The Bear

by Bob Thomas

  “Come again, Stephen?”

  “Sir in the game of checkers, you can usually only plan a move or two in advance. In chess, it’s a long term strategy to win.”

  POTUS sat up straight and took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. He stood and began to pace. He was better on his feet. He couldn’t concentrate sitting down. He never understood how one could formulate ideas while idle. He did his best work while pacing. He learned that long ago in his stint at Georgetown. Though not a fully tenured professor, he quickly learned it was publish or perish in that game, a game he deemed himself not suitable for. He couldn’t sit. It was foreign to his nature.

  “So,” POTUS said as he turned and leaned against the wall. “What do we do about it?”

  “He wants out, sir.”

  “Why can’t he just go to their Internal Security Service?”

  “Sir, Russian Internal Security hasn’t always been on the best terms with the military, or former military personnel. It goes back to the struggles between the KGB and Soviet military forces. And many of those same people reside in the current structure.”

  “And old grudges die hard, Stephen?”

  “Yes Mr. President. Very hard.”

  “So, what do we do about it?”

  “We’re working on that sir,” Martin replied. “We’re working on it.”

  Day Eight

  The White House

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “I wish I had an idea, Martin.” Andrey sat back in the chair across from the American chief of staff’s desk. “You have a warm office. It is not like mine in the Kremlin.”

  “I would have thought you had a beautiful office in one of the many buildings there. The Kremlin is, if nothing else, a place of historic cultural value to the world.”

  “Ah, but the buildings are old and drafty,” Andrey weakly smiled. “It is bad for my arthritis. In my many years of serving in the military, those things did not bother me. But, I was younger and much more fit in those days.”

  “Sitting around in an office is quite different from an active military career, Andrey,” Martin replied.

  “Much of a general’s later career involves sitting behind a desk, sir.”

  “That brings us back to the reason we’re here, Andrey. What do we do about this?”

  “Since our dinner last night, I have worried much about this. I am at a loss.” The Russian straightened in his seat, placing his hands on his lap. Martin noticed not a single wrinkle in the Italian wool suit he wore.

  “Where does your president think you are now?”

  “Simply meeting with my American counterpart. Nothing more.”

  “You are scheduled to return to Russia in three days, correct?”

  “Da. I am surprised that President Novichkov did not want to cut the visit short. He was very uncomfortable during the state dinner. But, I suppose scheduled official functions take precedence.”

  “That leaves us very little time to come up with a solution, Andrey.”

  “More than that, a believable solution.”

  “Is there simply a way to not get more involved?”

  “Nyet. I am in too deep. I can not take a step back without the most severe of consequences, both to my country and to my family.” The former Russian general lowered his eyes, his stare focused on the carpet beneath his black shoes. “I have nowhere else to turn.”

  “There is nothing else you can tell me that might help?”

  “I have told you everything.”

  “Let me get with my folks and we’ll see what we might be able to do.” Martin leaned back into his leather chair and laced his fingers across his stomach. “To tell you the truth, Andrey, I’m not sure there is much we can do. I just hope this doesn’t lead to a dramatic flare-up in global tensions. Things could go from bad to worse.”

  The two men sat there, the weight of the situation becoming a wall between them. Andrey raised his head and stared at the big desk, his eyes vacant. He blinked at the knock on the door behind.

  “Come.” The American chief of staff looked up as Mary poked her head through the door.

  “Mr. Thorn to see you sir.”

  Martin waved his hand and stood, the Russian standing as he turned toward the door. The Director of the CIA stepped quickly into Martin’s office, nodding as he looked at Andrey. He extended his hand cordially. Andrey accepted the gesture as he looked down, then back up to the tall American.

  “I wish it could be under better circumstances, Mr. Thorn.”

  “Maybe there is something we can do about that, Mr. Volkov.”

  “You have an idea, Stephen?”

  “With a little bit of help, yes.” Martin gestured toward the chair beside the Russian. “We do not have adequate resources within the CIA to perform any type of operation inside your country.”

  “What once could have been done …”

  “Is no longer in the cards, as it were,” Stephen replied. “Those days are gone, the money and the assets. It’s a brave new world.”

  “Who does?”

  “We need people trained in urban warfare.” Stephen sat back and let the words sink in. “We need an insurgency force from the military.”

  “Military?” Andrey’s eyes went wide. “You mean like one of your Seal teams?”

  “Something like that, Mr. Volkov. It would be tricky putting together such a team.”

  “Don’t we already have forces that could do this?” Martin asked.

  “Under ordinary situations, I would say yes. But this is a little different. We’re talking about interjecting a covert team into the middle of a large city where everyone speaks a foreign language. This isn’t choppering a group of Rangers into Syria under cover of night. That would be child’s play compared to this.”

  “How would we even get them in there?” Martin leaned forward putting his elbows on the desk. He was becoming intrigued.

  The Director placed his hands on his lap and took a deep breath. He looked toward the Russian chief of staff and stared, trying to gauge his intentions. All that was returned was a blank stare.

