Enemy of the People

by Peter Eichstaedt

  Kyle thumbed the screen to check the phone number. Yes, it was there. He had a direct line inside the lodge and to the men who held the country’s two top political leaders hostage. Now, what was he going to do with the demands? His impulse was to call his boss, Frankel, and tell him what had happened. He’d do that, but later.

  Kyle jumped up from the desk where he’d been sitting, walked down the hall and found Raoul sitting in a conference with several other Atlas Global agents. “Raoul,” Kyle blurted, wagging a finger. “We need to talk.”

  Raoul twisted around and glared, irritated at the interruption, as the others stared. “Kyle,” he said. “This better be important, ‘cuz I’m up to my ass in alligators.”

  “You need to hear this.”

  With a sigh, Raoul rose from the table and followed Kyle out to the hallway. “What is it?”

  “I just got a call from the jihadis.”

  Raoul was silent, looking stunned as he mulled the implications of the call. “You’re shitting me.”

  “No. I’m not. The call came from Carlito.”

  “You’re shit’n me. Carlito? He’s really waded into the shit now.”

  “He gave me a list of demands the jihadis want met before they’ll release President Harris.”

  Raoul blinked and said, “Release the president? You don’t really believe those assholes would do that, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Kyle said. “But, no, I’m not so naïve as to believe they’ll let the president go.”

  “Good. Because I was beginning to doubt your—”

  “Jesus, Raoul,” Kyle said. “I need your help, okay? I have to get these demands to the Vice President Marvin and the Security Council. Then I’m going public with them.”

  “Wait!” Raoul barked, raising a hand and extracting his phone from his pants pocket. “We need to talk to Hank, first. He’s at the lodge site with the Secret Service and FBI.” Raoul tapped a number, then hit the button for the speaker phone and held it to his mouth. The phone rang twice before Benedict answered.

  “This is Hank,” he said, and listened as Kyle told him of the demands.

  “You had contact with the men inside?” Benedict asked Kyle.

  “Yes,” Kyle said. “That’s why we’re calling you.”

  “So, that was you,” Benedict said.

  “What do you mean?” Kyle asked.

  “We monitored the phone call, but it took us a while to figure out who it was. The call came from a throwaway.”

  “We need to pass the demands to Marvin,” Kyle said. “That’s part of the deal if we want to keep talking to them.”

  “The only thing those bastards are going to get is a bullet in the head, and that’s being kind,” Benedict said.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Kyle said, irritated at Benedict’s bravado. “I need to deliver these to the vice president or someone close to him. Now!”

  “Relax,” Benedict said. “We’ve got a direct line into the situation room at the White House. Raoul can set up a group video call. Just patch me in.”

  “I have to make another call,” Kyle said, nodding to Raoul. “I’ll be right back.”

  Kyle wheeled and stepped into Raoul’s private office, closed the door, and called Frankel, who answered angrily. “What do you have, Kyle? I have a news meeting in ten minutes.”

  “You’d better sit down for this Ed.”

  “What? What do you have?”

  “I just got a call from the jihadis.”

  “Say that again.”

  “I just got a call from the jihadis holding the president,” Kyle said, speaking slowly. “They gave me a list of demands. It’s an exclusive.”

  “Holy shit! I don’t know what is about you, Kyle, but you get yourself in the middle of the most God-awful situations.” After a moment, Frankel said, “well, we know what’s going on page one now. When can you have the story to me?”

  “I just got their demands a few minutes ago,” Kyle said. “I’m being patched into a secure connection with Vice President Marvin at the White House. I’m assuming he’ll be with the Security Council.”

  “Why are you talking to them?”

  “Because that’s the deal,” Kyle said. “I deliver the demands to Marvin and then I can do whatever I want with the story.”

  Frankel exhaled audibly. “You’re being used, you know. And we’re being used.”

  “C’mon, Frankel. We’re being used every time the president or anyone else in Congress opens their mouths. We dutifully print it whether it’s true or not just because they said it. How is this any different?”

