“To friendship,” replied Mr. Anderson as they touched glasses.
After a few minutes of friendly banter, President Rosinski brought the conversation back to business. “Tell me something. Why do you Americans allow your country to be governed by random peasants? How could you let that happen?”
Mr. Anderson leaned back and smiled. “Boris, do you really think we would allow the country to be governed by the people? The random selection of government officials was our way of stopping the uprising. The people believed they won. And they did win; they will be much happier now we have complete control. Democracy is an outdated concept. The masses are much better off with one strong leader, don’t you agree?”
President Rosinski raised an eyebrow and nodded his head.
President Rosinski and Mr. Anderson finished their dinner with small talk. After President Rosinski excused himself for the evening, Mr. Anderson went downstairs and found Dominika at the bar. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the neck. He whispered into her ear, “Continue as planned, but be careful around his security guards.”
Dominika brushed him aside as if he were another unwelcome suitor clamoring for her attention. Mr. Anderson walked out of the restaurant wondering if Dominika was really as good as her reputation. If not, they were both headed for a slow and painful death.
36
Twenty-four hours after the attacks, Susan walked into the Situation Room. Every seat was taken, and the outer walls of the Situation Room were filled by leaders from various departments within the government. Susan glanced around the room before sitting down at her chair. She spotted Senator Reynolds and General LeMae standing at the back of the room next to each other. Susan took her seat. The rest of the room sat down in their chairs. Susan noted the grave looks of concern in the room.
Susan broke the silence. “I see several new faces in the meeting today. Let’s start by getting everyone up to speed. General Gillingham, please give us an update on the situation?”
“Yes, Madam President.” General Gillingham opened his briefing folder for reference. “As we all know, yesterday at 10:30 a.m. three car bombs exploded, one here at the White House, one on a Los Angeles freeway, and a third explosion on a freeway in Atlanta.” General Gillingham looked around the room. all eyes were glued to him in anticipation.
He continued, “After the explosions, the news channel CNN was hacked and an image of the Soviet flag with the Soviet national anthem playing in the background was shown for thirty seconds. As of fifteen minutes ago, the casualty statistics included twenty-five killed and one hundred and forty-three wounded as a result of the attacks.” General Gillingham paused to take a deep breath. “At each attack scene, multiple witnesses have stated they saw the vehicle carrying explosives on the road prior to the attack without a driver. We have found no evidence to indicate the vehicles were physically driven by a human.”
Susan asked, “Were the vehicles operated remotely?”
“We believe so. Our forensic teams are combing through the rubble at each site trying to find evidence. They’re also in the process of analyzing all communication near the attack sites for evidence. Right now, we don’t have any firm leads.”
Susan asked, “Do we have any information on the CNN hack?”
“Our team found that the entire station’s communication infrastructure was compromised, and has likely been compromised for the past several months.”
Susan took a breath and scanned the room. There were more men in military uniforms in the room than she expected. The presidential daily briefing was generally avoided by uniformed military personnel. Being the junior ranking military member in the room made you an easy scapegoat for any of the generals.
“General Gillingham, do you have other agenda items you want to discuss?”
“Yes, I’d like to go over our response plan. We have carefully considered all options and are recommending an immediate three-pronged response to the Soviet Union’s attacks. First, we will reinforce the Ukrainian military in their fight to remain independent from the Soviet Union by removing the current regime in Crimea and returning Crimea back to the Ukraine. The second prong—”
Susan held up her hand and interrupted General Gillingham. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but aren’t we jumping to conclusions?”
General Gillingham’s face flushed red. “Pardon me, could you repeat the question?”
Susan put both hands on the table, sat up straight, and stared at General Gillingham. “Aren’t we jumping to the conclusion that the Soviet Union is responsible for the attacks?”
“Given the content of the leaked documents of two days ago, the strategic nature of the attacks, and the Soviet national anthem being played on a national news network after the attacks… the Soviet Union is responsible,” replied General Gillingham.
Susan sensed anger and frustration growing from the military staff in the room. This meeting was merely a formality; they had already decided on a response plan. “It certainly is not clear to me. I have yet to see an intelligence report validating the leaked documents. How do we know they’re legitimate?” Susan looked around the room. Visible anger resonated from General Gillingham. The room fell silent. The awkwardness of the situation forced people to fidget and look away from Susan.
General Gillingham spoke up. “We are the United States of America. We will not let the Soviet Union get away with attacking our country. If we don’t respond with force, we will lose the world’s respect. If we let that happen, the world will be in grave danger.”
Susan shot back at General Gillingham, “Have you reached out to the Kremlin?”
General Gillingham shot back, “We do not negotiate with terrorists.”
Susan shook her head in disbelief. “We don’t have a shred of evidence leading us to believe the Soviets were behind the attacks and you want to start a war without even talking to them? Why? Because you think your ego might be damaged? Are you insane?”
General Gillingham shot back, “What good would talking to them do? They will respond with the same denials as they always do.”
Susan clenched a pen in her right hand. “That might be true, but we’ll never know if we don’t ask. The stakes are far too high to take that risk.”
“Madam President, I am not suggesting we start a war. Our response plan is simply to help our friends in the Ukraine,” replied General Gillingham.
