Foreign Agent: A Thriller

by Brad Thor

  Antalya was the eighth-largest city in Turkey. It was a combination of Roman ruins and modern architecture, broad boulevards and narrow medieval streets, the perfect mix of the exotic and the traditional: the kind of place his wife would enjoy visiting. Depending on how Turkey handled matters going forward, he could see himself bringing her back.

  The motorcade had just passed a quaint outdoor café, its name painted in gold leaf, when two men leapt out of a parked car. They were masked and carrying AK-47s. Immediately, they began firing.

  “Contact left! Contact left!” one of the security team members yelled.

  Tires squealed and gas flooded into the Range Rovers’ huge engines as the SUVs took evasive action.

  Secretary Devon was forced to the floor for his safety. Just as his head was pressed beneath the window line, he saw both of their motorcycle escort cops lying dead in the street.

  The agent in the forward vehicle was radioing instructions to the rest of the team as another agent alerted headquarters that they were under assault.

  They made a sharp right turn, only to discover more gunmen waiting for them. Though the vehicle was practically soundproof, Devon could hear the popping of gunfire from outside and the impact of the rounds hitting his vehicle.

  “They’re trying to funnel us!” one of the agents warned as more masked gunmen appeared at the next intersection.

  “Run it!” another yelled, encouraging the motorcade to barrel through the gunmen.

  “Jesus,” Devon’s driver cursed as he swerved, trading paint with and knocking the mirrors off three cars. “We have to get back to the boulevard! These streets are too narrow.”

  Speeding into the intersection, the driver of the lead Range Rover pulled hard on the wheel and spun right into the gunfire.

  The shooters rained down bullets on it and succeeded in cracking its windshield. Two of them were caught beneath the undercarriage and dragged.

  One was dislodged, only to be run over by the vehicle right behind. It happened so fast the driver couldn’t avoid it.

  Devon felt his heavy Range Rover lift slightly off the ground as it crushed a gunman’s body.

  At the next intersection, they readied for gunfire, but none came. They appeared to have left the shooters behind. The lead vehicle made a hard left. The others followed.

  The street was deserted, just rows of parked cars on both sides. The lead vehicle picked up speed. The others followed suit.

  They were halfway down the block when a series of massive car bombs detonated in unison.

  • • •

  From a small apartment at the end of the street, Sacha Baseyev captured all of it on camera. The killing of U.S. Secretary of Defense Richard Devon was going to be his most spectacular video yet. And it would be another nail in the coffin of ISIS.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  President Paul Porter let the moment of silence go on good and long. He wanted them to move beyond shock. He wanted them angry, like he was.

  In the wake of the pandemic, a lot of people had changed how they viewed death. Some had suffered such tremendous loss in their personal lives that they had just become numb.

  The President had suffered too. He had lost friends and acquaintances, trusted confidants and cabinet members.

  He had been forced to rebuild his team quickly. Everyone he had selected had come highly recommended. Some of them he had known before, some were completely new to him.

  Many of them were second- and even third-stringers plucked from different agencies—seat fillers until a more formal team could finally be assembled.

  Because of his leadership and handling of the crisis, the President was enjoying the highest poll numbers of his career. Even Congress, also stocked with seat fillers who had been appointed by their state governors until the next election, was working with him.

  The President knew, though, that there was a limit to all the goodwill. He also knew that bad forces remained marshaled against the United States. The business of being President, of protecting the country, didn’t stop, no matter how badly he needed to catch his breath.

  Porter looked around the table, and when he felt enough time had passed, he called the meeting of his National Security Council to order. The first person he looked at was his CIA Director. “What do we have?”

  Bob McGee hit a button on his laptop and the screens around the Situation Room lit up with crime scene photos. They were stamped with the logo of Turkey’s General Directorate of Security.

  “The Turks believe that up to ten terrorists may have been involved in the attack on Secretary Devon and his team. According to witnesses,” said McGee as he advanced to a new photo, “these three were struck and killed by the lead vehicle in the motorcade. They have been identified as Abdullah Özal, Ahmet Çiçek, and Hüseyin Tüzman. One worked in a pharmacy, one was a schoolteacher, and the third lived at home with his parents.”

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs interrupted him. “Are they wearing GoPros?”

  “They are,” replied the CIA Director as he zoomed in on one of the dead terrorists and the camera mounted to his chest.

  “Where’s the footage? Have the Turks shared it with us yet?”

  “These cameras didn’t have SD cards. Everything was wirelessly uploaded in real time to the cloud. The NSA is already chasing it.”

  “But we should expect another video,” said the Secretary of State.

  McGee nodded.

  “Has any group claimed responsibility? Do we know who we’re dealing with?”

  “Shortly after the attacks, multiple photographs were posted to social media showing Tüzman, and maybe Çiçek, fighting in Syria.”

