Selected: A Thriller

by J. Allen Wolfrum

  Sergeant McGee picked up the satellite handset to talk with the JSOC command post.

  “Raptor this is Wookie.”

  “This is Raptor. Give us a situation report.”

  “The pilots are not in the building. I repeat, the pilots are not in the building. We encountered six armed hostiles. And two civilians… both children. I have one team member walking wounded, three hostiles seriously wounded, and a wounded civilian that requires medical attention. The wounded civilian is a child.”

  “Roger that,” replied the JSOC command post.

  Sergeant McGee pressed for guidance. “Do we have the authority to take the civilian back with us for medical treatment? We have two minutes and thirty seconds until we need to be out of the building for extract.”

  Susan heard the request to help the wounded child in the Situation Room. She jumped out of her chair toward the handsets in front of General Gillingham’s chair. “Which one of these talks to the team?”

  General Gillingham handed Susan a blue handset marked Sat Comm.

  “Sergeant McGee, this is President Turner.”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “How serious is the child’s injury? Can we stabilize him?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s probably got an hour, maybe two at the most, to get to a hospital.”

  Susan stared at the mahogany tabletop and closed her eyes.

  Sergeant McGee waited for a response. “Madam President?”

  Susan responded, “Sergeant McGee, stabilize the civilian the best you can and leave him for the Soviet emergency response team.”

  “Roger that, Madam President… Wookie out.”

  Sergeant McGee relayed the information to the team. The medic was able to stop the bleeding and stabilize the boy’s wound. The team gathered near their exit point of the building to prepare for extraction. The two Black Hawks stayed spinning on the ground inside the compound. The team planned to leave with the two pilots; even without the pilots they stuck with their plan and split into separate helicopters for the extract. The team medic worked on Sergeant Krugman’s flesh wound on the ride back.

  In the Situation Room, Susan’s shortness of breath caused her heart to race. The room broke into sidebar discussions about why they were misled about the location of the pilots. The monitors continued to display a video feed of the helicopter ride back to the JSOC base.

  Susan ignored the side conversations in the room and focused on the monitors that were still showing the team’s helmet cams. Two minutes into the flight back to base, the video on three of the screens simultaneously shook wildly and went dark. The remaining helmet cams moved quickly from side to side as the Special Forces Operators wearing them watched surface-to-air missiles and tracer rounds light up the sky. After thirty seconds of chaos, the sky fell back to dark.

  During the team’s extraction flight back across the Ukrainian border, they triggered a battery of the Soviet air defense system. Susan immediately picked up the handset for the JSOC command post. No answer. The Situation Room erupted in gasps of horror. Susan saw the JSOC command post handset light up. She grabbed the handset. “What just happened?”

  “Madam President, we lost a Black Hawk helicopter in Soviet territory. Based on Sergeant McGee’s initial report, there will be no survivors. The Black Hawk took a direct hit to the fuel tank from a surface-to-air missile. Including the pilot and crew, there were seven soldiers on board. I’m sorry, Madam President.”

  Susan hung up the handset. She stared at the conference room table before relaying the news. “One of the Black Hawks was shot down by a surface-to-air missile. It was a direct hit to the fuel tank. We lost seven soldiers.” Susan paused for a breath. “General Gillingham, please bring me a full debrief of the mission and intelligence tomorrow morning. That is all.”

  Susan abruptly stood up and walked out of the Situation Room into the hallway. She found the first bathroom, opened the door, and threw up in the sink. Susan collapsed to the floor in the bathroom and curled against the wall.

  The rest of the staff in the Situation Room remained seated in a shocked silence.

  General Gillingham slammed his fist on the table. “Not asking for air space clearance was an unacceptable risk. That is a direct failure of the president.”

  Arianna Redmond sharply interjected, “That’s bullshit and you know it! We all sat here and listened to the options before launching the mission. I didn’t hear you speak up. Everyone in this room is responsible for what happened. We made the best decision possible with the information on hand.” Arianna Redmond paused to catch her breath while staring at General Gillingham. “And if you can’t see that… you’re a coward and don’t deserve those stars on your collar.” Before General Gillingham could respond, she abruptly stood up and left the room. The traumatized staff slowly followed her lead and left the room.

  24

  Susan’s brother, Brad, walked off the beach with his surfboard under his right arm. The water dripping from his long brown hair glistened in the warm Southern California sunshine. He strapped the board to the roof rack of his vintage VW Bug and turned on the local NPR radio station.

  “The U.S. Army has confirmed that seven soldiers were killed in a training accident near the Ukraine border with the Soviet Union. The army refused to give any further details on the incident at this time.”

  Brad turned off the radio; he didn’t need to hear any more details. He instinctively knew the captured pilots and the training accident were linked to each other. In their previous conversations, Mr. Anderson hinted at this type of scenario. There was no doubt his services would be requested soon.

  Susan met with General LeMae two days after the press statement about the training accident. She’d barely slept since the failed rescue mission. General LeMae walked into the Oval Office in his usual dark blue Brooks Brothers suit, white shirt, and red tie. Susan didn’t get up to greet him. Her head stayed buried in intelligence briefing documents. General LeMae sat down in the chair across from Susan and waited for her to acknowledge his presence. After ten seconds, he cleared his throat announced himself. “I see you’re busy but we need to talk.”