  “But these guys are figgin’ terrorists,” Frankel said. “We’re playing footsie with them.”

  “We have exclusive access to the men who have taken the president hostage!”

  “I don’t like it. They’re effectively holding us hostage as well.”

  “But there’s no other way it can be done,” Kyle said, becoming desperate. “Like you always preached to me, we’re the news media, not the news.”

  Frankel was silent for a long moment, then said, “Post the basics of the story in the next thirty minutes. Someone will put a headline on it saying the terrorists have issued demands. We’ll promo it as an exclusive.” Frankel said. “You have two minutes to tell me what the demands are, and then get your ass in gear.”

  Chapter 21

  Kyle ended his call with Frankel, then paused. Yeah, he had a story to write, but it would have to wait. He spun out of the room and back into the Atlas Global conference room where a dozen others clustered, all watching as the large wall screen lit up and the White House Situation Room came into view.

  Kyle scanned the faces around the polished wooden table at the White House. Vice President Marvin sat at one end, leaning forward on his elbows, looking anxious in his black leather chair. Kyle recognized the cabinet members’ now familiar faces. The table was covered with paper, file folders, three-ring binders, and a handful of electronic tablets.

  “How are the visuals?” Raoul asked loudly.

  “We can see you just fine,” Marvin said. “It’s like you’re in the room with us.”

  “Good,” Raoul said, then motioned to Kyle. “This is Kyle Dawson, the reporter with the Herald, the one who got the call from the terrorists.”

  Kyle nodded, trying to calm his quivering stomach. He took a breath to ease the tightness in his chest. “Good afternoon,” he said, with all the confidence he could muster.

  “I assume you’re familiar with everyone around the table,” Marvin said, staring directly at Kyle as he waved his hand.

  “Yes, somewhat,” Kyle said, “but obviously we’ve never met.”

  “We’re aware of that,” Marvin said. “Just let me say that we’ve been following your work over the past few years. It was quite an investigative story that you did on our former colleague, Senator Madsen.”

  After a moment Kyle said, “I just go where the facts take me.”

  “Understood,” Marvin said, then cleared his throat. “I understand from our friend Hank Benedict there, that the men who have the president have contacted you with some demands.”

  “That’s right,” Kyle said. “I received a call from one of the group. His name is Carlito.”

  “That’s not a jihadi name,” Marvin said. “That sounds Mexican.”

  “It’s a Spanish name,” Kyle said. “He’s a local. Carlito Miranda.”

  “What in God’s name is someone named Carlito Miranda doing with these maniacs?”

  “In short,” Kyle said, “he harbors a deep hatred against the government. He converted to Islam and was radicalized at a local mosque. I suspect he sees parallels between people of northern New Mexico and other oppressed minorities.”

  Marvin shook his head in disbelief. “You’re kidding, I hope.”
>
  “No,” Kyle said. “I’m not.”

  “I’m curious as to why, Mister Dawson,” Marvin asked, “you were contacted about these demands and not someone else.”

  “I have some history with Carlito and his family. Some years ago, I covered a story when Carlito’s father was killed. Carlito remembered me. That’s all.”

  “Whatever.” Marvin scowled and shook his head. “We can talk more about that later. We have some ground rules you need to be aware of before we talk any further.”

  “Okay,” Kyle said.

  “First, none of what we say here today leaves this room. That includes you, Dawson.”

  “Okay, I understand,” Kyle said. “But the specific demands themselves are public.”

  Marvin shook his head. “We want to keep it all quite. Demands are not a matter of public debate.”

  “Carlito called me,” Kyle said, “a member of the news media, specifically to make the demands public.”

  “I know that” Marvin said. “They’re using you. Do you know that?”

  “Everyone uses the news media,” Kyle said, his chest tightening. “Especially politicians.”

