deal with me at all. I’ll have someone else send you the information. You decide what you want to do with it. If you think it’s too dangerous, don’t print it. No harm done.”

  Emily asked, “What’s the story?”

  “It’s about President Turner. You’ll figure it out after you listen to the audio.”

  Emily exhaled. “Okay, I’ll listen to it… but no promises.”

  They continued eating in silence. Emily swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs and washed it down with a sip of coffee. She looked across the table at Jack. “Do you think Zoe knows?”

  Jack stared at her in silence.

  Emily continued, “You always said we would tell her when she gets old enough to understand.”

  Jack inhaled and exhaled sharply. “I’d say she probably has a suspicion but I don’t think she’s ready to hear the truth.”

  Emily pursed her lips and nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  That evening, Emily walked up the driveway and saw a plain white envelope sitting on the doormat. She picked up the envelope and took out a black flash drive. She turned toward the street and scanned for anything suspicious. She saw nothing out of the ordinary and calmly slid the flash drive into the front pocket of her jeans before walking inside the house.

  Emily glanced at the clock in the kitchen; she had another twenty minutes until she had to pick up Zoe from soccer practice. She opened her laptop and slid the flash drive into the USB port. There were at least twenty files on the drive, and each appeared to be labeled as a date. She opened a file titled 01052028_OvalOffice.mp4. Emily listened to the recording for ten minutes. She identified the voices of President Turner, Mason Adams, General LeMae, and Vice President Wilkes, along with several other world leaders. The file was heavily edited and contained snippets from multiple conversations that appeared to be held within the Oval Office. There were also several segments of the audio where President Turner appeared to be talking to herself, alone in the Oval Office.

  Emily closed her laptop, walked out to the front porch, and scanned the street again. She left the front door open behind her. She knew Jack had someone watching her and wanted to let them know she was aware of their presence. She stood on the porch and contemplated her next move. The audio files from the Oval Office had the potential to revive her career or get her killed. Maybe both.

  22

  Senator Reynolds stared blankly at the wall and focused on taking slow continuous breaths. He reminded himself that his mother’s words came from a place of concern. At least he wanted to believe they did.

  “Ethan, you really should have talked to your father about the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Your father negotiates with government officials on behalf of the business all the time. You really should talk to him.”

  Senator Reynolds remained neutral. “Well, what I’m doing is a little different, we’re…” He caught himself midsentence. An explanation wasn’t going to help. “You’re right, Mom, I should. I’ll give him a call—”

  Before he could continue, his mother interrupted. “I don’t know what’s going on with those pilots. The newspapers are right, we need to go get them. If the Soviets don’t want to turn them over to us, they need to be taught a lesson.”

  Senator Reynolds cut in before her rant got out of control. “Mom, I don’t think it works like that. I have no doubt we’re doing everything we can to get them back.”

  She backed down. “Well… all I’m saying is that those Soviets can’t just take our pilots hostage. We need to do something.” She paused before changing subjects. “You know, being the chair of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee is an honor. I really hope you’re wearing a jacket and tie to work every day. You’ve never liked getting dressed up but it’s important.”

  Senator Reynolds closed his eyes and took a breath before responding. “Yes, Mom, I’m wearing a suit and tie right now. And I shave every day. Don’t worry. Listen, I have to get going. I just wanted to check in with you.”

  “Okay, I love you, honey. Call your father.”

  “I love you, too. I’ll call Dad.” Senator Reynolds hung up the phone and put his hands over his face to recover.

  The Chechen rebels posted a video of Lt. Colonel Rodriguez and Lt. Colonel Harris on a Soviet social media website. On the video, both pilots had hollow eyes with dark gray circles under their eyelids. Their faces were intentionally spared from open wounds that would reveal the torture they’d endured at the hands of the Chechen rebels.

  The video of the captured pilots was exactly one minute and thirty seconds in length. The pilots took turns reading a scripted message from the Chechen rebels. The video ended with the rebels demanding that the United States withdraw all military troops from foreign countries within ninety days or they would execute the pilots.

  The Chechen rebels were well aware that the United States manned nearly eight hundred military bases in seventy countries across the globe. A complete withdrawal of troops was impossible. They were using the American pilots as a marketing tool for their cause. Capturing and killing two American pilots was better than winning the lottery for a terrorist group looking for new recruits.

  Susan watched the video several times with the NSA analysts as they explained to her the most probable courses of action the Chechen rebels may take. The NSA analysts were convinced that the pilots would be killed prior to the ninety-day troop withdrawal demand. The NSA analyst pointed out that as Lt. Colonel Harris read from the teleprompter, Lt. Colonel Rodriguez blinked in Morse code the word t-o-r-t-u-r-e.

