“What happens if I say no?” said Brad stoically.
Pearson started to stammer a reply, when Brad laughed heartily.
“I’m just kidding,” interjected Brad. “Of course, we will welcome you and your team to Fort Devens. We’re all in this together.”
The two men hesitantly joined in the laughter.
“We were told you were a kidder,” said Nemechek. You were?
“There is one more thing,” said Pearson. “As DHS and various bases around the country become more enmeshed regarding security matters, we envision greater coordination between reserve units such as yours and typical FPS responsibilities.”
“I have to admit I’m still a little in the dark about your division’s responsibilities,” said Brad.
“We’re primarily tasked to coordinate a uniformed response to catastrophic events, providing critical security services and logistical support at high-profile public events, and coordinating a timely emergency response following any unforeseen national crisis.”
“Isn’t that typically the function of local law enforcement or FEMA?” asked Brad.
“In some cases, a coordinated response at all levels of government might be required,” said Pearson. “In those events, we will ensure that Fort Devens will be prepared to answer the call of duty.” I’ve had enough of these jackasses.
“Of course,” said Brad, as he stood up to signal the meeting was over. “Well, gentlemen, speaking for New England and Niagara’s Own, we’ll be ready when that call comes.” What that call entails will dictate what we will do.
Pearson and Nemechek shook his hand and exchanged goodbyes, forcing smiles as they left. When they closed the door to his office, Brad shook his head. Nothing good could come of FPS. He unconsciously reached out to touch the American flag, which flanked the credenza behind his desk, along with the Standard—the flag of the United States Marine Corps. Brad would never forget the oath he took when he accepted his commission.
I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
He’d long ago recognized that a time might come when his oath would conflict with the orders he received from his superiors. Brad and a loyal group of Marines had created a new oath, which didn’t conflict with his duties as an American.
I will not obey orders to disarm Americans.
I will not obey orders to conduct warrantless searches.
I will not obey orders to detain Americans wrongfully labeled as enemy combatants.
I will not obey orders to invade a state that asserts its sovereignty.
I will not obey orders to force law-abiding American citizens into detention camps.
I will not obey orders to assist foreign troops on United States soil to assert control over our citizens.
I will not obey orders to confiscate the property of our citizens, including their food and belongings.
I will not obey orders to impose martial law.
I will not obey orders to infringe upon the freedoms afforded all Americans in the Bill of Rights.
Brad was an Oathkeeper.
Chapter 51
April 11, 2016
The White House Situation Room
Washington, D.C.
Katie thumbed through the Morning Book as she waited for the White House Chief of Staff and National Security Advisor to join the rest of the briefing team in the Situation Room. Today marked Katie’s first day in her new role on the President’s Intelligence Advisory Board.
The Morning Book was prepared through the cooperative effort of several intelligence agencies, which provided representatives to the Situation Room’s Watch Team. The Watch Team prepared the Morning Book by compiling the State Department’s National Morning Summary, the National Intelligence Daily report and various diplomatic cables. Prepared in the dark hours of the morning, the book accompanied the driver to pick up the National Security Advisor every morning, and was provided to the President, the Vice President and various senior members of the White House staff for their earliest perusal. The fact that she was likely reading it before the President didn’t escape her. Neither did the task that lay immediately ahead. An uphill battle for sure.
She had been warned that she may be asked to explain her findings related to the Nevada Energy cyberattack—which squarely sat at odds with the administration’s politically slanted assessment. Her first foray into the highest levels of government was likely to be a rocky one. The National Security Advisor could be rude and overly blunt when provoked. Katie’s suspicions were confirmed when Susan Giles, the National Security Advisor, shot her a poisonous glare upon entering the room with David McDill, the White House Chief of Staff.
“Let’s talk about the President’s schedule first,” said McDill. “At 9:30 a.m., the President and First Lady will depart the White House for Joint Base Andrews. From Andrews they will travel to Newark, where they will be greeted by the governor of New Jersey. After a noon luncheon, the President will participate in a roundtable discussion with the governor and members of the labor community. This roundtable will wind up at approximately 3:00 p.m., when the President and the First Lady will depart for Orlando, Florida. They will appear at a campaign event for Hillary Clinton at 7:00 p.m. There are no scheduled events for tomorrow. After a round of golf with Tiger Woods in the morning, the President will return to the White House. Questions?”
McDill looked over his black-framed reading glasses to see if there were any takers. With none evident, he propped the glasses on his premature gray head and nodded at Susan Giles.
“Who is this?” said Giles, pointing to Katie. Not the start she had expected, but she’d roll with it.
“My name is Katie O’Shea, ma’am. I am part of the executive staff. This is my first morning briefing.”
“Miss O’Shea, have you been informed of my rules for the conduct of the President’s business during these briefings?” asked Giles.
“Yes, ma’am. Nothing leaves these four walls. Not ever,” said Katie. The President’s business? Don’t you mean the business of the nation’s security?
