‘I see, and what sort of advancement do you envisage in the future David?’
‘I would like to complete my studies at the San Brachen School just as soon as I have sufficient funding sir.’
‘I imagine fees would be rather high at such a prestigious school.’
‘They are sir, in spite of my remuneration here, I still find it hard going.’
‘I suppose you could do with an extra job.’
‘That would be nice sir but all my working hours are taken up.’
‘That’s no problem David, I was thinking of incorporating a few more simple jobs here in the offices -- there would be no additional hours involved,’ Bourne produced a genuine smile for the first time.
‘It’s nothing too demanding, I just want you to discretely retrieve a few files and gather information on your rounds of the offices. You may not be aware of it but a man in your position has far more freedom than a vice president...you have certain privileges we power brokers lack,’ Bourne smiled a little more over a doubtful grimace.
‘But sir, you are the most powerful man in the world. I would have thought nothing was beyond your reach,’Jenkins laughed veraciously.
‘My dear boy, that is a preposterous myth, the person in the street has more power than the president. Virtually everything I do is monitored, and the slightest error is blown out of all proportion. If I were to commit the slightest criminal offence it would almost certainly cost me my job. But you could metaphorically get away with murder and non would be the wiser.’
‘I can see that sir, but how does this apply in our present circumstances?’
‘Simple really, you can pass almost unnoticed throughout the offices as a steward -- whereas my presence would immediately invoke attention. It would be like the Queen shopping at the local grocery store for her veggies,' Bourne gazed warily at his superior.
‘I would not be able to do anything dishonest sir.’
‘Of course not, you’ll just be carrying out politically expedient requests by the acting president, that's all...I merely want you to be my ears and eyes in areas I can’t readily access myself without being noticed.’
‘It would have to be consistent with my duties sir.’
‘And so it will be, we’re all here to serve David, you’d just be looking after the interests of the vice president, or rather acting president, for the good of the country -- it’s as simple as that. Just as matter of interest...I presume you are computer literate?’
‘Yes sir, all students at the etiquette school have to be able to use a computer.’
‘Good...do you know what proxy means?
‘Why yes sir, I believe it refers to assisting someone else in their endeavors.’
‘Very good answer David. However, you would be assisting the vice president of the United States in the performance of his duties,’ Bourne repressed a feeling of conceit.
‘For your first assignment David, I want you to surreptitiously access a few of the main computers in the White House offices,’ Bourne’s eyes lit up in alarm.
‘This is no big deal, such information is not classified, particularly as far as the president is concerned. Do this as covertly as possible, so as not upset the general run of the system...I don’t want you to antagonise any of the senior staff you understand.’
‘Yes sir, I will be as discrete as possible.’
‘That’s my boy, now I have a list of files I’d like you to print out,’ Jenkins handed him a scrap of paper listing several file names.
‘Just bring up those files on screen, print them out, and deliver them to my desk each morning. These files are personal and therefore private, they are White House property and therefore subject to presidential scrutiny, they are not to be shown to anyone else under any circumstances ...understood?’
‘Yes sir...’
‘Also, whatever you do, don’t loose that scrap of paper -- memorise the file numbers then destroy it -- and remember, you are directly serving your country via your president.’
‘Right sir.’
‘Now there is some other information I’d like you to backup and protect,’ Jenkins gave him a printed sheet of A4 paper.
‘That is a schedule of the president Garner’s movements during his tour of Australia. I want you to scan that into the state secretary’s computer, he will be needing it, and while you’re there, just insert the phone number at the bottom of the sheet in his telephone address book. Do you think you can manage all that David?’
‘No problem sir,’ Jenkins slipped a plain envelope into his top pocket.
‘That's your first weeks salary tax free...there’ll be one of those each week, just as long as our little arrangement remains viable,’ Bourne smiled enthusiastically, this was almost like taking candy from a baby. Obviously Jenkins was the rookie president and was simply learning the ropes via a trusted aid. He pushed his chin up a little higher in the air as he strode off, knowing that the most powerful men in the land, was now relying on him.
Chapter Seventeen
The White House lawn was an intense green from its computerised watering and fertilising schedule. It stretched right up to the perimeter gates with Pennsylvania Avenue beyond.
Acting president Jenkins always liked to scan this area before starting work. The view was relaxing, and it removed any anxiety, as well as being an unconscious check on the public who were just beyond the fence line. The potential threat of interlopers was a destabilising force which he preferred to avoid. Political machinations often demanded their own special kind of privacy, and the higher you were on the ladder the more insistent it was.
He stood, pushing his chair aside, and made his way to his office door, stopping just short of the threshold. The vista to his left gave an uninterrupted view of secretary of state Steadman’s office and desk. It was untidy as usual, but homely, and was the sort of room Steadman might have had as a child. In many ways the man had never really grown up and the clutter was an open expression of this. The most recent copy of the Times was a regular artifact on his desk and could often be seen open at the page he had been reading before he rushed off somewhere else to spend his time.
