by Andy King
“Talk to Josh?” I say to Jack.
“He’s on the line, waiting with several generals.”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
“You have four F-16s escorting you,” General Jordan Perez says.
I peer out a porthole and see two of the gleaming, deadly machines flying in formation. “Thank you.” I ask Carm to tell our pilot to turn back and fly a pattern over Maryland.
“Status at MacDill,” I bark at the speakerphone.
Feinberg of SoCom takes the lead. He crisply lays out the scenario, and adds that he now has three men planted inside the CentCom facility. One of them has sneaked a call back to SoCom. Evidently MacElvain, his lapdog O’Hara and General Jarvis, the CentCom CINC, seem nervous, but have full control of the Army.
I ask Josh for a quick media summary. He says an uproar has broken out over apparent martial law that’s been imposed in several cities. Susan Arnold’s Twitterbombing has manipulated the media strategically for the most part, though. The level of confusion is about right for where we’re at, in my judgment. MacElvain doesn’t have full control of public information. That’s important.
Josh wraps it up. There are too many military hotspots to list and go over in detail, but so far there’s no loss of life reported. That’s about to change now, as we all know but aren’t saying.
One more thing. I lean in. “General Feinberg, are you certain you’re fortified against any kind of counterattack the forces at CentCom might launch?”
SoCom is technically below CentCom in the command structure. They have separate facilities at the air force base. He affirms that he’s sure.
I study the display. A satellite feed shows a massive installation. The camera is pulled back so I can’t see much detail, but I assume that a few straight lines are runways. “That’s MacDill?”
“Yes, we’ll zoom in to various portions as appropriate.”
“Can we get CentCom on the phone? I want to give them a chance to surrender.”
“That would destroy our element of surprise,” Pete Nichols says.
“I’m not going to kill people who haven’t been warned.” Besides, I want to tell MacElvain I’m coming for him. Make him sweat, if I can.
Josh says something to somebody, then comes back. “We’re hailing them.”
A long minute goes by.
“This is General Jarvis,” a voice says over a speakerphone.
“It’s President Barnes,” I say, “with Josh Jefferson, my National Security Advisor, Generals Feinberg, Perez and Nichols. I assume Secretary MacElvain and General O’Hara are with you?”
“Yes, ma’am. We can hear you.”
Someone in the background says, “Feinberg?” in an incredulous warble.
Slowly and clearly, I say, “I’m requesting that you withdraw all military personnel from civilian areas, and that you cede authority to me and my designated representatives.”
“Under Article Two, Clause Six of the Constitution, you have been relieved of your duties,” MacElvain says. “Impeachment proceedings have been started. Authority rests with President McCracken.”
I suppress the urge to blurt out that McCracken couldn’t authorize his way out of a paper bag and Clause Six requires a full Cabinet vote. Should I tell them McCracken’s under house arrest? They don’t seem to know yet. I decide not to.
“My request is now an order. Withdraw your troops and stand down. This is the legitimately elected President of the United States of America speaking. I am the Commander-in-Chief.”
Whispering breaks out, then silence. I assume their phone has been put on mute.
“Start a sixty second countdown,” I say. “They have one minute to come back on the line.”
I’m being formal for posterity, certain that someone is recording this. I’m giving them plenty of rope. Legal proceedings later are inevitable.
“Ten seconds,” Jack says.
“Prepare to activate Mute on our end,” I say.
The base line becomes active, with several voices talking simultaneously in the background. MacElvain says, “As stated, Cherilyn Barnes has been relieved of her duties as President. Authority rests with President McCracken. As his designated representative-in-fact, I will not negotiate with an unrecognized entity.”
“Mute us,” I say. We can still hear them. Their room noise drops substantially.
“General Feinberg, please proceed. General Perez and General Nichols, deploy as discussed. Unmute.”
Jack throws a finger. We’re on the air.