  “Anything we speak of here Mr. Volkov, can go no further. And I mean you can’t so much as tell your mother what the hell I’m about to suggest.”

  “Why would my mother be interested in this?”

  Stephen Thorn burst out laughing.

  Day Nine

  The Pentagon

  “General Scott’s office,” the aide answered. He was clearly bored, thankful things had settled down now that there had been over a week since the accident in Alaska.

  “I need to speak to General Scott.”

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Stephen Thorn.”

  “Uh, Director Thorn?”

  “That’s me son. I need to speak to the general, and fast.”

  “I’m sorry sir. General Scott is not in his office now.” The aide squirmed in his seat. He didn’t expect this one.

  “Son, you need to find him, and find him now.” The voice on the other end of the phone was as commanding as any he’d heard in his military career.

  “Yes sir.” The aide nearly stood at attention in his seat, but just as he looked up, General Fitzroy Scott walked into his office. “Sir, the general just came in.” The relief on the aide’s face was apparent. “General? Stephen Thorn is on the line for you.”

  “Thorn? Really?” The CIA director’s name caught him by surprise. “Tell him I’ll take it in my office in a second.”

  “Yes sir.”

  General Fitzroy Scott took his time getting into his office. He’d had a busy day in the Pentagon, but things had begun to calm down a bit, and he was grateful for it. Odd, he thought though to have the Director of the CIA calling him. It was well known through the services that the DOD and CIA were not always on the best of terms. Scott was always of the opinion they routinely stuck their nose into places they didn’t belong. And their information was usually suspect. Scott slipped behind his desk, pic
king up his phone a few seconds later.

  “Scott.”

  “General? Stephen Thorn.”

  “Yes sir. What can I do for you?”

  “We have a situation. It is a direct consequence of what happened in Alaska.”

  “Really?” That got the general’s attention. He leaned back with a new outlook on the call. “What can I do for you?”

  “General, we’re in a crunch and I need a team for a mission.”

  “How soon are we talking?”

  “Within a day or two.”

  “What kind of team are we talking about? We talking assault? What?”

  “General, I need five people who are fluent in Russian, have a significant knowledge of Russian culture, and can work in an urban environment. At least one should be a pilot.”

  “That’s kind of a specialized list, Mr. Thorn. It might take a few days to get that together.”

  “We don’t have a couple days, General. Let me just say this comes from the highest authority.”

  “The highest authority?” That unexpected statement caused a raised brow.

  “THE highest authority, General Scott.” Thorn’s voice had begun to rise. He was getting irritated. He swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. “General, I know we don’t know each other very well, but it’s time to put partisanship behind us. We each have our own turf, but this is something bigger. I need a team, a military team, and I need it fast.”

  “Let me get on it,” Scott sighed. “You’ll have it in a couple hours.”

  “Thank you General,” Thorn answered. “Thank you.”

  General Fitzroy Scott let the phone slip back to its base. He simply stared at it. ‘That was quite a request’, he thought. The CIA and the DOD had not been on good terms for years, a tension sparked by poor intelligence leading into the last gulf war. It cost the lives of a lot of soldiers. His soldiers. It was a resentment that still lingered, a bitter pill for many in the military. But he committed. He had a job to do and he lifted the phone, punching a two-digit number. The line connected immediately.

  “Bureau of Personnel, Colonel Williams.”

  “Charlie? Fitz Scott.”

  “Well hello, General. To what do I owe the pleasure? It’s been a long time.”

  “It has, Charlie. It has.” Scott straightened in his chair. It made the request feel more formal somehow. “I need a list put together, and quickly.”

  “Sure General. Just a second while I get a notepad.” A quick flip of the page he had been looking at and Williams replied, “shoot, sir.”

  “I don’t know what you’ll come up with, but I need it quickly. And by quickly, I mean yesterday.”

  “Sure thing sir.”

  Williams scribbled a note or two before laying his pen down.

  “That’s all the criteria you have? It’s not much to go on, sir.”

  “I know, but it is important. BUPERS hasn’t let me down before, and neither have you, Charlie. I know its short notice, but I’m in a hurry.”

  “I’ll have it to you as quickly as I can, sir.”

  “Take personal charge of this one. It’s that important.”

  Charlie Williams looked at the receiver as it went dead before slowly putting his handset back down. He looked at the short list he had scribbled, his face scrunching in thought. He wasn’t sure if there were ten people in the armed forces that met these criteria, or a thousand. For as long as he had been in this bureau, he never ceased to be amazed at the requests that came down the pipe. Most requests were often obvious, promotions, transfers and the like, but others were quite the puzzle. This, was an odd list no matter how you gauged it. He pushed away from his desk and was out the door in seconds.

  The fourth corner he turned brought him to the main computer terminal where data entry personnel dutifully went about the job of keeping and organizing all the military personnel records. It was a never-ending job. He slipped in behind an attendant and dropped his noted in front.

  “I need this routed to my terminal as soon as you can find anything.”

  A simple nod was his only reply.

  “This has top priority.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “That’s better,” the Williams replied.