Susan jumped out of her chair. “You cannot be that naive. What would we do if the Soviet Union decided to help Mexico retake California? Would we sit on the sidelines and watch?” Susan paused to look around the room. She was met with angry eyes.
FBI Director Arianna Redmond sensed that Susan was about to lose control. She stood up from her chair to interject in the argument and immediately gained the attention of every eyeball in the room. “I’ve sat here and listened to your childish discussions.” She looked directly at General Gillingham. “Your plan is to start a war with another nuclear power? Do you know what that means?… I’ll tell you what it means. At a minimum, millions of Americans will die.… And at worst, we alter the course of human history forever. For what reason? Because your ego might get hurt? It’s time for you to stop acting like a child and be a man. President Turner will find another way.” Arianna Redmond turned toward Susan.
Susan immediately followed up Director Redmond’s comments. “Effective immediately, I’m ordering a halt to all military actions for thirty days. General Gillingham, I want a report sent to my office every morning with the location and activities of all U.S. troops currently stationed abroad.”
Susan confidently closed her briefing folder and looked around the room. “Thank you. This concludes the briefing.” She walked out of the Situation Room. Mason Adams proudly followed her in silence back to the Oval Office.
Back in the Oval Office after the meeting, Susan stared out the window with her shoes off and feet on the coffee table. General LeMae and Senator Reynolds interrupted her moment of contemplation. S
usan stayed on the couch and turned her head toward the door.
“What are you two doing together?” Before they could answer, Susan answered her own question. “You know what, don’t answer that question. I’m too upset to hear the answer.”
Senator Reynolds smiled and tossed Susan a package of Reese’s Cups. “Thought you might need these.”
Susan chuckled out of desperation. “Might as well. If General Gillingham has his way, I won’t make it to bikini season anyway. I’m going to have nightmares about Agent Schneider waking me up in the middle of the night holding the nuclear launch codes and telling me I have five minutes to decide the fate of the world.”
“I don’t think we’re there yet,” replied General LeMae.
Susan sighed. “If the Joint Chiefs have their way, we’ll be there sooner than you think.”
General LeMae shot a quick glance toward Senator Reynolds, who stood to his right. “Senator Reynolds and I were talking after the briefing. I’m sure you noticed some serious anger in the room. The military leadership and the American people have all decided the Soviet Union is to blame. And they want justice. I think you held them off with the halt on activity, but they aren’t going to wait forever.”
Susan squinted her eyes in confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m the president, the commander in chief. I dictate what the military does and, more importantly, what they do not do.”
“Yes, that’s true. But what I’m trying to say is, I think the situation is close to getting out of control.” General LeMae took a breath before breaking the news to Susan. “I get the feeling they’ll try to remove you from office. And I wouldn’t discount their willingness to do it forcefully. I don’t need to remind you of the horrible things done in the name of politics and peace a few years ago. The Joint Chiefs aren’t scared to do it again.”
Susan looked down, nodded her head, and took a deep breath.
General LeMae continued, “I’m not part of their inner circle anymore but I’m still in the Pentagon, and it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to see that there are some very strange meetings happening. Far too many senators and congressmen have been in meetings with the Joint Chiefs. And I’ve seen more security contracting companies walking the halls of the Pentagon in the last week. Something is happening, and they’re intentionally keeping me away from it.”
Senator Reynolds added, “I’ve seen some unusual activity in the Senate as well. It’s not as blatant as General LeMae described, but I get the feeling there are meetings happening that have been intentionally kept off my calendar and my staff is getting the cold shoulder.”
Susan leaned back on the couch. “Got any more Reese’s Cups?”
General LeMae brought the conversation back from the edge of desperation. “On the bright side, you bought yourself some breathing room with the freeze on military activity. Be careful—I guarantee the Joint Chiefs will try to use it against you. They tried steamrolling you into seeing things their way. It didn’t work, and you can count on dirty politics as their next attempt.”
“Well… I didn’t have a choice. I sure as hell wasn’t going to get bullied into starting a war. There’s absolutely no reason we need an immediate response. We all need some time to think.”
Susan took the last bite from her Reese’s Cup and looked down at her watch. “Greg and Tommy are still pretty shaken up from yesterday’s attack and I’ve only seen them for a few hours since I got back. I’m going to take the afternoon off and spend it with them. I think we all need a break. If you hear anything else, let me know.” Susan stood up from the couch and walked General LeMae and Senator Reynolds to the door of the Oval Office.
37
Jack and Cheryl Anderson chatted with the other owners in the paddock at Santa Anita Racetrack as they waited for their horse to be saddled. Jack wore a casual light blue suit, white collared shirt, pink tie, and brown shoes. On the surface, Cheryl made a perfect match for her husband. She was five foot seven, with shoulder-length golden-blond hair, a Southern California tan, and the muscle tone of a yoga instructor. Cheryl wore a bespoke white cady sheath dress with matching heels and derby hat. She was every bit as cunning and shrewd as her husband. After a modeling career that ended in her early thirties, she started a high-end international fashion company, rivaling the popularity of Prada and Louis Vuitton.