“This is your last chance, gentlemen,” I say to the phone. “If you proceed as you’ve stated, you will be charged with treason. As you know, the penalties are severe. I’m now beseeching you as a fellow citizen. Please back down.”
“I will not! I’m a patriot. You’re a mongrel bitch who’s not, and never has been, a real President!” MacElvain shrieks.
All eyes are on me. I’m now afraid he’s past the point of no return. His tone of voice has a fervor I’ve only heard in clips of evangelists and dictators. In his own mind he’s had a taste of being at the top, running the country, and he’s going to stay there.
There’s nothing like ultimate power. It’s intoxicating, I know from experience. But I can’t let MacElvain’s slurs sway my judgment.
Jack’s fists are white from clenching them. I narrow my eyes at him, urging him silently to focus on our task.
The background noise from the phone gets louder. It sounds like debates have started up.
Voices shout and glass breaks. A gunshot rings out. There’s a thud. The line goes dead.
Everyone on our end is silent.
“It’s in the hands of the soldiers, and in the hands of God, now,” I say.
I’m surprised at my level tone. My back is clenched so stiffly it hurts, and I realize I’ve been knotting my fists. Finally my body starts to understand the truth in my words. It’s out of my hands. My adrenaline starts to dissolve, a grey blanket of fatigue growing heavier on my shoulders.
“Zoom the satellite feed to wherever you deem appropriate,” I say softly.
The picture jerks a little. Individual buildings’ features become clearer. I realize that, other than MacElvain, no one except me has spoken for several minutes.
This is a very lonely job.
“First report,” Feinberg says. “One of our men was identified as SoCom and taken prisoner. One was shot covering another’s escape.”
Great, a casualty already.
We’re watching a row of sleek jets. Several minutes ago while giving my final warning, I thought I spotted people running to them. It was hard to tell, with heatwaves washing out the picture and the camera’s focus not pulled in all the way. Now a bomber moves forward, then another. They’re taxiing toward a long runway. A third and fourth follow.
“God, I wish this wasn’t necessary.” The words escape my lips before I can call them back. I don’t want to seem weak in front of my military.
“Cheri, and I think I speak for Generals Perez, Feinberg and Nichols, we wish it wasn’t, either,” Josh says gravely.
The others chime in, agreeing. I chide myself for my fear. Soldiers are often the last people who want to take lives. They know first-hand the horror of war.
“Bombers are all accounted-for and in flight,” Perez says.
“The commandos are briefed to stay clear of the CentCom facility until the airstrikes have been completed?” I ask unnecessarily. I’m not squeamish, never have been. I just wish that this had never happened.
“They are,” Feinberg says. “Don’t worry. The lead, Captain Chavez, is the best.”
“Thank you, General.”
The next few minutes seem to go by in a flash.
“You’ll see small dark blooms,” Jordan Perez says. Right on cue, there they are, encircling CentCom’s main facility. “That’s the first pass, the warning strike.”
My mind’s picture shows their command room shaking from the blasts, maybe a few shout
s, and a lot of chaos in the background as MacElvain screeches for countermeasures.
“Don’t they have antiaircraft guns, or some kind of missile defense?” I say.
“We didn’t show that onscreen, but they’ve been disabled,” Feinberg says. I picture his chiseled features. He’s the right man for the job.
“We’re going to clip two corners for emphasis,” Perez says.
We wait no more than ninety seconds. Two small explosions pinpointed at opposite corners of the building show off the bomber crews’ dexterity and skill.
“Those two may or may not have killed anyone, but they sure shook everybody up.”
“Our channel’s still receiving?” I ask. I want the option of calling this off immediately if we hear from the opposition.
“Yes.”
I try to keep my tone level and free from anxiety, but I’m not sure I succeed. “Are you planning to hit them point blank?”
“Only on your order, sir.”
“How about the other corners, another statement?”
Perez barks an order to someone. A minute later the corners I indicated show dark splotches.
