Selected: A Thriller

by J. Allen Wolfrum

  Susan instructed Mason Adams to notify the press corps that she would be personally delivering the daily press briefing. She returned to the Oval Office to prepare her message about the leaked documents.

  The daily press briefing occurred each day at 10:30 a.m. in the James S. Brady Press Briefing room in the West Wing of the White House. The reporters in attendance were the senior Washington correspondents from their respective networks and newspapers. Depending on the mood of the reporters in the audience, it could be a tough crowd when it came to the question-and-answer period of the briefing.

  Susan took the podium at precisely 10:30. Ten seconds later, in the middle of her opening sentence, an explosion knocked Susan from the podium. The room went pitch-black and plaster rained down from the ceilings. An eerie silence followed the blast. Then the screams began.

  34

  Susan Turner looked up through a haze of white dust and saw a group of men in black suits huddled around her body. The muffled ringing in her ears overpowered their voices. The men helped her to her feet, and they ran as a group toward the entrance of the underground tunnel. Her hearing slowly returned, screams of panic in the hallway replacing the ringing. As they ran, she recognized the men surrounding her were Secret Service agents.

  Four agents surrounded Susan as they jogged through the underground tunnel together. Ten yards into the tunnel, she slowed down. In mid-stride, she took off one heel at a time and returned to the group’s pace. There were no words exchanged; they moved together in focused silence. Four hundred yards down the tunnel, the group stopped at two large steel doors. The lead agent opened the doors and light from the helicopter pad above burst into the tunnel.

  Before moving toward the helicopter, the agent standing behind Susan shouted into his headset, “Checkpoint Bravo. Waiting for clearance.” He nodded as the response came through his headset and relayed the message to the group: “Let’s move.” They ran from the tunnel into the daylight and across the tarmac to the open doors of the helicopter.

  The agent sitting across from Susan handed her a communications headset. “Ma’am, are you okay? Any injuries?”

  Susan wiped the sweat and dust from her face. “No, I’m fine. My family?”

  “They’re safe. Your children were brought to a safe location under the Pentagon, and your parents are there with them.”

  She nodded. “Is it over?”

  He pursed his lips before responding, “I don’t know. I only heard snippets of radio chatter while we were on the way to the helipad.”

  Susan leaned back in her seat, cupping her hands over her face and replaying the events in her mind. The group stayed in radio silence for the remainder of the brief flight. The helicopter landed at Andrews Air Force Base and the doors immediately opened. Susan and her security detail rushed across the tarmac and boarded the Boeing 747. Susan walked onto the plane in her bare feet. Jogging on concrete caused the pinky toe on her left foot to bleed. She left a trail of blood down the center aisle of Air Force One.

  Immediately after takeoff, Susan went into the conference room aboard Air Force One. The monitor showed the Joint Chiefs of Staff in a conference room at the Pentagon.

  Susan asked, “General Gillingham, do you have an update on the situation?”

  “Madam President, we’re happy to see that you made it to Air Force One safely. The situation on the ground is still active and remains fluid. Our preliminary reports indicate three attacks at three separate locations: the White House, Atlanta, and Los Angeles. All three attacks happened within one minute of each other.”

  Susan asked, “How many casualties?”

  “As of now we have fourteen confirmed deaths and estimates of wounded are in the hundreds. We don’t expect to have total numbers for another few hours.”

  “Sounds like the attacks were tightly coordinated. Have any groups taken responsibility?”

  The Joint Chiefs of Staff all looked at each other in silence.

  Susan asked again with more angst. “Has any group taken responsibility?”

  General Gillingham cleared his throat. “Frankly, we don’t know. But at 10:35 a.m. Eastern, five minutes after the attacks, the CNN news network was hacked. A thirty second, video was played. It was a picture of the Soviet flag with the Soviet national anthem playing in the background.”

  Susan gasped, “Oh my god.” She regained her composure and redirected the conversation. “What details do we know about the attacks?”