  Marvin let the comment hang for a moment. “You don’t need to point out the obvious,” he said, his disgust apparent. “I’m asking that you cooperate, as an American citizen. The life of the American president is at stake here.”

  Kyle clenched his jaw and inhaled through his nose. “I understand what you’re saying,” Kyle said. “But I made a commitment to Carlito. By doing what he asked, we can keep the lines of communication with the terrorists open.”

  “Dawson’s right about that,” said the CIA’s Sidow. “It’s standard protocol in hostage negotiations to go along and get along with the hostage taker. You need to establish a rapport, and hopefully some trust. It’s the only way forward. Once that trust is broken, you have nothing left to do but pick up the bodies.”

  “We’ve already got bodies!” Marvin shouted. “And who around this table really thinks that they are ever going to release President Harris unharmed?” Marvin scanned the faces at the table. No one moved.

  “At this point, it just doesn’t matter,” said Secretary of State Carter. “What the terrorists say or do simply doesn’t matter. Our response has nothing to do with that. I say we let Mister Dawson do what reporters do. And, as has been pointed out, it’s important to have a line of communication open to them, even if it’s not our own.”

  Marvin scowled and stared at the table. After a moment, he nodded, then looked up, again scanning the faces. “Okay. Agreed. We need to move on.” Marvin turned to the screen. “Dawson, do what you have to do. But what we discuss here now will stay here. Agreed?”

  Kyle looked at his screen and saw the eyes everyone in Situation Room staring at him, waiting for his response. “Agreed.”

  “Let me remind you, Dawson, violating any of the agreements here today constitute a prosecutable crime,” Marvin said.

  Kyle swallowed.

  Marvin scanned the table again. “Is there anything anyone else wants to say?”

  Marvin’s gaze was met with stony silence.

  “Let’s hear their demands,” said the CIA’s Sidow. “We don’t have time to waste.”

  Marvin nodded then lifted his eyes to the room’s camera and looked straight at Kyle. “Showtime, Dawson. Tell us what you’ve got.”

  Kyle cleared his throat. “The first thing they want is the immediate and complete release of all of the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.”

  Kyle glanced down at his laptop screen and tapped the keyboard, calling up the file. “They call the prisoners the ‘soldiers of Islam.” They say the prisoners have been illegally detained and tortured. They call the prison at Guantanamo, and I quote, an abomination in the eyes of the Prophet, end quote. They also say the illegal imprisonment will be repaid with a thousand deaths for every soldier of Islam who has died in the prison.”

  Marvin slapped the table, tossed his head back, and laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. They say the soldiers of Islam are being held illegally? But they’re not legal themselves. They don’t represent any government or legitimate group. They’re nothing but a bunch of terrorists. They have no right to talk about what’s legal and what’s not.”

  Kyle watched and waited until Marvin was finished. “I think what they’re referring to is the fact most of the prisoners have not been charged with crimes,” Kyle said. “And only a few have actually gone to trial on any charges. As I understand it, most of them have been held in there since 2001.”

  “That’s right,” said Intelligence Director Prescott, drawing the room’s attention. “We have about 170 prisoners there now, but only six have been formally charged. They’re being tried in a military court.”

  Marvin shook his head. “Guantanamo prison is a waste of time and money. If I had my way, we’d just execute them all and be done with it. They’re nothing but rotten apples, human deviants. They need to be thrown on the garbage heap of human history.”

  The room listened in silence. Then Kyle said, “That’s another thing they mentioned. They claim that a majority of the people still held at Guantanamo are civilians. They are Muslims who were unjustly arrested and detained.”

  Marvin laughed out loud. “My God, man! It’s amazing how they can pretend to give a damn about civilians when they think nothing of killing hundreds of innocent people day after day, many of their fellow Muslims. For God’s sake, look at what those ISIS bastards have done to the poor people of Syria and Iraq.” Marvin shook his head in disgust. “This whole thing is absurd.”