Steadman was a portly, gregarious man, with receding hairline, and large hairy hands. His laid back appearance belied his intellectual acumen, and his main claim to fame was his ability to liaise with virtually anyone in the US political sphere, as well as most foreigners. He spoke four languages and was sometimes used as an ad hoc interpreter.
Unfortunately, he had a number of down sides -- untidiness, carelessness and a tendency for short term memory loss, which had often caused him some embarrassing moments -- he was also known to be a secret drinker. Loosing his spectacles and mobile phone were a common activity and he periodically left his mobile phone in his desk drawer; in spite of being berated by president Garner himself for leaving it laying around.
Jenkins had learned over many years to cultivate a persons good points and to tolerate the bad ones -- especially if the bad ones might be of political value. He had also learned that ones personal politics was neither bad nor good, but merely a means of expediting ones own wishes.
Steadmans office was empty and Jenkins walked the short distance to his desk and opened the side drawer. As expected the Times lay open on his desk top at an article on the State Of Iran. The secretary of state’s phone sat on top of some papers in full view to anyone who cared to look in the drawer.
His IN and OUT trays were bulging and as usual the desk was messy, which was in line with Steadman’s habit of leaving things to the very last moment, then rushing things through.
Jenkins slumped into the plush swivel chair, slipped a thin latex glove on his right hand and picked up the mobile, then keyed in the number of insurgent leader Farid Kazeni which he had memorised from the confessional data sheet. He placed a sheet of tissue over the mouthpiece. It was several minutes before a deep male voice answered.
‘Hello,’ Jenkins held the receiver closer to his mouth and
spoke strongly into it.
‘Do not terminate this call...I have vital information...do not interrupt, I will only say this once. Listen very carefully...the US president will leave government house on Tuesday 15th, at 2.30pm precisely and enter circular quay, from there he will go to Darling Harbour, stay for fifteen minutes, then proceed to the Western distributor cross city tunnel, he will stop in the tunnel for a three minute inspection, then exit at the south airport turn off.
He will be in the right rear seat of the second car sitting next to the defence secretary...’ The transmission ceased abruptly and Kazeni looked open mouthed at his satellite phone. Allah had perpetuated another message.
This was incredible, it was all beginning to happen, never in his wildest dreams did he ever think that he would finally be the chosen one, let alone receive a direct communication like this out of the blue. The message was simply and succinct, and contained all the necessary information to enable the BIB to abduct the US president on his visit to Sydney.
Who would imagine that such a message could be so casually relayed, in of all places...a Macdonald’s restaurant.
He glanced around at the people munching away at their fast food meals -- his hands began shaking uncontrollably. He had to get home and seek privacy in his rear garden shed; he had less than a week to mount the most important hit any group had ever made in the history of modern Islam. Even 9/11 would pale at the side of the trial and subsequent execution of the US president by the supreme council in Tehran. It would be total fulfillment for the Supreme Leader and the Islamic council...and he, Farid Kazeni, would be the hero who was about to perpetuate it.
With his initial plan of using new tactics gleaned from videos on the US secret service, and the Russians, with their wonderful Dragunov sniper rifles -- nothing could prevent his ultimate success. The amazing serendipity of the occasion was yet another act of Allah -- no less!
Chapter Eighteen
Kazeni checked his mobile phone data -- to his amazement the call came from America, somewhere in the Washington area. Then he recalled the number of possible active terrorist groups in the USA and beamed -- who else could possible obtain such detailed intel at such short notice?
He thanked Allah yet again for the gift of memory and the ability to remember word for word any call which was repeated. He wrote the message down in order, and sketched a map of the Sydney area, marking each place where the motorcade would stop.
He went slowly through the diagram, vividly imagining the surroundings of the Sydney Business District at each stop, and conjured up the peculiarities of the area.
Sydney was such a dynamic city and by 2.30 p.m. it would normally be seething with tourists and shoppers, but the presidential route would be carefully screened off from the public masses by lines of police and concrete barriers. A procedure which in fact would aid the terrorist rather than foil them. Such arrangements tended to restrict the visiting dignitary to a particular time and place; virtually imprisoning the US president within the city. As a protective mechanism it was very restrictive compared to a free lance militia group who literally had the run of the city.
The police cordons and concrete barriers would show the exact path to be taken by the motorcade. Details of the motorcade timing would enable the BIB to locate the exact position of the presidential limousine at any given time, providing the security service and police stuck to their duty schedule, which was almost a forgone conclusion anyway.