“Good,” said Giles. “Let’s get started.”
Giles touched on the high points of the Morning Book, rarely engaging in more than a few minutes on any given topic. McDill was mostly silent, taking notes from time to time. Just as Katie thought the meeting was coming to a close, and that she might escape the National Security Advisor’s wrath, Giles thumbed back through the book—opening and flattening it on the table.
“Finally, let’s address the matter of the Nevada Energy blackout,” said Giles. “Who is responsible for this report?”
“I am, ma’am,” said Katie, scrambling to organize her meticulously prepared notes on the subject.
With her head turned down toward the Morning Book, Giles looked over her glasses at Katie, staring at her for several excruciating seconds. She’s sizing me up. Katie didn’t break eye contact.
“I have read your summation and glanced briefly at your analysis,” said Giles. “You have characterized the Las Vegas attack as terrorism. Further, you have tied this terrorism to a group of cyber hackers working on behalf of one of the oldest and most well-respected unions in America. How long have you been in this position?”
“Two weeks today, ma’am,” said Katie. “I have been working on this investigation since it occurred.”
“These are your conclusions?” asked Giles.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Does anyone else have an opinion on O’Shea’s analysis?” asked Giles.
The room remained silent, everyone finding important documents or pencils to examine. Katie watched Giles survey the room before continuing.
“Miss O’Shea, the conclusions you have reached are at odds with the initial reports and statements released by Nevada Energy,” said Giles. “A cyberattack is quite a leap from the conclusions reached by the engineers at Nevada Energy, who determined their power generation system was infiltrated by anim
als.”
Katie remained silent, letting her continue.
“You have defined this incident as terrorism,” said Giles. “That’s not a word we use around here unless absolutely necessary. It certainly is not a word the President would feel comfortable using in association with the Culinary Workers Union. I think you may have mischaracterized the nature of the event.”
“Ma’am, I have conducted a detailed analysis of the events surrounding the blackout,” said Katie. “I feel my job is to provide a detailed, accurate analysis of a threat for your consideration, ma’am. My analysis of the facts accurately leads to the conclusion that the CU 226 acted in concert with a mercenary hacker group called the Zero Day Gamers. Whether the Zero Day Gamers acted as political activists, in the vein of Anonymous, or for hire as a form of cyber mercenary is still unknown,” she said, pausing to catch her breath.
“The facts in my report are clear. Surveillance footage from the major casinos revealed numerous union personnel, some with ties to the Teamsters in Chicago, enter the building just prior to the blackout. At Caesars Palace, cell phone footage obtained from the Las Vegas Review Journal followed one of these men as he planted exploding smoke devices throughout the casino. The man has been identified as Johnny Bagwell of Chicago, a longtime enforcer of the Teamsters Union.
“Not to mention the fact that Culinary Union management representatives appeared simultaneously on the floors of more than a dozen major casinos, advising their personnel to leave the premises. Surveillance footage shows that the work interruptions occurred between 8:05 and 8:10 p.m. at every location. I was unable to find a single example of union workers initiating a work stoppage during past power failures,” added Katie.
Giles finally spoke. “Even if these allegations prove to be true,” said Giles. “How is this terrorism?”
“CU 226 has been in heated contract negotiations with the major casinos in Nevada,” said Katie. “The negotiations are going poorly for the union. Governor Sandoval is running for the vacant senate seat this fall and he’s actively siding with the casinos in those negotiations.”
“So?” said Giles. She’s trying to throw me off.
“There is both a political component and a social component,” said Katie, noticing that she had near complete command of the room—on day one.
“The accepted definition of terrorism includes the use of force against persons or property with the intent to coerce another in furtherance of political or social objectives. The political and social objectives component of the definition has been used repeatedly in defining militia and so-called sovereign citizens in this country as threats to the internal security of the United States—as terrorists. I’m sure you are familiar with the report by DHS entitled National Threat Assessment for Domestic Extremism.”
“I’m familiar with the report,” snapped Giles. “And I don’t disagree with its premise. What direct, substantiated evidence do you have this hacker group was hired by any of the unions?”
“The investigation is ongoing,” said Katie.
Giles immediately exploited the only weakness in Katie’s analysis.
“Until you do, this report stays out of the morning briefing, is that clear?” stated Giles.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Katie.
She felt defeated. The Las Vegas incident was an important topic for this briefing, because it revealed the vulnerability of the nation’s power grid to cyberattack—political factors aside. Katie gathered her notes and filtered out of the room with the other members of the briefing staff. A member of the secret service approached her just outside of the conference room, pulling her aside.
“NSA Giles has requested to speak with you. Please come with me,” said the agent.
Day one—and done.
Katie walked next to the agent and turned into a small conference room, where Giles stood with her assistant. The agent backed out of the space and closed the door.
“I know how you were appointed to this position,” said Giles. “I have known John Morgan since my days in the Clinton administration.”
