Selected: A Thriller

by J. Allen Wolfrum

  “Mason’s getting medical marijuana for his mother?” asked Susan.

  “Yes.” Agent Sanders paused. “I was able to get access to the medical records for Mason’s mother. She does have a history of epilepsy.” Agent Sanders looked back down at her notes. “Based on my investigation, I found no evidence to support the theory that Mason Adams is leaking classified information from the White House.”

  Susan closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank God Mason isn’t involved.”

  Director Redmond spoke up. “Agent Sanders, did you find anything else that may be helpful in the investigation?”

  “Yes.” She looked back down at her notes and continued. “I investigated Emily Bingham, the reporter who wrote the article. She has never married and has one child. The father of her child is Jack Anderson, CEO of Pacific International. I witnessed Mr. Anderson visiting Ms. Bingham’s residence on two occasions. Pacific International holds several contracts related to the installation and maintenance of security equipment for the White House and Pentagon.”

  Director Redmond followed up, “President Turner, I want to be clear, we have no evidence to support any wrongdoing by Pacific International. But… I suggest we do a sweep of your office for electronic devices. Agent Sanders will perform the sweep.”

  Agent Sanders added, “The equipment fits into a briefcase and it will only take a few minutes.”

  Susan nodded her head. “The Secret Service does their own security checks, but I think it’s a good idea to have you do an independent check. Will you two follow me back to the White House?”

  Agent Sanders looked to Director Redmond for guidance.

  Director Redmond replied, “Agent Sanders can handle it on her own. I attract too much attention when I leave this building. An entourage tends to follow me around. I’d rather keep this as much under the radar as possible.”

  Susan stood up and smiled. “Sounds good to me. Agent Sanders, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  Agent Sanders followed Susan through the doors of the Oval Office. As they walked inside, she felt an aggressive glare from the Secret Service agent standing guard. She set up the portable antenna and synced the handheld device. Susan walked toward her desk.

  Agent Sanders looked up. “Madam President, could you please stand against the far wall. I don’t want you to interfere with the equipment. It will just be a few moments.”

  Susan nodded and moved toward the wall.

  Agent Sanders picked up her handheld device and methodically scanned the room. Susan’s desk was the last area of the room to scan. She slowly moved the handheld scanner over each item on the desk. The Montblanc pen and wooden case Vice President Wilkes gave to Susan was on the far left corner of the desk. Agent Sanders moved the handheld screening device over the case.

  Two minutes later, Agent Sanders announced to Susan, “All clean. I’ll give my report to Director Redmond. Madam President, is there anything else I can do for you while I’m here?”

  “Thank you, Agent Sanders. I think that will be all.” Susan shook hands with Agent Sanders.

  After Agent Sanders left the Oval Office, Susan sat down at her desk and looked up at the ceiling.

  Over the phone, Mr. Jones explained, “It was the only option.”

  Mr. Anderson quickly paced across his office. “We’ve lost an important intelligence asset.”

  Mr. Jones defended his decision. “If I hadn’t had the listening device removed from the Oval Office, the FBI agent would have found it. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  Mr. Anderson stopped and rested his hands on his hips. “Giving the story to Emily was a mistake.”

  Mr. Jones rolled his eyes and thought, No kidding. Did you really think the White House wouldn’t look into the reporter who broke the story?

  Mr. Anderson filled the silence. “We have to assume the FBI or Secret Service knows about my relationship with Emily Bingham.”

  Mr. Jones finished the thought. “And going forward, under no circumstances should you contact her in any way.”

  Mr. Anderson ended the conversation. “Maintain surveillance on Emily Bingham. For now, she’s still an asset. That will be all, Mr. Jones.”

  He sat down at his desk and looked at the picture of his wife, Cheryl, and their son. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  32

  Susan’s brother, Brad, walked through the front entrance of the Metropolitan Club of the City of Washington at precisely 4:45 p.m. He wore the same disguise as he did in previous interactions with Mr. Anderson. Mr. Anderson knew Brad by the name of Mr. White. Brad minimized the risk of detection by giving the persona of Mr. White a new physical appearance and demeanor with each client. He learned the best way to keep his clients from digging too deeply into his background was to give Mr. White the appearance of intelligence, mixed with a healthy dose of naivety. Clients tended to view the character of Mr. White as just another tool to accomplish their goals, rather than a threat.

  The Metropolitan Club served as Mr. Anderson’s preferred location for holding alternative business meetings. The club did not allow computers, cameras, cell phones, or any other electronic devices. The policy provided the ideal environment to conduct the type of business for which documentation was a liability for both parties involved.

  Brad checked in at the registration desk and was discreetly escorted to the Correspondence Lounge. He sat in a dark leather chair at a small mahogany conference room table. Plush dark blue upholstered reading chairs with adjoining end tables and lamps were spaced throughout the room. The tables were just far enough apart for privacy. Large mahogany bookshelves lined the walls of the room from ceiling to floor; a ladder leaned against a bookshelf in the far corner. Brad grabbed the queen from the chess board on the table. He twirled it between his fingers while he waited for Mr. Anderson to arrive.