  “Excuse me,” said Carter. “While I agree that ISIS is shedding crocodile tears, they are getting recruiting value out of the civilians at Guantanamo. They entice people to join their cause by pointing out that America is taking Muslims and putting them in jail. They say that jailing of citizens without charges shows that the US cares nothing about human rights.”

  “This conversation is ridiculous,” Marvin said, staring at Carter. He shifted his gaze to Kyle. “What else do they want?”

  “They want the US bombing in Iraq and Syria to stop immediately, along with our support of the Iraqi army.”

  “Again, it ain’t gonna happen,” Marvin said. He stretched his arms above his head, and sat back. “As most of you around the table know, the president and I often disagree on foreign policy issues. President Harris was elected to office after promising to pull America out of Iraq and Afghanistan. But, now, well into his term, the president has come around to my point of view. It was a mistake for us to pull out of Iraq.” Marvin paused to scan the group, then continued. “Look what’s happened there. Now we have ISIS to deal with.” Marvin shook his head in disgust. “In some ways, you could say that with the president now in the hands of jihadis, he’s gotten what he deserved. He created this problem.”

  “Mister vice president!” Carter shouted, pushing herself back and suddenly standing. “Are you saying that President Harris deserves to be held hostage because he pulled US troops out of Iraq?”

  The room fell silent, as Carter glared at Marvin, her eyes glistening.

  Marvin motioned for Carter to sit down. “C’mon, Helen. Sit down. Don’t get your panties all twisted.”

  “What?” she said, stunned at the remark.

  “Relax!” Marvin said with a dismissive wave. “All I’m saying is if we’d stayed in Iraq, we wouldn’t have ISIS on our hands and we wouldn’t be in the situation we are now. That includes President Harris.”

  Carter continued to glare, shaking her head in disgust.

  “C’mon, Helen. You and I argued for much more aggressive action in Syria way back during the so-called Arab Spring. But Harris would have none of it. You and I can agree on that.”

  Carter grimaced. “We’re not going to get President Harris out of this mess alive by pointing fingers at who ma
y or may not be at fault about the past decisions.”

  Marvin stared at Carter for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. I’m just a little frustrated, as should we all be.”

  “We all are,” Carter said, settling again into her chair.

  “Next,” Kyle said, clearing his throat, “they want the United States to recognize the independent caliphate of the Islamic State. They want the Islamic State to be admitted to the United Nations with all the privileges that come with that recognition.”

  Marvin again shook his head in disgust. “I won’t even respond to that nonsense,” he said, but after a pause, added, “except to say that these butchers are completely crazy if they think they’re going to get anything other than blown off the face of the earth.” In the silence that followed, he glared at Kyle. “What else?”

  “They want all lands that were formerly part of Mexico returned to Mexico.”

  “What?”

  “Everything in the American Southwest from California to Texas.”

  “What the hell? That’s a third of the country! Where in God’s name did that demand come from?” Marvin scanned the room, but no one spoke up.

  “I can explain,” Kyle said.

  All eyes were on him.

  “Go ahead,” Marvin said. “Enlighten us.”

  “It goes back to the 1800s,” Kyle said. “The Mexican-American War.”

  “What about it?” Marvin said.

  “The US declared war with Mexico over the disputed border between Texas and Mexico. The US said it was the Rio Grande River. The Mexican’s wanted it further north.”

  “Most of us are familiar with American history,” Marvin said, “but go on.”

  “The US invaded Mexico from the Gulf side and quickly captured Mexico City.”

  “Yes,” Marvin said.

  “So, in the 1848 treaty that ended the war, Mexico gave the US all of what is now the Southwestern US, from California to Texas.”

  “So what the hell does this have to do our situation here?” Marvin barked.

  “When the US Senate approved the war treaty,” Kyle said, “it stripped the provision that recognized all of the land grants that the Spanish and Mexican governments had given to people to encourage them to settle Mexico’s northern territories. That was most of the American Southwest.”