“Why?” Hamilton asked.
“Because if we don’t the terrorists will. Try and keep this a secret and we just hand the Scorpion another opportunity to control the narrative and stampede public opinion. We need to release this news and explain that the codes do not actually launch missiles, but merely confirm the president’s desire to send them on their way once the decision has been made to launch. In their system, the president gets the final say. Unlike ours where the president has the only say.”
Don’t remind me, thought Schelly.
“Will the public believe us?” Small asked.
“It’s the truth, Mr President,” Bassingthwaite replied. “There’s no reason not to believe us.”
“Except that the terrorists have told them otherwise,” said Rentz, weighing in. “And the public seems ever more ready to believe conspiracy over reason and bad news over good – if you can call this qualification good.”
Epstein chimed in too. “Isn't the release of the codes onto the dark web something of a capitulation?”
“How do you mean?” asked Bassingthwaite.
“Well, surely it’s the Scorpion saying that they can't do anything practical with them, beyond spreading terror, so over to you.”
“Yes, okay, but it's a nuanced picture and nuances are hard to sell. They sound like we’re dodging the truth.”
“Mr President,” said Bunion, “may I suggest we have your press secretary release a statement saying the codes are old news and worthless – not worth the paper they’re written on.”
President Small waved his hand. “Yes, good idea, Andy. At least someone here is thinking.”
Epstein handed a single sheet of paper toward the commander-in-chief stamped Top Secret. “Mr President, I have prepared a report. This is where we’re at, sir.”
“So now I have to read?” The president scanned it. “I don't see my name in any of these words you’ve written here. So maybe it’s irrelevant to me.”
“It’s just the headline points, Mr President.”
“So here’s what I don't get,” he said, ignoring the briefing note. “We have the best military, the best people – everyone knows that – but this Scorpion guy keeps posting videos and getting away with it. And these videos, the whole world is watching them. And meanwhile we kinda know where he is and we’ve got drones flying all over the place, but we can't find him? The guy’s got Russia’s nukes in his back pocket! He’s got how many fanatics massing at the borders ready to join him in some crazy battle? We got numbers? Anyone?”
Reid Hamilton checked his own briefing notes. “The current estimate is 80,000, growing at over 30,000 a day with no signs these numbers are tapering off.”
Small thumped the table. “We should be all over this guy by now. Am I the only person in this administration who gives a damn about this? Where’s the fucking SEALs, for Chrissakes, or are they all off doing movies? I can call generals. You want me to call generals? I can send an aircraft carrier. I can call on phenomenal power.” The president paused to take a breath, and also to properly land his displeasure. “And you know,” he began again, “I’ve got all kinds of people in my ear because of this new video. My Christian friends are very concerned. It’s like any minute I’m gonna get a call from the pope asking me what the fuck, right?” He turned to Bunion. “Jesus, Andy, you’ve seen this fucking video. Fucking crazy, right?”
Bunion nodded, deeply concerned. “Fucking crazy, Mr President.”
Small took a sip of water from a glass in front of him. “And then there’s what people are saying on television. This whole End of Days thing. It’s fake news, right? The dead people rising up? I’m like, seriously?”
“Mr President, I am Professor Kiraz Başak.”
“Oh, and you are?”
“Defense Intelligence, currently working with the CIA on terrorist profiling.”
“Okay.” The president clasped his hands in front of him and sat back. “Nice. Someone who is prepared to step up. I like that.”
“Mr President, ISIS believes any view of the Qur’an, other than the literal one, is apostasy. They believe wholeheartedly in the Qur’an’s apocalyptic prophesies as they are written.”
“So, what are you saying? I’m not gonna see my grammy walking down the street with Jesus?”
Someone chuckled.
President Small thumped the table again. “I’m serious. I never liked her and I don't want her back.” POTUS let his displeasure sink in. “I don't get it, we had ISIS on the ropes. How did we get here to this place?”
“Mr President, if I may?” the professor asked.
Schelly wrenched her eyes away from the president. Yes, please do, Kiraz. I don't know how you manage to look so perfectly cool and collected.
“Continue,” President Small said.
“In the Qur’an and hadiths it is written that, as the End of Days approaches, the forces of Islam will be almost wiped out. This has happened – or I should say is happening. Beating ISIS militarily only confirms to these fundamentalists that we are indeed in the End of Days.”
“But it’s bullshit, right?” Bunion insisted. “The End of Days thing is not real. Can’t be. I mean, people coming back from the dead?” He made a dismissive sound and waved his hand to underline it.
“Many hundreds of thousands of Muslims believe it is very real, as the Qur’an is the word of God and God does not lie.”
“Is it written that the President of Russia will be shot down, captured and crucified?” the president asked.
“No,” the professor replied. “But it is proof to all Muslims that the Scorpion is a powerful man. It is being said that he is the Mahdi, the person who will lead Muslims to victory over the West. Whether this is true or not, he is certainly someone who has recognized an opportunity and seized it.”