  “So it looks like ISIS?”

  Once more, the CIA Director nodded.

  “How the hell did they know the motorcade route?” the National Security Advisor asked. “How does a group like ISIS get their hands on that kind of intelligence?”

  “There’s obviously a leak.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And we have to assume that it could be connected to what happened in Anbar,” interjected the Secretary of State.

  “We’ve considered that,” McGee replied.

  Everyone waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

  President Porter cleared his throat and said, “In four days, we have had twenty-two Americans brutally assassinated. One of them used to sit in this very room with us. We will not slow, we will not sleep, we will not stop until the people responsible have felt the full force of our wrath. If we have to turn over every damn rock in the Middle East until we find them, we will.

  “But while we’re turning over rocks, I want to discuss a broader strategy. For every ISIS Muslim fanatic we kill, two more pop up to take his place. How do we defeat them?”

  “We deny them territory,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs responded. “Without territory there’s no caliphate.”

  “And how do we do that?” the President asked.

  “Bomb the hell out of them and send in ground troops.”

  “That’s exactly what they want us to do,” said the Secretary of State. “We’d need a sustained force of five hundred thousand troops at least.”

  “To wipe out less than fifty thousand jihadists?” replied the Chairman.

  “No, for the decades of occupation afterward.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “ISIS is a creation of Sunni Islam. Part of its appeal is that it’s a pushback against the growing Shia influence in the region. That influence is backed by Iran. You’re going to end up with twenty-five million Syrian and Iraqi Sunnis looking for protection. If we don’t fill that role, they’ll run back to ISIS, or something even worse.”

  “If ISIS is a creation of Sunni Islam,” said the President, “
how do we get the Sunnis to destroy it?”

  “You want Frankenstein to kill his own monster?” the National Security Advisor asked.

  Porter nodded.

  “You’re asking for a complete reformation of Islam.”

  “Christianity has had one. Judaism too. Why not Islam?”

  “Because Islam sees Mohammed as the perfect man and the Quran a perfect copy of a perfect book in Paradise. They have no history of criticism or self-examination. The word Islam itself means submission. And the word Muslim means one who submits.”

  The President leaned in, challenging his adviser. “So you’re saying Muslims are somehow different than Jews or Christians? That they’re intellectually incapable of reform?”

  “What I am saying is that the so-called ‘radicals’ are the ones practicing their faith exactly the way Mohammed wanted it practiced. The moderates are the ones who have contorted it.”

  “The moderates are the majority, though. How do we push them to reform?”

  “I don’t know that you could,” his adviser replied.

  “That’s a cop-out. If you could wave your National Security wand and have it done in a day, how would you handle it?”

  The man thought about it for a moment and said, “Every time we have been hit by a terrorist attack, we tighten our security. That means Americans wake up the day after an attack and have less freedom. It has been the knee-jerk of every administration since 9/11. Instead of eroding Americans’ civil liberties, I’d put the pressure on the Muslim nations themselves.”

  “How?”

  “They profile like crazy. They have no problem with it. In fact, behind closed doors, they laugh at us for being so resistant to it. I say we turn that around on them.

  “The American public would be shocked to know how many foreign nationals from Muslim countries have overstayed their visas. We pause all visas for the next twelve to twenty-four months while we hunt them down.”

  “Do you know what an outrage that would be?” the Secretary of State demanded. “Do you know how badly that would damage relations with our allies in the Middle East?”

  “We’d do a carve-out for diplomats,” the National Security Advisor replied.

  “It doesn’t matter. They’d still go ballistic.”

  “Would the plan hurt well-intentioned, moderate Muslims? Yes. But that’s the point. You and I can’t reform Islam. Only the moderates can, and they need to be pissed off enough to get off their asses and do something about it.”

  “But the only people these pissed-off moderates are going to be pissed off at,” the Secretary of State countered, “is the United States.”

  The National Security Advisor shook his head. “Not all of them. Not the smart ones. The ones with business dealings here, and there’s a lot of them, will see this for what it is. They know who the radicals in their own families are. They know which mosques are preaching radicalism. They know who is funding it. That’s where their ire will be focused. When they start coming down on the radicals in their own midst, that’s when reform will be on the horizon.”

  “Or so you hope.”

  “That’s the beauty of having a magic wand, I don’t have to hope. I just wave it.”

  “That’s ridiculous. In fact, the entire idea is ridiculous,” the Secretary of State replied. “You’d be giving ISIS exactly what they want.”

  The President, who had been jotting notes with his Chief of Staff, suddenly looked up and said, “That’s it.”

  “What’s it?”

  “How we defeat ISIS,” Porter answered. “We give them exactly what they want.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The Secretary of State looked at the map on the monitors and shook his head. “I think I’d rather cancel our Visa Waiver Program. The fallout would be minuscule in comparison.”