Kazeni scanned the diagram dozens of times estimating the difficulties which might be encountered at each venue of the president’s tour. Non of the motorcade stops lended themselves to an easy adduction, there were too many avenues of possible presidential escape, which would undoubtedly be checked out by the US secret service. He placed his mobile in his inside pocket and buckled himself in the driving seat of his Mercedes coup, than made his way along Circular Quay to Government House.Parking a short distance away, he surveyed the impressive building, it looked like a prize turkey just waiting to be plucked and stuffed, but this was an illusion -- within twenty four hours it would be impossible to get within fifty metres of the place. Police were already tentatively erecting huge metal restraining barriers around the streets. He moved on along the Quay and over to Darling Harbour where more police activity was taking place. The Maritime Museum would be riddled with Secret Service and police officers and would be an absolute potential nightmare for any budding insurrectionist.
After this visit the motorcade would head for the Western Distributor, enter the cross city tunnel, and exit at the airport south transit road.
Kazeni continued through the city tunnel and on towards the airport turn off, then drove all the way to the airport. He sat in the international lounge and sipped a cup of coffee and went through the motorcade run again in his head. There didn’t seem to be any simple way a successful abduction could take place en route. He walked around the International airport section, sitting at various food and coffee shop outlets, looking for ways and means of a quick presidential heist and getaway.
However one looked at it, it would be touch and go, there were too many obstacles, too many unknowns, and too many people. It had to be done away from the airport in a safer contained area, a trap, where uninterrupted negotiations could be carried out if necessary.
He got back in his car and retraced his way, going back and forth several times, looking at fine detail, examining obstacles, and most of all, possible dead ends.
There was only one place a successful abduction could take place, and that was in the middle of cross city tunnel near Hyde park. If both ends were blocked, they would have the US president and security officers bottled up, and at their mercy. No force on earth could change it once the situation was accomplished -- the whole thing would be a fait accompli. It reminded him of his humble studies in antiquity and the great generals of the past. The one that stood out most was Hannibal, who coined the phrase,‘we will find a way, or make one.’
The US secret service based their protection methods on an advanced force of trained officers, who swept the path in front of the presidential motorcade, clearing the way of potential hazards, while keeping a reserve contingent in and around the motorcade, shielding the president. It was high security on the run and America’s answer to mobile protection. In theory this was a good basic security method but had a number of faults.
The plain facts were: even if presidents were closely surrounded by the best agents the US could muster, they would still not be totally protected. Total mobile protection was impossible, and any attempt to achieve this, would at best, only be a compromise.
Like any mobile object with its own built-in armament there would be weak points. The best armoured tanks in the world could still be immobilised by the manual attachment of a suitably powerful magnetic mine.
There were many other examples of powerful edifices being destroyed by taking advantage of their hidden weaknesses. It wasn’t so much the amount of armament protection, but the application of devious disabling techniques which defeated the enemy.
Chapter Nineteen
Police HQ Sydney
Police commissioner Chester signed his last official document, attached it to the requisite folder, and placed it in his OUT tray. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, now he could do some free thinking of his own before his next interview with the media.
He could have done without the US president’s impromptu visit, not to mention all the other state leader’s coincidental arrivals -- the security involved was a bloody nightmare. Not just because of budding terrorist groups either, the US president always carried his own secret service detachment with him wherever he went, and unless things were handled very discreetly, clashes often occurred between the secret service and the security forces of other countries.
The Australian federal government and police commissioner had agreed on a number of past occasions that the Secret Service be allowed to control the immediate ground in front and behind the motorcade, t
hus creating an American security bubble around the president, while the federal police handled the peripheral environs.
The Apex meeting held in Sydney a few years ago was still fresh in his mind. The security was massive and it locked up the city for five days creating one headache after another. Back then the motorcade had twenty vehicles, and a thousand security personnel, but with the current situation being low key, it had been reduced to ten vehicles and less than three hundred security people.
The commissioner's mobile beeped and he pressed the speak button.
‘Hello commissioner here.’
‘Inspector Jarvis speaking sir...the president is leaving Government House in the next three minutes.’
‘Good...we’re on the last leg then... maintain the high level security -- once we get the motorcade to the airport and the president back on Air Force One we can relax a little -- keep up the good work.’
There’s just one other thing sir, one of the US veteran services groups has contacted us, they have bitterly complaining that the airport security is total and there’s no way they can give the president a good send off. The Australian vets would also like to cheer the US commander in chief.’
‘Sorry Jarvis, we can’t do much about airport security around the US contingent, that’s their baby.’
‘One of the vets spokesman suggested the tunnel turn off to the airport might be a good place sir,’ the commissioner blew a stream of hot air through his lips, then stared at a detailed map on his personal monitor, tracing the route with his extended finger. He moved backwards in his swivel chair balancing the pros and cons of the suggestion.
Head of state visitations were always a compromise between Go and No-Go situations and it was this that vexed Chester so much. You couldn’t beat the total lock down method applied without reservation, only this method could guarantee a high degree of safety, but it was ultimately the public and the polliticians who dictated the situation, he was merely a puppet.
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