  Susan mentally prepared herself to take any measure necessary to bring the pilot’s home safe. At the end of the NSA’s briefing, there was no actionable intelligence. The highest probability of a breakthrough was from the NSA’s cyber warfare division. Susan endured a thirty-minute briefing to learn that their attempt to hack into the servers hosting the video was stopped by an encrypted SSL firewall. She lost her temper at the lack of progress and stormed out of the Situation Room.

  Susan’s face and demeanor showed the cumulative stress of the decisions she made over the last few months as president. Dark gray circles formed under her eyes and her hands constantly twitched. She could barely hold a cup of coffee still for long enough to take a sip. She wasn’t ab
le to hide from the press, the American people, or her most ferocious critic, herself.

  During her last combat deployment to Iraq, Susan served as the squadron commander responsible for eight Black Hawk helicopter crews. Two of her best friends were killed when their helicopter was shot down over Mosul. The local insurgent group recovered their bodies before the Quick Reaction Force team made it to the crash site.

  The bodies of her two best friends were tied to the back of a pickup truck and dragged through the streets of Mosul. In the city square, their bodies were put on display for the town, then mutilated and burned. Videos of the atrocity were posted on the internet for the world to see. The memories haunted her every night and during the days she caught herself blankly staring at nothing, thinking of their children, wives, parents, and what could have been. Those men were her responsibility and she didn’t bring them home. Part of her didn’t come home either.

  After storming out of the NSA briefing, Susan retreated back to the Oval Office for lunch. She made a habit of eating lunch in the Oval Office; every time she walked down the hallway of the West Wing she was accosted with more questions and decisions. Closing the door of the Oval Office gave her a place where she could relax and think.

  Mason Adams walked in the room. Susan looked up from her lunch, a chef’s salad with chicken. She desperately wanted a slice of pizza, but the paralyzing fear of having to buy a new pair of pants forced the salad.

  Mason pointed toward Susan’s desk. “What is that hideous thing in the corner?”

  Susan smiled. “It’s for you.” Mason shot her a questioning look. “You know… you’re always pestering me about schedules, timelines, meetings.” Susan mocked Mason’s voice and his body language. “Madam President, you’re late… Madam President, why didn’t you read the briefing documents? Soo… I made myself a to-do list on a whiteboard.”

  Mason kept a cold serious look and responded, “Good… I’m glad to see you’re taking some initiative.”

  Mason promptly continued with his original message to Susan. “I have good news. The NSA has a location on the source of the video. They want to meet back in the Situation Room in fifteen minutes; the Joint Chiefs and FBI director will be there as well.”

  Susan caught a glimpse of a smile from Mason before he turned and walked toward the Oval Office door.

  Susan walked into the Situation Room, and felt the mood was much lighter than earlier in the day.

  “General Gillingham, can you bring everyone up to speed?”

  “With assistance from the Israeli Mossad, we were able to get an IP address from the user who uploaded the video. The video was uploaded from an internet cafe in the Soviet Union. We gained access to the computer used to upload the file, and found the original video file which contained the geotags. The coordinates from the geotags on the video led us to the location you see on the monitors.”

  General Gillingham pointed toward the monitors, which showed a series of satellite images of a fortified compound on the outskirts of Churovichi, a small agricultural community twenty-five kilometers across the Ukrainian border in the Soviet Union.

  “Our satellite surveillance has shown no movement at the compound except for the guards posted outside. We believe that Lt. Colonel Harris and Lt. Colonel Rodriguez are being held inside the building. We have a reconnaissance drone on the way.”

  Susan kept her eyes glued to the surveillance monitors. “Is a rescue mission possible?”

  “Yes. I have General Keene from JSOC standing by on the phone. General Keene, can you brief President Turner on the options?”

  “This is General Keene. Madam President, we have a Special Forces team that can be ready within the hour. We can launch the mission under cover of darkness with two helicopters below Soviet radar. The team will recover the two pilots and gather any intelligence possible while inside the building. We estimate the total mission will take less than twenty-five minutes.”

  Susan asked, “What are the risks from your perspective?”

  “Madam President, detection by Soviet radar or air defense systems will be our most significant risk but it is minimal. Just in case we run into a problem, we have spoken with our counterparts in the Ukrainian military. They’re willing to create a diversion to even further minimize that risk. An alternative plan would be for the team to drive civilian vehicles across the border. I don’t like that plan because of the increased time exposure on Soviet soil, but it’s an option. My recommendation is to launch the mission via helicopter and request air space clearance from the Soviet Union.”

  Susan agreed with the risk assessment. “General Keene, let’s move forward with the helicopter recovery plan. Asking the Soviet Union for air space clearance is not a diplomatic option and the risk is minimal. How long until your team is ready?”