“Yes, I can see that. Look, what you’re saying is scary, but you’re very calming in the way you say it. I like that.” The president nodded at Basak appreciatively. “That’s a tremendous quality. If you don’t mind me saying, I like what you’re wearing too. It’s business-like, but feminine. A lot of women can’t pull that off.” He turned to Epstein. “I don't need to read this.” He pushed the briefing paper toward her. “Now, I’ve sat back and let you get on with it,” he said to no one in particular. “Do you want me to micromanage? I don't wanna be telling you how and when to do stuff, do your jobs. Do I have to fire people and get new people on it, cos I’m wondering, right?”
The body language around the table was uncomfortable to say the least. Epstein rasped, “Mr President, as you know, we have a team on the ground, a mixture of Army Special Forces and Air Force Special Operations. The best. We have relayed your expressed orders to that team and they are hunting down the Scorpion as we speak.”
“Good. Very good. And where are we at with that?”
“Sir, we have the officer here who runs the team – Major Schelly.”
The president looked at no one in particular. “Where?”
“Mr President, Major Schelly, sir,” she said and gave the president the briefest of smiles. It was only then, it occurred to Schelly, that the commander-in-chief seemed aware of who was actually present in the room, other then the professor and perhaps Bunion. Up to that point, with those exceptions, it had just been a collection of faceless warm bodies.
President Small gave Schelly the once-over. “Major, eh? I thought we’d at least have a colonel supervising a big operation like this.”
“Let me assure you, Mr President,” said Admiral Rentz, “Major Schelly is eminently qualified, having managed the assets we have in the field for several years. She is a fine officer. None better.”
Nice of you to say, thought Schelly.
The president shrugged, less than a hundred percent convinced on that score, but, turning to Bunion, he said with a leer, “I’m not sure about the effectiveness – I’d prefer a colonel at least - but we certainly have one of the best looking teams working on this, right?” His eyebro
ws jumped up and down a couple of times, in case Bunion had any doubts on his appreciation of Schelly and also the professor.
WTF? Schelly gave Epstein a glance, but the SECDEF bunted it with a deadpan expression.
“Major Schelly is it?” the president asked her.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, over to you Major. Where are we at?”
“Mr President, a short time ago, local Syrian time, in the hunt for President Petrovich, a small unit of US Special Forces and Special Operations, assisted by Air Force drones, stormed a major roadblock in the north of the country.” Schelly aimed the remote at the screens and a number of before and after shots of the barricade were presented. “Details are light on at present but this team also managed, on an earlier occasion, to secure two Russian nationals who accompanied President Petrovich on the downed helicopter.”
“Impressive,” the president said with a smirk at Bunion suggesting to Schelly that POTUS was less interested in what she said than how she looked saying it. If there was a shelf, you’d be asking me to reach up and get something. Or bend over and pick something off the floor.
She continued, “Our unit, callsign Quickstep 3, is currently making its way further to the east, into the area where we believe the Scorpion is likely to be holding the president and also General Yegorov.”
SECDEF Epstein gestured to Schelly that less would be more.
“These are the only details we have at the moment, Mr President,” Schelly said, taking the hint. “But this is a drama unfolding hour by hour. We hope to be able to bring you more concrete information soon.”
“Tremendous presentation, Major … Major …” he clicked his fingers, impatient.
“Major Schelly,” she told him.
“Major, what makes you think you know where the Scorpion is?”
An intelligent question. Maybe you’ve been listening after all. “Sir, CIA can best answer that.”
“Thank you, Major. Yes, an excellent presentation. What’s your first name?”
“Ah, Jillian, sir.”
“You look more like a Roxanne to me. Jillian is kinda like an old matron or something. Keep up the good work, though.”
Schelly stole a glimpse at the professor and received the barest of frowns, a line that appeared in the middle of her forehead and just as quickly vanished. It was a don’t-worry-we-‘re-in-this-together-frown and it reassured Schelly. The president turned to Director Hamilton. “Reid, the major has thrown to you.”
“If you don’t mind, Mr President, my new Associate Deputy Director Bradley Chalmers can best answer the question. Bradley has personally been coordinating the CIA’s end.”
The president’s attention span was clearly waning. “I’m a very busy man.” He glanced at his watch. “Do you know how busy I am?”
“Mr President, sir,” Chalmers began with altogether too much zeal. “Let me start by saying that I’ve been a big fan of yours from the beginning.”
Schelly tied not to let the disdain show. And you think POTUS can't spot a brownnose when he sees it?
The president beamed. “Thank you. We’ve been trying so hard to make America number one again, where it should be. It’s nice to be appreciated.”
Schelly blinked. Are you kidding me?
“Sir, my pleasure, sir.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Bradley Chalmers, Mr President, sir.”
God almighty.
“So, Bradley, you were saying?”
“Mr President, we’ve been working closely with the Defense Imagery Management Operations Center. DIMOC is of the opinion that this latest video was not shot in the same place as the first two videos.” Chalmers aimed a remote at a screen and various stills of the Scorpion with the desert stretching away behind him played in slideshow. “Sir, that’s important. The Scorpion went out of his way in the first two videos he posted to make us believe they were shot in the same location but on different days. He wanted us to think that he was staying put somewhere out in the desert, so that we’d concentrate our search for him there.”