  Mr. Anderson quickly walked into the room and closed the door behind him. They were alone. He moved with a sense of purpose. His quick and direct movements were often misinterpreted as impatience or annoyance. Under the surface of his brazen appearance, Mr. Anderson was calm, cunning, and strategic.

  He sat down in the chair across from his guest with a stern grimace on his face and locked eyes with Brad. Brad quickly broke the silence. “We found Umirov, the leader of the Chechen resistance group that held the American pilots.”

  Mr. Anderson moved his hands to the top of the table and loosely interlocked his fingers. The expression on his face remained the same.

  Brad allowed five seconds of silence before continuing. “Umirov shared his version of the pilots’ capture and release. We were able to obtain confirmation from Umirov that the Soviet government was aware of the incident from the beginning. Umirov also confirmed the failed rescue mission by the Americans. The pilots weren’t released by the Chechens—they escaped during a firefight that killed Umirov’s team and Umirov believes the KGB was responsible.”

  Mr. Anderson nodded his head. “How many others know Umirov’s location?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, just me. He’s been in hiding since the raid.”

  Mr. Anderson cracked a grim smile. “Good. Keep him alive.… Continue.”

  Brad continued. “I also reached out to our contacts in Washington DC and inside the Pentagon. They were surprised at the accusation of a failed rescue mission in the media, but I wasn’t able to get any helpful information. The military staff has always been loyal to their soldiers. They’re a tough group.”

  Mr. Anderson grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, squeezed with all his strength, sat up straight, and took a deep breath.

  Brad continued his sentence, “The military staff is a tough group to extract information from. Their loyalty means more to them than money.”

  “Do you know any details of the failed rescue mission?” asked Mr. Anderson.

  “Yes, but I don’t have any way to verify what Umirov told me. I know that the ‘training accident’ that killed seven A
merican soldiers near the Ukrainian border was a failed rescue mission to recover the pilots. And two Soviet citizens were killed by United States soldiers during the mission.”

  Mr. Anderson relaxed his hands and put them back on the table. His smile was brief, and his eyes glowed with activity. Brad again broke the brief silence. “We can’t go to the press without evidence. We need something more than the word of a Chechen rebel who also happens to be the same Chechen rebel who held two American pilots captive.”

  Mr. Anderson smiled and chuckled, mostly under his breath. “Evidence? Why do you think we need to find evidence? We’ll make our own evidence.”

  Brad furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  Mr. Anderson responded, “Make the evidence.”

  “Do you want me to plant some U.S. military equipment at the failed rescue site? Or maybe fake a video of a Black Hawk being shot down by a surface-to-air missile?”

  Mr. Anderson shook his head. “You don’t understand. None of that is necessary. You know the story from Umirov, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Soviet government clearly knew of the pilots’ capture, location, and failed rescue mission?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know the details of the American soldiers killed in what our government called a training accident?”

  Brad squinted his eyes further with each question. “Yes, I know all of those things, but we can’t prove them.”

  Mr. Anderson’s frustration showed on his face. “I just told you we don’t need to prove anything. I thought I hired the best. But that’s okay, I’ll spell it out for you. Use the same organization that leaked hundreds of thousands of United States foreign cable correspondences five years ago. Use the same format and style of the previous leaks and create correspondence from the Soviet ambassador to President Turner.”

  Brad interrupted, “Understood.”

  “I’m not finished. The documents need to raise suspicion that every Soviet in America is a spy trying to undermine the American way of life. And they need to believe President Turner should be impeached. Use your imagination.” Mr. Anderson stood up without another word and strode away from the table.

  In the hallway, immediately outside the Correspondence Lounge, he came face-to-face with another guest. Mr. Anderson’s mood changed abruptly. With a wide smile and a pat on the back, he exchanged animated words with the man about the conditions of the grass at Westfields Golf Club. After a chuckle, they parted ways. Mr. Anderson’s face quickly hardened and he glanced back to see if Brad was still in the room.

  33

  Susan sat down on Tommy’s bed after finishing the boys’ bedroom inspections and sending them off to school. She turned her phone off in the mornings when she was with Greg and Tommy. The boys deserved her full attention. Early on in her presidency, Rose had tersely reminded her that the boys were not merely a distraction from work.

  Susan turned on her cell phone and took a deep breath as she watched the spinning circle in the middle of the screen during the reboot. She let herself believe, for just a moment, there wouldn’t be a crisis she needed to solve.

  Her phone buzzed as it processed the incoming data and she saw three text messages from Mason Adams. The first message was all she needed to see. “Leaked foreign cables. Office ASAP.” Susan took a deep breath and a few moments to refocus her energy before walking down to the Oval Office.

  Susan met Mason Adams in the hallway outside the Oval Office. The White House staff moved quickly between rooms with grim looks on their faces. Susan’s pace of breathing quickened as she processed the mood of her staff. She held her questions for Mason until they walked into the Oval Office and closed the door.

  “What’s going on?” asked Susan.