  “The White House attack was a car bomb. A large SUV crashed the White House, drove across the lawn, and detonated an explosive device. The Los Angeles and Atlanta attacks were similar to each other—both were also large SUVs with explosive devices. The bombs were detonated under major freeway overpasses during heavy traffic,” replied General Gillingham.

  “Those are the only attacks? The White House, Los Angeles, and Atlanta?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “I know it’s early, but do we have a response plan?” asked Susan.

  “We’re still working on gathering intelligence. We need more information before putting together a comprehensive response.”

  “Understood. Any new information on the validity of the leaked documents from this morning?”

  “The NSA and CIA are still working on the analysis; the attacks disrupted their work. I don’t expect anything for a few days,” replied General Gillingham.

  Susan nodded her head. “Thank you, General. That’s all I have for now. Let’s talk again this evening when we have more information.” Susan expressed her gratitude for their support and ended the call.

  After checking in with her family who were safely resting in the Pentagon, she walked back to the main cabin and took a seat. She sat alone on the plane with the exception of the Secret Service detail. The silence gave her time to think. Susan believed the attacks and the leaked documents were tied to each other. The Soviet national anthem playing on a hacked news station five minutes after the attacks was out of place. President Rosinski would never dream of taking such direct responsibility for terror attacks on United States soil.

  For Susan, finding the party responsible for the attacks was secondary to controlling the reaction from the public. The American people were already split on their feelings toward the Soviet Union, and the divide was tearing the country apart. The playing of the Soviet national anthem immediately after today’s attacks would surely add to their anger and spark a lust for revenge. Once the war machine began rolling, backed by an American public thirst for revenge, there was no stopping it.

  Susan turned on the television to watch the national news coverage. The blatant antagonism from the news anchors shocked her to the core. Every comment they made was intended to add fuel to the rage of the public. Susan decided her only option was to address the country on live television.

  Susan got in touch with Mason Adams and he coordinated a live video feed from the Air Force One conference room. The live feed was distributed to every major news network in the world. Mason managed the logistics on the ground from his makeshift office in the Hart Senate Office Building in Washington, DC.

  Susan watched the camera in front of her. When she saw the red light turn on, she began her speech to the world.

  “Today is a tragic day in human history. I’m saddened at the loss of life and for the lives that will be forever altered due to the events unfolding today. I understand the anger and vulnerability that you feel. Although we’re angry and seek revenge, we must not allow ourselves to be manipulated by the actions of our attackers. The attacks today were intended to spark fear, violence, and anger. Our attackers want our fear and our anger to be focused inward on our fellow Americans. They want us to give up our freedom in an attempt to prevent further attacks. They want America to destroy itself from the inside. I know your will is being tested, but I also know the strength of the American people. America stands as a beacon for liberty, freedom, and democracy, and we will not be manipulated into giving up those princip
les.”

  Susan continued her speech, giving her condolences to the families of those who’d lost their lives and were injured in the attacks. She reiterated that currently there was no indication that the Soviet Union was in any way responsible for the attacks. Susan ended the speech with a final promise to bring the people or entities involved with the attacks to justice.

  Earl watched Susan’s speech and the subsequent reaction from the media in a secure room deep underneath the Pentagon with a dozen other government officials. Rose helped the boys with their homework in an adjacent room. She hoped to keep the boys focused on school rather than worrying about their mother.

  General LeMae moved through the crowd in the room and stood next to Earl. Earl looked to his left and made eye contact with General LeMae. The two men exchanged a solemn nod; no words were required to convey the concern they both felt. They watched the television in silence as the anti-Soviet rhetoric overwhelmed the media’s coverage of the attacks. The guests on the news programs quickly moved toward insisting on a military response from the United States.

  Earl shook his head and spoke over the news coverage. “I sure hope cooler heads prevail.”