  “Understood. Madam President, the team needs about thirty minutes before they’re prepared to launch. The rescue team will be wired up so you can follow the mission in real time from the White House.”

  Susan nodded. “Thank you, General. We’ll talk to you in thirty minutes.”

  The Situation Room hummed with excitement. Susan spoke above the chatter. “Good work, everyone. Let’s take a quick break. Meet back here in fifteen minutes.”

  23

  The Special Forces rescue team wore helmet cameras equipped with night vision. The Situation Room was patched into the live audio and video feeds. On the wall of the Situation Room, each monitor was dedicated to an individual Special Forces team member. The top of each monitor displayed the camera number and the team member’s last name. Every person in the Situation Room leaned forward in their chair with their eyes glued to the monitors.

  During the flight to the target, the video feed was mundane and difficult to follow. There were seven team members all wearing helmet cams. The different angles and perspectives made it difficult to follow the mission unless the viewer focused on one specific monitor.

  Susan locked into the video feed titled, CAM 1 — McGEE. Sergeant First Class McGee was the team lead for the mission. Susan paid close attention to the audio as all necessary team communication and checks occurred. There was a natural lull in the audio communication, which was quickly filled with jokes from the team about the constant hydraulic fluid leaks on the helicopter. The jokes reminded Susan these were just kids. Before age twenty-five, they’d seen more than a normal person does in a lifetime, but they were still kids.

  The helicopter hovered over the landing zone and the gunner’s mate shouted distance to the ground. “Ninety-five feet… eighty feet… sixty feet… five, five five!” The helicopter landed hard, throwing the team out of their seats and onto the deck of the helicopter. The team quickly regained their bearing and exited the helicopter. Less than twenty steps from the helicopter and before they could huddle as a team, a burst of AK-47 fire crackled over their heads. Several people in the Situation Room jumped back in their chairs at the sight of the tracer rounds on the monitors.

  Camera five went black. They could hear, “I’m hit… I’m hit,” followed by a pause in the audio. “It’s not bad… glanced off my gear, I can keep going.” Camera five came back into focus as Sergeant Krugman quickly recovered.

  The team returned fire and moved out of the kill zone. They were engaged with two guards on the outside of the building and another team of two firing at them from an upstairs window of the house. The team bounded swiftly toward their planned entry point of the building, one team member providing covering fire while another moved. They reached the double French doors on the east side of the building, set an explosive charge, and prepared for entry. The blast blew down the French doors and the team entered the first floor of the house.

  Through his earpiece, Sergeant First Class McGee received directions via satellite communications with the forward operating base. “On the thermals we see four bodies gathered on the first floor on the northwest side of the building. Two are moving and two are still. There is another hostile on the second floor
moving toward you.”

  Sergeant McGee used hand signals to relay the information to his team and start them moving toward the objective. Sergeant McGee took the lead down the long hallway toward the pilots and their guards, two other team members stacking single file behind him. Sergeant McGee stopped briefly before the right turn in the hallway. In the Situation Room, only the sounds of breathing and footsteps came through the audio feed. There was no discussion or movement in the Situation Room. Susan’s vision narrowed as she focused on the video from Sergeant McGee’s video feed.

  The pilots were held two rooms down the hallway to Sergeant McGee’s right. He made a quick move into the hallway. The distinct click of an AK-47 safety froze him in mid-step. He focused on the black shape of a rifle barrel moving in his direction as the guard stepped into the hallway. Sergeant McGee and his teammate both fired at the guard, hitting their target. Another guard blindly sprayed the hallway with AK-47 fire. The poorly aimed rounds landed on the wall two feet above the team. Sergeant McGee returned fire as the guard stepped into the hallway. Both guards were down.

  Gasps from the staff broke the silence in the Situation Room, most of whom had never witnessed the brutality and anxiety of a close-quarters firefight. The team moved quickly down the hall toward the wounded guards; both were still alive but badly wounded. A child’s cry grabbed Sergeant McGee’s attention. He moved toward the sound alone while the team searched and zip tied the wounded guards. Sergeant McGee entered the room where the pilots were being held. On the ground was a teenaged boy, short black hair, the right leg of his pajamas soaked in blood. His sister sat on the bed screaming, with her hands covering her eyes.

  Sergeant McGee called for the team medic. Sergeant McGee quickly discovered the source of the bleeding: a gunshot wound had grazed the boy’s right thigh. Sergeant McGee’s hands began to shake. The team medic tapped him on the back and took over the triage.

  Sergeant McGee stood up and left the room to regain his composure and check on the team. The team finished clearing the rest of the first floor and quickly moved up to the second floor. The entire building was secure and clear—no sign of the pilots.