“Can we send in the ground troops? I mean without undue danger to our men.” I’m thinking out loud here, hoping that any second we’ll get the call that waves the white flag.
Feinberg and Perez quickly confer with their senior staff. Nichols and Josh wisely stay out of it.
“Since we haven’t heard from them, we have to assume they’re ready for ground combat. That’s what I would do,” Feinberg says. “Avoiding loss of life is unlikely at this point.”
We’re at the crossroad, the juncture at which I wish there was somebody to turn to, somebody on whom to lay off the decision. Either the bombers rain death on the seditious faction from the sky, or I have to sacrifice brave people on the ground. It’s not probable that holding off and trying to wait them out will work, and the longer I let things go in the rest of the country, the worse it gets. For all I know North Korea or some other hostile force is gearing up to seize this unique opportunity. I have to strongarm MacElvain, or O’Hara or Jarvis, to order the Army troops in the cities to stand down.
“Send them a message. If they give up now, we won’t bomb them into oblivion. All commanders and troops in the field get amnesty. Otherwise we’re going to kill the leaders. It’s my final offer.”
I can’t let the three in charge off the hook. I’m hoping that their allegiance to their soldiers will sway them. My gut tells me that MacElvain will not be persuaded, that he’s depending on me to avoid further bloodshed. But I have to try. It also sends Mac a direct message: I’m coming for him. It’s him or me.
Josh relays my statement verbatim to someone. I figure it’s being sent to the traitors’ headquarters by voice and text. We’re at the tipping point. I look around and see stiff backs, clenched fists and tight lips.
We wait two minutes. Nothing happens.
I take a deep breath, then let out a huge sigh. “Four bombs, one at each corner, then send in the ground troops as you deem effective.”
“Yes, Madame President.”
A minute later, the corners of the building are lit by four dark explosions. Again I marvel at the pilots’ precision. I can’t imagine what’s going on in the other command post. Pure chaos, I assume.
Feinberg takes over, narrating in a steady stream, outlining events on the ground. I can hear people feeding the information to him in the background. He’s good at picking out the highlights and relaying them.
“We’re in the building…only emergency lights… Scattered gunfire… Ground floor is secure.”
There are four floors. I hope that resistance breaks down before too much blood is shed.
“Can you patch me in again?” I ask. “I want to broadcast to their command center.”
“It may not reach them for a number of reasons, sir.”
“Try, and tell our forces to hold off. Defensive action only.”
Ninety seconds later, Feinberg says, “Go ahead.”
“This is the President. You have lost control of the building and your forces. There is no escape. Put down your weapons and I guarantee you will receive a fair trial.”
Americans fighting Americans wrenches my heart so badly that I have to give them an option.
We hear their channel go live. It’s a wall of sound, people talking, a few shouting and some sounds I can’t identify.
The noise becomes more chaotic. Sounds roll in waves, often so loud the speaker breaks up from overload. We wait. A minute goes by, then another.
There’s a gunshot. The speaker's noise comes down to a hum. It feels like everybody on our end is holding their breath.
Then a new voice says, “This is Colonel Vincent Savaliev. There will be no more resistance.” We hear a clunk. “That is the sound of my handgun on the desk. We are laying down all weapons except those necessary to force the…former command structure to relinquish their authority.”
“Has anyone been killed?” I blurt out.
Savaliev hesitates. “General Jarvis has been subdued by force. General O’Hara and Secretary MacElvain are being held at gunpoint. Sir.”
People near me shuffle their feet and mutter. They’re reluctant to smile, but the relief is palpable. A couple of cheers go up from the group on Josh’s line.
“General Feinberg, secure the building and the command post. No more shooting unless fired upon. Colonel Savaliev, make an orderly surrender to the arriving forces. You and I will speak soon, privately. Then you’ll be taken into custody and your formal statement will be recorded. General Feinberg, tell your troops to arrange that. Proceed, gentlemen.”