  General LeMae put his hands in his pockets. “They will. Susan knows a war with the Soviet Union would be catastrophic for everyone involved. If anyone can figure out a way to avoid a war, it’s Susan.”

  Earl exhaled deeply. “I hope you’re right. She always seems to pull through, but she’s got one heck of a stubborn streak in her.”

  35

  On the day after the attacks in America, Mr. Anderson flew from JFK International Airport to Moscow. After takeoff, he opened a secure satellite phone and dialed Mr. White. Mr. Anderson did not know his real name and he certainly did not know that Mr. White was Susan Turner’s brother. Brad avoided cameras and used disguises, but during their previous meetings, several high-quality images of him were captured by Mr. Anderson’s security detail. Even with access to the CIA, FBI, and Interpol databases, no information could be found on Mr. White.

  Mr. Anderson dialed the emergency contact number for Mr. White from memory. The second ring was interrupted, and he heard Mr. White breathing on the other end of the line. Both men allowed the silence to continue; it was a test of patience. Mr. Anderson heard the sound of cars in the background but nothing specific enough to determine a location.

  Mr. Anderson relented and broke the silence. “I was wrong to criticize your work. There are more jobs on the horizon.”

  After two seconds of silence the line went dead. Mr. Anderson hung up the secure satellite phone and looked out the window of the Pacific International corporate jet. Mr. White exercised far more caution than he expected. Mr. Anderson hoped to record his voice; even if he used a voice alteration algorithm, there was a chance of reverse engineering the audio. Mr. Anderson cracked a smile. He appreciated the opportunity to work with a true craftsman.

  Brad ended the call and quickly removed the SIM card in the back of the phone. He crushed the SIM card in his palm and threw the phone in the garbage can.

  Earl noticed Brad was no longer walking next to him. He turned around and saw Brad stopped on the sidewalk near a trash can. “Let’s go, Brad. We’re going to be late for the game. I want to be in our seats before they drop the puck.”

  Brad replied, “Sorry, Dad. Work call.” He jogged to catch up with Earl.

  Earl locked eyes with Brad. “Son. You need to talk to your mother. You two need to put the past behind you. There’s no reason for me to have to sneak around just to see you. It just isn’t right.”

  Brad sighed. “I know, Dad. I know. I want to talk to her. But it’s just hard.”

  Earl nodded and changed the conversation. “We’re going to be late for the game.”

  Mr. Anderson opened his briefcase and pulled out the folder titled Boris Rosinski—President, Soviet Union. He reviewed past interactions with Boris Rosinski, searching for gaps in his approach. A mistake at this stage of the plan was not an option. A successful meeting with President Rosinski was crucial to Pacific International’s expansion into the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe.

  Twelve hours later, Mr. Anderson walked into Cafe Pushkin in Moscow with his companion for the evening—Dominika, a tall, curvy brunette in her late twenties. Mr. Anderson and Dominika were escorted to the third floor of the restaurant. He keenly noted that there were no other patrons on the third floor. The layout resembled a Soviet aristocrat’s home more than a restaurant. The decor was dark, mahogany wood moldings, brown leather chairs, and dark red rugs. The decor dominated the dimly lit restaurant. They were guided into what appeared to be a reading room with a square four-person table in the center. Mr. Anderson sat down at the table facing the entrance. Dominika sat to his right.

  Seconds later, President Rosinski’s security detail entered the room. They quickly swept the room and stood guard at the entrance. Mr. Anderson and Dominika stood as he walked into the room. President Rosinski smiled and shook hands with Mr. Anderson. “Good to see you again, Jack.”

  “You as, well Mr. President. I’d like you to meet my friend Dominika.”

  “Dominika, what a beautiful name.” President Rosinski kissed her hand. “Please sit down, let’s enjoy our time together.”