  “I’m not sure what’s happening. I can only tell you what the media thinks is happening, but something seems off to me.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “Leaked documents containing cables from U.S. State Department staff stationed in foreign countries communicating back to the United States.”

  Susan shrugged her shoulders. “Not the first time this has happened. I have no doubt there are some embarrassing statements but we can handle it. Why the grim faces from the staff? Was someone on the staff involved?”

  “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with the White House staff. At least not directly.” Mason paused.

  Susan raised her eyebrows and waved her hand, motioning Mason to continue speaking. Mason struggled to find the right phrase.

  Susan blurted, “Say something. Don’t just look at me. What is it?”

  “Hmmph… there’s over ten gigabytes of documents. We’ve barely scratched the surface, but the media is focused on information sent from the U.S. Embassy in Moscow which indicates the United States has a spy in President Rosinski’s inner circle.”

  Susan shook her head. “I’m not aware of an intelligence asset in the Kremlin and certainly not one that’s close to President Rosinski.”

  “I just confirmed with the CIA director that we do not have any active intelligence assets in the Kremlin.”

  “Is that what’s making you nervous?” asked Susan.

  “That’s part of it, but not the worst part. The documents also reference a Soviet spy program, code-named Glaskov. According to the documents, the Glaskov program is a worldwide initiative by the KGB to infiltrate foreign countries. Teams of KGB undercover agents are living in America posing as American citizens with families and jobs. And it’s not only America—there are at least fifteen other countries named in association with the Glaskov program.”

  Susan’s face hardened. “You’re telling me there are undercover KGB operatives living in America who work normal jobs, have families, and are pretending to be Americans?”

  Mason nodded. “According to these documents. Yes. The CIA director had no knowledge of the program. The NSA and CIA are both working on verifying the documents.”

  “What else?” asked Susan.

  “That’s it so far. The documents have only been in the open for an hour.”

  Susan crossed her arms. “I want to talk to Ambassador Dashkov immediately.”

  “He’s on his way, should be here in five minutes. Anything else?” asked Mason.

  “As soon as possible, I want the NSA and CIA reports on the validity of the documents.” Susan paused. “Is Vice President Wilkes in his office?”

  “I saw him this morning, I can check his schedule.”

  “If he’s available, I want to talk with him.”

  “I’ll see if I can grab him before Ambassador Dashkov gets here.”

  Susan put her hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mason. This is going to be a rough day. I appreciate your help. Keep your head up, we’ll make it through this. Thank you for piecing it all together.”

  Mason blushed. “Thank you. I’ll find Vice President Wilkes.”

  Thirty seconds later, Vice President Wilkes walked into the Oval Office. Susan motioned for him to sit down as she nodded her head and mumbled, “I understand,” into the telephone handset before hanging up.

  “I apologize for the short notice, but I want to get your thoughts on how to handle the media,” said Susan.

  “I’m happy to help. Do we know any more than what’s being reported?”

  “No, the CIA and NSA haven’t had the chance to analyze the documents. At this point I don’t trust the validity of the documents, but I can’t confirm that suspicion. What do you think?”

  Vice President Wilkes took a deep breath and crossed his arms. “This is a tough situation. I’d try to get in front of the story as much as possible. Even if you don’t have much to say, being visible during a time of crisis can help ease people’s fear.”

  Susan nodded her head. “Good point.”

  Vice President Wilkes continued with his advice. “I’m sorry if this comes off as crass, but if you make a statement this early, you have plausible deniability rega
rding the lack of information on the incident. You could use the daily press briefing to deliver the news.”

  “I like that idea.” Before Susan could finish her sentence, Mason Adams walked through the door to the Oval Office followed by Ambassador Dashkov.

  Vice President Wilkes shook Susan’s hand and graciously excused himself from the Oval Office. His mission was complete.

  Before Susan could greet Ambassador Dashkov, he burst into an apology. “Madam President, I have no idea what the media is reporting. Those documents could not be further from the truth.”

  Susan stopped Ambassador Dashkov. “Ambassador Dashkov, please. I’m not accusing you of anything. You don’t need to apologize. Let’s sit down and talk.”

  Ambassador Dashkov tugged at his suit jacket and took a seat across from Susan. “I apologize, Madam President, how can I help?”

  “I can’t prove it yet, but I think the documents are fake, and I want you to hear it from me directly.”

  “I appreciate your candor. What can I do to help? The media is spinning the situation out of control. I’m concerned for the safety of Soviet citizens around the world,” replied Ambassador Dashkov.

  “If you can find a way to prove that the documents are fake, it would be of tremendous value. The NSA and CIA have the same goal. I’ll have reports from both agencies by the end of the day.”

  “The KGB is working on the analysis as well. I’ll share their findings with you as soon as I get a report.”

  “Thank you. I apologize but I need to prepare for the press briefing. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, but thank you for meeting me in person. President Rosinski will appreciate your willingness to engage in a dialog during such a stressful situation.”

  Susan walked with Ambassador Dashkov out of the Oval Office. They shook hands in the hallway, and Ambassador Dashkov quickly walked toward the lobby and returned to the Soviet Embassy.