  Susan looked up from the intelligence documents. There was no hiding the signs of sleep deprivation—hollow eyes, a slight tremble in her hands, and a general look of irritability. General LeMae put his agenda aside. “Susan… are you okay?”

  “Am I okay? Of course I’m okay. I told Mason I was busy and not to be interrupted. I don’t have time for a lecture.”

  General LeMae didn’t react. “I’m here to help.”

  Susan dropped her pen. “You’re here to help? Great… how exactly are you going to help?”

  General LeMae pursed his lips and sighed. “Susan, I know it’s hard.”

  Susan cocked her head and folded her arms across her chest. “Ohhh really?”

  General LeMae nodded his head. He realized there was no sense in trying to talk to Susan in this state. He stood up and walked toward the door of the Oval Office. Before he made it to the door, Susan burst into tears and began shaking.

  General LeMae turned and half-jogged back toward the Oval Office desk. He grabbed Susan by the shoulders, stood her up, and gave her a hug. General LeMae held Susan in silence while she cried. There were no words to console her grief; being present was the best he could do.

  Susan regained control of her breathing, took a step back from General LeMae, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Curtis, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I yelled at you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m going to get you a cup of green tea.” General LeMae handed Susan his handkerchief to wipe the remaining tears and makeup from her eyes.

  General LeMae came back into the Oval Office with two cups of green tea and sat them down on the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Come over here and sit down. Get away from that desk for a minute.”

  Susan walked over to the couch and sat down.

  General LeMae started the conversa
tion again. “How are you doing?”

  Susan took a sip of tea and held the cup in her hand. “Obviously not great. I just got seven soldiers killed on a failed rescue mission… and we still don’t have any idea where the captured pilots are being held… or if they’re still alive.”

  General LeMae leaned forward. “What I asked was, How are you doing?”

  Susan slumped in her chair. “I can’t even answer that question because there is no me. My entire identity and my entire life is consumed by this job.”

  “I’ve seen a couple presidents come and go. It’s a tough job. I couldn’t do it. But you can’t keep going like this, it’s going to ruin your life. And it’s going to ruin your relationship with your boys.”

  Susan exhaled deeply. “I know but I can’t just quit. For the rest of eternity, in their history books, kids will be reading about the president who couldn’t hack it. Even worse, Greg and Tommy will have to live the rest of their lives answering questions about me.”

  General LeMae stopped Susan’s negative spiral. “I didn’t say you had to quit. But you do need to find a way to make the job sustainable. Because right now, you’re not in a place where you can even make a rational decision.” General LeMae paused to let his words sink in. “This isn’t your first rodeo. Remember when you first took over as squadron commander in Mosul and thought you could sleep three hours a night? How long did that last?”

  Susan rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t believe I was that stupid.”

  “Exactly… and this is no different. You can’t work without sleeping for days at a time. The stakes are higher and the decisions are more difficult but this is not any different than what you’ve done in the past.”

  Susan sighed. “I know, I know. I need to get my life together.”

  General LeMae saw that his message had gotten through to Susan. “All right, I’m done with the pep talk. Are you up to talking about work?”

  Susan perked up. “Yeah sure, what is it?”

  “Our intelligence assets on the ground alerted us to the Soviet military calling up reserve troops about a month ago. Ever since then, we have been closely monitoring their movement. It seems like a slow systematic move westward to the borders. They’re preparing for something.”

  Susan nodded. “I think I remember something about Soviet reserve troops being activated in my daily briefings. It was just another bullet point, no other information.”

  “Yes, but what you haven’t heard is that we’ve observed an oddity in the type of troops being moved toward the borders. They aren’t the typical war fighting units—infantry, tanks, artillery. They’re moving engineering and construction units toward the borders.”

  Susan furrowed her brow. “Seems like a good thing?”

  “I wouldn’t call it good. The Ukrainian rebels are working to get the Southern Ukraine state of Crimea legally annexed to the Soviets and the NSA believes they’re close to making it happen.”

  Susan shot General LeMae a look of confusion. “Let me make sure I understand what you just said. The Ukrainian people are going to vote to give Crimea to the Soviets? And all the Soviets have to do is say thank you?”

  General LeMae raised his eyebrows. “Exactly. And if history repeats itself, when the Soviets take over Crimea, they’re going to kill every Ukrainian in the region who fought against the rebels.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “It’s just a hunch but I think it all fits together. The Soviets get the Ukrainian people to hand over their land, and of course, that includes oil and natural gas reserves. Then the Soviets move in, construct oil and gas pipelines for exportation, and in the process eliminate anyone who gets in the way. Then reap the financial benefits for generations to come.”

  Susan sat up straight on the couch. “Do the Joint Chiefs of Staff know about this?”

  “Yes, but they’ve dismissed it as unsubstantiated speculation. Which is why you haven’t heard about it in your briefings.”

  “Hmmpph. What can we do?”

  “Well, I think having a conversation with the Russian ambassador is a good place to start. I’m sure he’d also like to give you an update on their search for our pilots.”