I’m aware that what I just dictated might not be within legal parameters, but I’m too distracted to sort out the differences between military and civilian law, and too worn out to care.
We’ve just averted a civil war with minimal bloodshed. I want to get Savaliev’s play-by-play before he can think about the legal ramifications. I pick up the handset and tell Feinberg to get me on the line with Savaliev ASAP, then put the phone back on speaker.
People in our command post chatter with each other, ebullient. Anna grins at me.
Jack’s standing closest to the speaker. His head jerks up and he lifts a finger, waving it in my field of vision. “Director Jefferson is saying something.”
“Shush!” I yell. “Josh, what is it?”
“We have word from a source in China that North Korea is getting ready to launch another missile. They’re maybe a day out.”
“Can we get ships right offshore? I thought the Third sent a squadron.”
“Parts of the Yellow Sea aren’t deep enough, so they would have to take a very specific route. We’ve been in touch with our contacts in China. They’ve granted us a temporary blessing to send the squadron that far north. As long as we stay away from their coastline, of course.”
Technically we don’t need China’s permission to sail in the northern half of the Yellow Sea. Much of it is international water. It’s always nice to stay on friendly terms, though.
“Thank China, and park the squadron as close to Pyongyang as possible. Light them up as if we’re ready to start shooting.”
“The NK Air Force will definitely bombard them, no question.”
“General Perez, you’re still there, I presume. Order air cover for our friends in the Navy. Try to pinpoint the launch site in preparation for attack. Josh, ask Admiral Heller to surround North Korea, squadrons on both sides with reinforcements standing by. I’ll talk to Shelby about Marines. Find out who’s going to assume command of the Army, I think it’s General Adams. We might invade, and I want to be ready. We can always stand down, but I’ve been patient. I’m not letting North Korea try to take advantage of these events. Everybody, get moving.”
Despite fatigue, my mind is crystal clear. It feels good to focus on a foreign threat. I’ve got months of meetings, conferences and hearings ahead, addressing the attempted coup. The nucl
ear menace will lend focus to the proceedings.
The air seems richer and my blood feels thicker. My heart pounds a drumbeat of allegiance to our flag.
23
Jack
Anna comes over and puts her arms around me. I hug back. This must have so strange for her. She usually deals with three things—dancing, me and the small day-to-day tasks of living. It’s how she likes it, and without medication she refuses to take, the way she gets through the day. I’m worried that for her to be swept away onto Air Force One and thrust into a once-in-a-lifetime conflict, her ability to navigate might be overwhelmed.
She pulls away and looks up at me with a sweet smile. I tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear, and grin back. We don’t speak, everything said with our eyes. It seems like she’s OK, hanging in there through the storm of events.
“It’s important to symbolically reclaim the government. Let’s go,” Cheri says. She leans toward the speakerphone. “General Perez, I would like to land at Joint Base Andrews shortly. Please make sure we’re welcome. Josh, it’s time to connect with Tom Shelby.”
The next few minutes are taken up with details, Cheri making it clear to several generals and national security officials that she wants ongoing updates about progress around events at MacDill AFB, developments at the flashpoints where troops may not have received word to disengage, and a firm but fair mop-up of the aftermath of the aborted coup. She has a quick phone call with Colonel Savaliev. When it’s over, she looks satisfied.
“The allegiance of the CIA and the FBI was compromised. I need the Directors taken into custody and the Deputy Directors interrogated,” she says in an ongoing conference call with the Attorney General, Marine Commandant Shelby and Director Jefferson.
I feel a bump through my feet. We’ve landed.
The entire drive to the White House, Cheri stays on speakerphone, getting updates on progress and dishing out orders to the military to hand over control of regions and return to their bases. I get a sense that there will be harsh questioning, but most people not directly involved in the attempted takeover will be pardoned. It warms my heart to see her sense of forgiveness and fair play.