Old news, thought Schelly.
“Three locations were identified as his possible camp, but, of course, he moved. In the third video, uploaded this morning, every effort has been made to conceal the background. That’s because this is the place where he actually is right now, and intends to stay, at least for a while.”
Yeah, three days, max.
The president shifted in his seat, scratched his head with a finger and then meticulously smoothed over the hole that had opened up in his comb-over.
“However, did anyone notice these guys photo-bombing the Scorpion throughout the video?”
Screens around the room filled with the image of large compound eyes and a hairy proboscis.
“What’s that?” President Small asked.
“A sand fly, sir. A critter by the name of phlebotomus papatasi.”
“What?”
“Phlebot –”
“Okay, I have the Chinese waiting. Germany is having a tantrum about something, as usual. What I want to hear is, can we rescue Valeriy Petrovich?”
“Well, sir, I’m getting to that if –”
The president raised his hand. “Stop. Yes or no?”
Chalmers wasn’t sure which way to turn.
“Brody? It’s Brody, right?” the president asked.
“Bradley, Mr President.”
“Well? Can we?”
“We have some ideas, sir.”
“Ideas? They’ve turned the guy into fucking Jesus. Don’t you people get it?” President Small shouted. “There are riots in Moscow. They are burning pictures of me. Perfectly good pictures. It’s very, very bad. They have raised their alert level, we have raised ours.” He rose from the table, shaking his head and buttoning his coat. “The fake news media want a bone so I’m telling them we got some tremendous leads on President Petrovich’s whereabouts. We’re expecting a result very, very soon. America has a reputation. An unbelievable reputation. It’s my job to protect that reputation. Next time we meet on this, I only wanna see you and you,” he pointed to Schelly and then Professor Başak. “And I wanna hear some good news.” The president went to the door, opened it and walked out.
Bunion followed the commander-in-chief to the door and paused, his back to the room. He said, without turning, “Not happy, people. Let’s try not to disappoint the best president America has ever had.” He left the door open as he left the room.
Thirty-eight
Ronald V. Small @realSmall
America’s intelligence services keep the world honest. Where would we be without them? In a very very bad place.
Schelly and Professor Başak left the Situation Room together into fast-moving people traffic, most of which was head down concentrating on cell phones and hurrying through the corridors on the business of the United States. “That was interesting,” the professor ventured after a couple of minutes of silence.
“Interesting covers a lot of territory,” Schelly replied. And then, after a little consideration, “So, what outfit are you going to wear?”
“Outfit?”
“Yeah, you know, when we meet with the president next? I’m thinking a super short skirt, pigtails and bangs. He’s that kinda guy – into the schoolgirl thing. You – I’m seeing a nurse’s uniform with a stethoscope and a whip.”
A smirk escaped from the professor, but she quickly got on top of it. Sotto, she said, “Stop. You are making me horny.”
Schelly shook her head. “That whole thing back there … crazy.”
“Major!”
There were other uniformed officers in the corridor from all four services, but Schelly knew the call was for her. It was Chalmers, breaking into a trot behind them to catch up. “He’s all yours,” the professor said as the associate deputy director closed in.
“Thanks a lot.”
The professor smiled. “I will call you.”
“You’d better,” Schelly replied. T
heir hands brushed and she felt an electric charge in her groin and then the professor was gone, merged with the traffic.
“Gee, that went well, don’t you think?” Schelly ventured when Chalmers arrived beside her.
The ADD countered, “He shakes things up. That’s what he does.”
“I’m shaken up. You don’t have a problem with what just happened back there?”
“I’m sure he was just fooling around. You don't have a sense of humor?”
“Because now is the perfect time for a laugh.”
Chalmers sighed heavily. “Look, we need to talk.”
“So you said.”
“What’s your problem?” he asked her.
“No problem.”
“Can we go somewhere?”
“What’s wrong with here?”
“It’s not exactly secure.”
“I feel secure.”
“Let’s walk,” he said. “You got a car?”
“Why?”
“We can go for a drive.”
“I don't think so,” Schelly said.
Chalmers stopped for a moment, scratched his forehead, and then set off again. “Okay, seems we got off on the wrong foot. Or maybe ended up there. Y’know, I thought we had a thing in that first meeting.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah. You know …”
“There was no thing. If that’s what you wanted to talk about then –”
“No, it’s not,” he said. ““Someone at the Company may have come up with something to help your boy.”
“Cooper?”
“Well he ain’t my boy.”
“He’s ours, Associate Deputy Director. Remember? The good ol’ US of A?
“Don't be so naïve, Major.”
“Interesting history between you and Cooper,” said Schelly.
“You checked up on me?”
“No, I was checking up on Cooper. You were collateral.”
“Whatever you think you know – that isn't the story.”
“After what Cooper found, you’re lucky they didn't throw you in jail.”
Kingdom Come Page 27