  Susan nodded in agreement. “We didn’t end our last meeting on a positive note. But I still think I can get him to help us in exchange for loosening up on the sanctions. I’ll have Senator Reynolds set it up.” Susan stood up from the couch. “Thank you, Curtis. I’m glad you stopped by. I let myself get too wrapped up in this.”

  “Anytime, Susan.”

  Susan gave General LeMae a hug and walked with him to the door of the Oval Office. Before leaving, General LeMae turned toward Susan. “Tell Earl to hit up the bank before our next checkers game. I play for keeps. Cash only.” Susan shook her head and laughed as General LeMae walked away.

  25

  Susan picked up her cup of coffee and glanced at the newspaper on the dining-room table. A picture of her sitting in the Oval Office on the front page grabbed her attention. The headline read PRESIDENT TURNER, A DIFFERENT PERSON BEHIND CLOSED DOORS. Susan’s heart raced.

  She grabbed the paper and carefully read the article. Her hand trembled. She folded the paper and laid it back on the table with the article facedown. If the article had made false claims, she could have easily brushed it off, but every piece of the article was true. She couldn’t understand how that type of information made it to the press. Nothing in the article was public information; everything in the article happened behind closed doors. The article listed the source of information as an anonymous insider within the White House administration.

  Susan’s mind raced through the list of people that would have been present for all the events in the article. The article covered meetings with multiple people, spanning the White House, Pentagon, and NSA headquarters. The most disturbing pieces were the accounts of Susan’s activities behind closed doors in the Oval Office. Susan narrowed down her list to one person: her chief of staff, Mason Adams.

  Before having breakfast, Susan walked directly to Mason’s office. The door was open. Mason sat at his desk eating yogurt and reading the newspaper. Susan knocked on the opened door and stepped into his office. “Good morning, Mason. I apologize for interrupting. Could you let FBI Director Redmond know that I will be visiting her at FBI headquarters this morning. Please arrange transportation with the Secret Service.”

  Mason looked up at Susan and narrowed his eyes.

  Before he could speak, Susan added, “I know the protocol is to secure my schedule at least one day in advance. This is important.”

  Mason nodded. “Okay. I’ll make it happen. Do you have an agenda that I can share with Director Redmond?”

  Susan shook her head. “Nope. Just tell her I need thirty minutes of her time this morning.”

  Mason wrote down the instructions on a legal pad of paper. He looked up at Susan. “Who will be attending the meeting? I need to give the FBI headquarters notification of any visitors.”

  Susan replied, “Just me. I’ll be traveling alone. I don’t want to interrupt anyone else’s schedule on such short notice.”

  Mason raised an eyebrow. “Okay. I’ll, uhh… I’ll make the arrangements. The Secret Service escort will be ready as soon as possible. Anything else I can do?”

  “No, that’s it. Thank you, Mason.” Susan walked out of the office.

  Mason looked down at the headline: PRESIDENT TURNER, A DIFFERENT PERSON BEHIND CLOSED DOORS. He rubbed his hand over his forehead and closed his eyes.

  Arianna Redmond sat at her desk and watched President Turner walk down the hallway toward her office. Halfway down the hallway, President Turner stopped and quickly spoke to the Secret Service agents. President Turner continued walking; the Secret Service agents did not follow her. Arianna Redmond furrowed her brow. She opened the door to her office and greeted President Turner before she had the chance to knock.

  Arianna Redmond smiled and shook her hand. “Madam President, thank you for stoppin
g by this morning.”

  President Turner nodded. “Thank you, Director Redmond.”

  They walked into the office. Arianna Redmond sat behind her desk and President Turner in the chair on the other side of the desk. Arianna Redmond pressed a gray button on the right side of her desk and the blinds closed.

  Susan quickly filled the silence. “I assume you saw the paper this morning?”

  Arianna Redmond showed no emotion and kept her eyes on Susan. “I did.”

  Susan folded her hands in her lap. “I need your help… and your discretion.”

  Arianna Redmond narrowed her eyes.

  Susan continued, “I believe the source mentioned in the article is my chief of staff, Mason Adams.”

  Arianna Redmond remained silent and slightly nodded her head while she contemplated the situation. A politician trying to save their reputation is more dangerous than a wounded bear.

  Susan realized Arianna was not yet on her side, so she relaxed her posture. “I’m not convinced he’s the source. I don’t want to believe that he’s responsible, but he’s the only person who was present for all of the events described in the article. He knows about my disagreements with General Gillingham and Ambassador Dashkov storming out of the Oval Office.” Susan paused and sighed. “And he’s the only person who would know that I have a bottle of whiskey in the Oval Office.”

  Arianna Redmond took a moment to read the situation before responding. She looked Susan in the eye. “I couldn’t care less about a newspaper article that tarnishes your reputation. What I am concerned about is the possibility of national security secrets being leaked from the same source. Whoever leaked this information to the press clearly has access to other confidential information.”

  Susan remained calm and listened.

  Arianna continued, “I want to find the source of the leak to the press and we need to keep the investigation off the radar. I’m concerned that if the investigation happens in the open, we’ll scare off the source.”