  Dominika was a professional; she followed Mr. Anderson’s instructions to the letter. She lightly flirted with President Rosinski throughout dinner and kept the vodka flowing at a faster pace than President Rosinski was accustomed to handling. Immediately after dessert was served, Dominika excused herself from the table to meet a girlfriend at the bar downstairs. As she walked past, Mr. Anderson noted a glance of desire from President Rosinski.

  Mr. Anderson brought the conversation back to his agenda. “Do you mind if we talk business over dessert?”

  “Of course—I know why you’re here. It isn’t for my charming anecdotes and childhood stories.”

  Mr. Anderson smiled. “I’m glad it isn’t a surprise.” He wiped his mouth and put the napkin on the table. “I think Pacific International can help Gazprom get their pipeline operations in the Ukraine, Latvia, and Belarus off the ground.” Mr. Anderson paused to allow the statement settle with President Rosinski. He knew the information about pipeline construction was thought to be a secret only known by upper management at Gazprom International.

  Mr. Anderson closely watched President Rosinski’s facial expression and proceeded with caution. “As you know, we pride ourselves on discretion. If you’re concerned with the Gazprom pipeline expansion project being public information, we can use our network of subsidiary companies to hide the activity from the public. Pacific International makes discretion a priority. Financial disclosures are obscured to hide operational information from the public.”

  President Rosinski put down his fork. “I see. Gazprom has all the capabilities to accomplish their objectives. There is no need to add additional entities into the project. More people, more problems.”

  Mr. Anderson chuckled. “I like that, ‘more people. more problems.’ I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I’m proposing Pacific International handle your people problems. There is no way around the difficulties Gazprom will have with the… let’s call them indigenous people. Not to mention the logistics of housing and feeding the Gazprom workers. Pacific International can handle the people problems and Gazprom can do what it does best.”

  President Rosinski paused and looked past Mr. Anderson to the far corner of the room before responding, “What can you do to help our problem with the Americans?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the specific problem you’re referencing.”

  “The American people are sure to want revenge for yesterday’s terror attacks. As you know, the Soviet Union had nothing to do with the attacks. But that won’t stop the Americans. Just before this meeting, I had to stop the KGB director from planning a preemptive strike on the Americans. He believes an attack from America is inevitable.”

  Mr. Anderson leaned forward. “I unde
rstand. Pacific International’s primary mission is to secure the financial well-being and safety of our clients. I can make sure the American military leadership and the American public understand that the Soviet Union is a friend, not an enemy. And as you already know, Pacific International controls several major media outlets. We can make sure your message gets to the public.”

  President Rosinski took another bite of cake. “I assume you want a percentage of the pipeline profits for your work?”

  Mr. Anderson smiled on the inside. “Absolutely not, we wouldn’t dream of it. We want a fixed-term contract, strictly to provide security and logistical support for the Gazprom workers.”

  “What does Pacific International gain?”

  “Another happy client and, of course, peace in Eastern Europe. The contracts will be specific to each location. If Gazprom isn’t satisfied with our service at any of the job sites, they can end the relationship. No strings attached and no hard feelings.”

  President Rosinski nodded his head. “Where will your workers come from?”

  “The entire project will be resourced out of our Moscow office. I’m meeting with our director of the Moscow office tomorrow afternoon to finalize the recruitment plan. Of course we will need to use some of our internal security personnel, but all other personnel will be workers from the Soviet Union.”

  President Rosinski nodded his head while tapping his fork on the dessert plate. He stared at Mr. Anderson.

  Mr. Anderson broke the silence. “Think of this arrangement as risk mitigation. Gazprom will be removing the security and logistics risk. Pacific International deals with these types of problems on every project. And most importantly, the entire project will be staffed with Soviet workers.”

  President Rosinski looked up and stared Mr. Anderson in the eye. He held his gaze, looking for a sign of deception. He took a drink of water and contemplated the decision. “You have a partner. Have your Moscow office director meet with the Gazprom CEO next week to finalize.” He picked up his glass of vodka for a toast; Mr. Anderson followed his lead. “To our continued friendship!”