  President Porter nodded. “I agree. The fallout from my idea would be massive. So massive, in fact, that something might actually get done.”

  “And in addition to deep-sixing our diplomatic relations with every Muslim nation in the region, if not around the world, we’re going to throw the Brits and the French under the bus too.”

  “Don’t forget Israel,” the National Security Advisor stated. “They’re going to lose their minds over this.”

  “Israel is tough,” replied Porter. “They can hold their own. Even so, we’ll make sure to give them an advance warning.”

  “Can we back up here a second?” the Attorney General asked. “For those of us rusty on their history, would somebody unpack this?”

  The President enlightened him. “Did you ever see the movie Lawrence of Arabia?”

  “Years ago.”

  “That’s what this is all about. When the Ottoman Empire aligned itself with Germany and Austria-Hungary in World War I, the Brits and the French were worried that the Ottomans would cut off key shipping access and cripple their economies.

  “They needed to get the Arabs to fight against the Ottomans, and so the Brits sent in T. E. Lawrence to convince them. They were promised everything under the sun, including Arab rule over a new, united Kingdom of Greater Syria.”

  The Attorney General looked at the map on the monitors. It was from 1851 and was labeled Ottoman Syria. It encompassed present-day Syria, Lebanon, Israel, and slices of Iraq and Jordan.

  “There was just one problem,” Porter continued. “The Brits and the French never intended to honor any promises they were making to the Arabs. They’d just be trading one caliphate for another.

  “With Russia’s blessing, two diplomats—Sir Mark Sykes of Great Britain and François Georges-Picot of France—secretly formulated a plan between their governments to carve up the Middle East in the event the Ottoman Empire was defeated. It became known as the Sykes-Picot Agreement and resulted in entirely new borders being drawn.

  “It threw the region off balance, and by keeping it off balance, the Brits and the French were able to control it. This control allowed them to carve out a state for the Jewish people. This is the land ISIS wants. It’s why they have also called themselves ISIL—the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant.

  “What modern countries form the Levant?” the President asked, as he turned and pointed at the map. “Egypt, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, and Israel.”

  Turning back around, he said, “What they want is what the Brits promised them a hundred years ago. They want their Arab caliphate.”

  “And you want to give that to them?” the National Security Advisor asked. “Why?”

  “I don’t want to give these butchers anything. What I want, is to put the entire damn region on notice. You said it yourself, we can’t reform Islam. Only the Islamic world can. This may be our magic wand.”

  “If we challenge, or even question, the validity of the Sykes-Picot Agreement, it could destabilize the entire region. And if we walk away from it, that’s it. Game over. Every single one of those governments will be overthrown.”

  The President looked at him. “That sounds to me like a pretty good reason for them to get their acts together.”

  “But you’d also be challenging the very validity of Israel. As soon as this fire starts burning, it’ll swallow them up. Their neighbors will overrun them.”

  “You let me worry about Israel,” Porter replied. “This isn’t about them. This is about forcing the hand of the Muslim nations in the Middle East to commence reform.”

  “There’s just one thing missing from your plan,” the Secretary of State said. “Saudi Arabia. They’re not part of Sykes-Picot, but they’re the very heart of Sunni Islam. Without them on board, none of this will make it past go.”

  The President looked at his CIA Director and nodded. It was apparent that they had discussed this issue before.

  “We can handle the Saudis.”

  “Excuse me?” the Secretary of State said.

 
“You heard me.”

  “Yeah, I heard you. What I want to know is how you plan to handle them. I’ve been around a long time and I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words handle and Saudis in the same sentence.”

  “Well,” McGee replied, “you just did.”

  The Secretary of State looked at the President. “Sir, what the hell are we about to do?”

  “You’re going to have to trust us,” Porter responded.

  “With all due respect, what I’m going to have to do is answer for all of this. I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “One step at a time. First we go after the people behind the Anbar and Antalya attacks. Then we go after everything else.”

  Looking then at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the President added, “I want an immediate response plan drawn up. I want to see a strike package on my desk within the next two hours. Who, what, where we’ll hit in ISIS territory. The American people expect us to respond.”

  “So does ISIS,” replied the Chairman.

  “Then let’s give everyone something they’ll never forget.”

  • • •

  As the meeting broke up and people began filing out, the President’s Chief of Staff motioned him back to the head of the conference table.

  “What’s going on?” Porter asked.

  “This came in during the meeting. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

  The President looked down at the man’s laptop. Senator Daniel Wells of Iowa had not only put out a video statement about the murder of Secretary of Defense Richard Devon, but his campaign was subtly using it as a fund-raising mechanism.

  “That’s a new low, even for him,” Porter said.

  “Normally, I’d suggest we ignore it, but this is pretty egregious.”

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “I use a bogus email address to subscribe to his newsletter.”

  “So, in other words,” said the President, “this is only being sent to the choir.”