  Colonel Williams returned to his desk and waited for the results. The time dragged by. He tried to busy himself with his routine functions, but he kept coming back to the same question: what was this list for? It was simple actually. Perhaps he was digging too deep. Keep it simple. Russian speaking. What did that mean? That meant they knew some of the culture. Urban warfare trained. An assault in a Russian city? His eyes widened. No way! A pilot? Someone to get them in, or maybe out. He leaned back into his chair with only one thought. This was part of a covert mission in… where?

  The terminal chimed meaning a new file had been delivered to him. He looked at his watch. Two hours. Not bad. Not bad at all. He grabbed the mouse and opened the file as twenty names stared back at him. It took a half hour to read through what he wanted to find. Three women, two Army and one Navy, the rest all men, one Air Force, three Navy and the rest Army. All indeed had dossiers that said they spoke Russian. The sole Air Force representative was a pilot, though not actively in that duty. This was what he needed and he was immediately on the phone.

  “General Scott’s office.”

  “This is Colonel Williams. I am returning General Scott’s call.”

  “I’ll put you through.”

  “Scott.”

  “General? Charlie Williams. I have the information you requested.”

  “So soon? I appreciate that, Colonel. What do you have for me?”

  “I can send it over if you want.”

  “Just tell me what you found.”

  “Well sir, there are only twenty names that fit the criteria you asked for. Three are women and the rest men. They are spread out across three of the services.”

  “Any bad news?”

  “Well sir, they are spread out a bit and not all are currently stateside. One woman is in the hospital and is unavailable for duty. The other two are available, one Navy, one Army. Of the men, one is in Alaska and is an Air Force pilot, though not currently in that role. Several are deployed in the Middle East, one is stationed here in Washington and one is at Bragg.”

  “That’s not many to choose from.” Scott leaned back, a frown on his face. It did narrow down the choices he would have to make. “Charlie, send the names over to me. You still have my email address?”

  “I’m sure I do sir. I’ll send it right away.”

  “Thanks.” Scott leaned forward, his elbows landing on the wooden desk as he stared at the computer screen. God how he hated these things. As intelligent as he was, nearly a Rhodes scholar, he was sure computers actually made for more work instead of more efficient work. The red dot on the screen with the white numeral embedded, increased by one. That was it. He grabbed the mouse and clicked on the dot. From Bureau of Personnel, BUPERS, as it was generally referred to - he clicked on the email and the message filled his screen.

  He scanned the services quickly. Army, Army, Air Force, Navy. All were represented. No Marines. He thought that odd. Likely none knew Russian. That was his first guess. His next qualifier was duty station. If he had to put a team together in only two days, they had to be stateside, or at least close enough he could pull them in quickly. That search narrowed them down to eight. Three women and five men. It was the same as Williams had said. One woman out, leaving two. Two men were close. The pilot was in Alaska. All the others were too far away. He picked up the phone and looked at the number he had jotted down on his scratch pad.

  “Director Thorn, please. This is General Scott of the DOD.”

  “I’ll put you right through, general.”

  “Thorn.”

  “Director? Fitz Scott. I’ve got a team.”

  “Thank you General. That was fast. How soon can we get them?”

  “Well, let me rephrase that. I have a list of names that we can p
ull together. It’ll take the better part of the day to get them all in place. And, well, how fast they can come together and work as a team, that’s just anybody’s guess. A military team takes time to gel, Director. They need to work together to become a unit.”

  “I understand, General. We don’t have too much time for that. They leave in two days for this mission.”

  “You know what you’re asking?” Scott replied. “You’re asking for a failed mission. And I’m guessing a mission in a foreign country, and I think I know which one.” The bitterness in his voice was beginning to show. You don’t send untrained teams into the field on a whim.

  “I know the risks, General. I’ve commanded teams in the field. I’ve had them go bad. I still have nights that those failures rob me of sleep.”

  “Then you understand.”

  “I do. I’ve sent men to die, and I’ve almost died myself. I don’t want to do that again. These people have to be the best, General. They have to be able to think on their feet, and pull a trigger.” The conversation went quiet for a few seconds before the director asked the last question. “How soon can you get them here?”

  “Noon tomorrow.”

  “Thanks General. I’ll be in touch.”

  Alaska

  “I have to go where?” Captain Will Jenner just stood before General Foxx with his mouth nearly hanging open.

  “You are being ordered to Washington,” Foxx replied. “I think it has something to do with your work here. I just got the orders a few minutes ago.”

  “Why me?”

  “This came down from General Fitzroy Scott of DOD. I’m not his favorite person, so this is about you, or something you bring to the table.”

  “For what?”

  “I have no idea Captain,” Foxx answered. “But you leave within the hour. There’s an F-16 fueling now. You’re to be on it.”

  “A Falcon? I’m riding down in a Falcon?”

  “Actually, you’ll be the pilot. How rusty are your skills?”

  “I’ll be honest, sir. It’s been a while.”

  “That’s why you’re driving. It’s a two-seater, so you’ll have a rider.” Foxx turned and looked at the map taped together. “Any new insights on this?”