The National Security Advisor let the words sink in before continuing.
“There is nothing wrong with your analysis—but the report could seriously damage the people who support the President.”
“I understand that, ma’am, but—” Katie started.
Giles held up her hand to stop her.
“Katie, you can have a very bright future within this administration and others in the future,” said Giles. “But you must be cognizant of the political ramifications of your conclusions. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I thought the contents of my report, as contained in the Morning Book and discussed within the morning briefings, would stay within the confines of the Situation Room.”
“Are you kidding me?” said Giles, producing a business card from her suit jacket pocket. “More than half the people in that room dislike the President, and they loathe me even more, including McDill. Carol Stannard is my assistant, and this is her card. Contacting her is like contacting me. As this particular investigation progresses, you keep me abreast directly—via Carol.”
Stannard, the tall, pixie-cut brown-haired woman standing behind Giles, nodded at her with a severe smile.
“Katie, do you understand what the term plausible deniability means?” said Giles.
“What you don’t know can’t hurt you—or be tied to you,” said Katie O’Shea, Irishwoman.
Giles and her assistant began laughing.
“You are going to do very well in Washington, Katie O’Shea,” said Giles, lightly patting her on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team.”
Chapter 52
April 18, 2016
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
Sarge and Julia huddled around the coffee bar, fixing a pair of mocha lattes. Patriots’ Day gave both of them a rare day off from their careers, and an opportunity to focus on their “other life.” A life shared by a close circle of friends. He suspected they would be called into action soon. The signs were obvious. America was on the edge of a dangerous cliff. Like all of the great civilizations before her, the United States was at risk of a sudden, rapid collapse.
“Bringing everyone together was long overdue,” said Julia. “Besides, the Great Hall feels more like a home today.”
“Julia, Julia,” shouted Penny Quinn, running up to her and giving her a hug. “You have on pink jammers with puppies all over!”
After the attack inside the Boston Common, he vowed to gather the group as he’d discussed with Donald Quinn. While it represented an opportunity for everyone to review the state of world affairs and give an update on their preparations, it was first and foremost a social occasion. The group did not come together often enough, which seemed at odds with their common purpose. They were closely linked by powerful forces, entrusted with a greater purpose.
Sarge turned his attention to the elevator doors, which had opened to discharge Donald and Susan Quinn and their daughters. They carried brown-paper-covered packages concealing artwork.
“What are we looking at here?” said Sarge, taking two of the parcels.
“We felt the need to upgrade your décor, Sarge,” said Susan. “This room is in dire need of some artwork.” Great, the obligatory fox and hunt images.
“When everyone arrives, you can open your gift,” said Donald.
“What time do you expect Steven?” asked Donald.
Before Sarge could answer, Steven and Katie appeared, appropriately dressed for once. Having Donald and Susan’s children present put them all on their best behavior.
“Right here DQ—reporting for duty,” said Steven. “After coffee, of course.”
Steven made his way to the Keurig machine, glancing at the brown packages. “What are those?”
“We got Sarge a gift for the loft,” said Donald. “We’ll give it to him when the others get here. How’s the Miss Behavin’?”
“I took her o
ut two weeks ago,” said Steven. “Did Sarge tell you what I saw?”
“Only the highlights,” said Donald. “Have you guys seen any news reports or other confirmations of the Russians’ activity?”
“This sort of thing doesn’t find its way across the AP wires,” said Julia. “My contact at the Washington Free Beacon emailed me his piece on what he was able to learn from his contacts at the Pentagon. According to his sources, two intelligence-gathering vessels have entered the area. One, the Viktor Leonov, continued to Havana and has been detected in the Gulf of Mexico. The other ship, the Nikolay Chiker, has been seen on numerous occasions off the coast of Georgia and the Carolinas.”
“Bill’s sources are correct,” said Katie. “The Leonov—one of eight Vishnya-class intelligence ships—is outfitted with a lot of high-tech electronics. It is the ultimate long-range spy ship. Based in Cuba, the Leonov can easily patrol the Gulf and snoop on CENTCOM in Tampa or intercept phone calls from soldiers in the Fort Hood area. The Chiker is a glorified tugboat that accompanies the Leonov in a support role. It has the capability to lift submarines out of the water for repair.”
“Are the Russians attempting to reignite the Cold War?” asked Donald.
“It could be a way of throwing their military capabilities in our face, similar to their repeated testing of our air defenses on the West Coast,” said Katie. “There is something interesting about the Leonov deployment. The CIA is convinced that the Vasiliy Tatishchev intelligence vessel was part of the Russian flotilla observed sailing south along the boundary of our coastal waters recently. The Tatishchev was recently retrofitted to be Russia’s most advanced electronic intercept ship. Based upon intelligence reports, the Tatishchev circles the waters from D.C. to our Naval Submarine Base at Kings Bay, Georgia.”
“What’s your hunch?” asked Sarge.
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