Cheryl hooked her arm under Jack’s and squeezed his hand as their horse and jockey walked around the paddock. She waved to the horse and jockey. “Isn’t he magnificent? I have a good feeling about today. I think we’re going to win.”
Jack looked at Cheryl and smiled. “Honey, your optimism knows no bounds. That’s why I love you.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Their horse, Stylish in Black, had won his last two races and was a seven-to-one favorite in today’s race. Jack and Cheryl watched their horse walk out onto the track before heading up to their suite in the Turf Club to watch the race. The Turf Club kept a strict dress code—ties and jackets for men, dresses for the ladies. The club maintained an exclusive entrance for guests that went directly to the Owners’ Circle, allowing members to skip the nuisance of brushing shoulders with the general public.
Jack and Cheryl sat down in their suite as the horses loaded into the starting gate. Cheryl picked up the binoculars on the table to get a better view. She gave her own commentary as the horses entered the starting gate. “Ohhhh good, he’s in the starting gate. That silly number seven horse in the gate next to him is causing problems. Uggh, why can’t they just behave.”
“Aanndd away they go… ,” boomed the PA system in the Turf Club. The crowd came alive as the horses maneuvered for position into the first corner.
The race announcer kept the crowd up to date on the action. “Going into the first corner, Magic Touch leading the way, followed by Loving Handful and Stole My Art.”
Cheryl’s eyes remained buried in the binoculars following the action on the track. Jack glanced at the live video feed and took note of the crowd’s growing anticipation as the horses hit the halfway point of the race.
Cheryl yelled without taking her eyes from the binoculars. “Get up there, number six, let’s goooo Stylish in Black!”
The horses entered into the back stretch and shouts from the crowd rose above the ambient buzz.
“Get up there seven! Come on lucky number seven!”
“Let’s go four! Run number four, run!”
The announcer took over as the horses headed into the back stretch toward the finish line. “And coming down the final stretch, Stylish in Black, picking up steam, he’s two lengths behind the leader, Magic Touch. It’s Magic Touch and Stylish in Black, neck and neck.”
Cheryl overpowered the announcer with her screaming. She was too excited to yell anything but, “Go! Go! Go!”
The horses closed in on the finish line. Magic Touch pulled a half a neck ahead of Stylish in Black with a hundred yards left in the race. The crowd erupted in screams for both horses. Cheryl took the binoculars away from her face and jumped up and down with excitement during the last fifty yards of the race. With twenty-five yards left, Stylish in Black found a last burst of speed and moved past Magic Touch by half a length. The rest of the field followed the leaders by three lengths.
The announcer boomed over the PA system above the fever-pitched crowd. “Aaannndd the winner is, Stylish in Black by half a length, followed by Magic Touch and Forget Me Not.” Shouts of joy and exasperated sighs echoed from the crowd.
Cheryl grabbed Jack by the shoulders and kissed him on the lips. “We won! We won!”
Jack smiled and hugged Cheryl. His outward reaction was noticeably muted compared to Cheryl’s vivacious show of exuberance about the win. Their friends in the club quickly came over to congratulate Jack and Cheryl on the victory.
Jack interrupted the celebration. “Honey, we need to get down to the Winner’s Circle.” Cheryl quickly finished up her conversation with friends and they walked together to the elevator.
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br /> Cheryl and Jack were alone in the elevator. He pressed the ‘L’ button and the elevator smoothly moved toward the ground. She hugged Jack, then reached up and gave him a passionate kiss on the mouth and they locked eyes. “Jack Anderson… I love you. Who would have ever thought we’d make it this far?”
Jack smiled. “I love you too, honey. You’ll always be my beautiful bride.”
Later that afternoon, after dropping off Cheryl at the Chateau Marmont in Hollywood, Mr. Anderson arrived at the Pacific International Los Angeles office.
All day at the races he’d looked forward to the confirmation of two contracts that would enable the Board to achieve their goals for the year. He promised Cheryl he would leave his laptop at the office and turn off his phone during the races at Santa Anita. Not having access to his email wore on his mind all day, but time with Cheryl was more important. She was right. Work could wait.
Mr. Anderson opened his laptop. Thirty-five unread emails. He quickly found the first email from the director in the Moscow office. The email subject read, “Accepted—Proposal 34-765 Security and Human Resources for Gazprom International.” Mr. Anderson smiled as he skimmed through the executive summary section. Pacific International was now responsible for security and human resources for Gazprom’s first pipeline project in the Ukraine. There would be more to come as they moved their operations into Eastern Europe.
He moved back to his inbox and found the second of piece of good news. The email subject line read “Accepted—Proposal 35-985 Office of the Department of Defense—Logistical Support—Indefinite Quantity.” Mr. Anderson let out an audible sigh of relief. General Gillingham followed through on his promise. Pacific International was now the sole provider of logistics and infrastructure support to the United States government. The contract was intentionally written with broad generic language and included: raw materials, architecture, engineering services, construction, and, of course, the long-term maintenance of anything Pacific International provided or constructed for the government. More importantly to Mr. Anderson, the contract made Pacific International the primary contractor for all United States military logistics.
Selected: A Thriller Page 17
