President of the United States, he repeated to himself for the hundredth time, relishing the words. I'm going to be President of the United States. Not bad. Not bad at all. He took a long pull from his Bourbon and water and settled back in his chair. So far things were going very well indeed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Edlib, Syria
Six months ago
In a heavily fortified basement, two men were meeting in the war room of the militant organization al-Nusra Front, also known as al-Qaeda, in Syria. Above them on the street, the bombed-out building gave no indication that a sophisticated operations center had been built twenty feet below.
Much of this section of Edlib had been destroyed in the country's brutal, never-ending civil war. Rubble and debris were simply bulldozed aside to create a narrow lane for traffic, but this part of Edlib was so infiltrated by rebels – so dangerous – that ordinary citizens didn't venture into this part of town anymore. The damage to buildings was so extensive it was unlikely anything would be rebuilt for decades. It was a perfect place for Nusra, the leaders of which had chosen this unsafe, menacing part of the city as its headquarters.
Three youths armed with Russian Kalashnikov rifles sat on overturned pails in front of the ruined building. They blended in perfectly – they looked just like hundreds of other unemployed militants who were loyal to the Nusra Front and who roamed the streets of Edlib looking for excitement or trouble, or both. These three smoked cigarettes and laughed among themselves, but they missed nothing going on around them. They were guards, and their leader, a ruthless killer named Abu Mohammad al-Joulani, was conducting an important meeting in the basement room. As carefree as they seemed to be, chatting and smiling, each of these boys not yet twenty years old would willingly give his life before allowing an assailant past him.
Since 2013, when the violently Sunni Islamist group split from ISIS, Islamic State fighters had exterminated nearly a thousand al-Nusra soldiers. The carnage only served to bolster the splinter group's popularity among the youth of Syria. These young men were tired of poverty, sick of lies from the government, and angry at the establishment. It was a perfect breeding ground for jihadist militants, and training camps were established in the areas of northwestern Syria that the Nusra Front controlled. Weapons training was carried out using photos of President Assad and President Bush as targets. Within weeks al-Nusra Front was designated as a foreign terrorist organization by the USA and the United Nations. Those designations only helped Nusra's recruiting efforts. Militants flocked to join, and soon the group was the most powerful and dangerous jihadist organization in the Middle East.
Today's meeting in the war room was the culmination of months of planning. The most stunning attack against the Great Satan in history was moving from the planning stage to action.
Mohammad al-Joulani was afraid of no man. That said, he was always cautious when dealing with the thirty-year-old who sat across the table from him. He'd created this monster – Joulani had personally taught the man known as Tariq the Hawk to be ruthless, beholden to no one and loyal only to Joulani himself. He'd been systematically cleansed of feelings, memories, emotions and concern for others. Tariq was a carefully engineered killing machine.
For two years Tariq had been the leader of a shadow group within Nusra called the Falcons of Islam. The Falcons consisted of just twenty young fanatics, each handpicked by Joulani and trained in secret to become suicide jihadists for Allah. The al-Nusra Front was formidable, but the Falcons of Islam was a terrorist group on steroids. Joulani had created it for one purpose – one complex, multifaceted plan that would shake the very foundations of the West.
As they talked, Joulani thought his young protégé looked for all the world like a nondescript, scraggly-bearded Arab university student. Tariq would have fit in perfectly on the campus at Harvard or Cambridge or the Sorbonne. And that was exactly the idea. In a Western world gripped by Islamophobia, Tariq would be the least likely person one should fear. But in reality he was the one they should fear the most.
Not only was Tariq cunning and fearless, he was a poster child for terrorism. Joulani had trained him how to garner funding from sympathizers around the globe. At his mentor's suggestion, Tariq had turned the Falcons of Islam into contract mercenaries, tackling projects that were totally outside Nusra's primary mission, the Syrian war effort. Many of these jobs were virtually effortless – an assassination here, a suicide bombing there – but others were highly complex. For the latter, Tariq's ragtag band of soldiers-for-hire earned good money, which they used to fund further regional terrorism.
Mohammad had taught Tariq well, sadly perhaps too well, he was beginning to see. The man was getting cocky, full of himself, forgetting that his newfound stature and position in the terrorist world was solely because al-Joulani had allowed it to happen.
Listen to him, Joulani thought as the youth talked. I've done this. I've done that. Look at the money I've made for the Falcons. How about thanking me – your mentor – without whom you'd either be still living in poverty or more likely dead.
The Falcons had successfully completed several missions-for-hire and sat on a war chest of nearly five million US dollars. Joulani's feelings for his protégé were mixed – while he was proud of the boy, he was becoming increasingly wary. Joulani had handed him the mission they were discussing today – the most difficult job Tariq would ever encounter. If the Falcons of Islam was successful with this next project, its bank account would contain ten times what it did today. That was both a blessing and a curse, Joulani thought. This job was incredibly complex, multifaceted, rife with possible problems, and its successful conclusion would have worldwide repercussions. Mohammad would oversee everything, despite Tariq's insistence he could handle it. When it was over, Tariq would share the money with the Nusra Front. If he refused – if the impetuous young man's brash arrogances continued – Mohammad would deal with Tariq. He had created this bright young terrorist. He could create another.
He forced himself to stop thinking about the negatives. Logistically, everything was coming together well, Joulani thought as the meeting wrapped up and they sipped coffees. Making solid connections inside the United States had taken over a year, but alliances that appeared tenuous just a few weeks ago now seemed firmly in place.
Only one thing was left, and this last part wasn't under their control. They had to wait for a particular set of events that would allow the mission to happen. This exact combination of things came about only rarely, but they had plenty of patience. When the time was right, they would be ready to execute.
CHAPTER FIVE
Washington, DC
Present day
It was a singularly sobering time in American history. Vice President William Henry Harrison IV had assumed the top office just two years ago when his own predecessor, John Chapman, disappeared in southern Mexico under strange circumstances. At that time, America had gone for seven days with no President. Now a stunned nation was trying to grasp the incredible truth that it had happened again. This time Harrison himself was the one missing and the nation faced the same dilemma.
How long should the country go without a commander-in-chief? The network panels had debated the question last time this happened. This time it was different – this time the Supreme Court acted quickly. Despite the insistence of Senate Republicans that the President could still be alive, a prompt decision was handed down. Without going so far as to declare him deceased, the highest court ruled that Harrison and Taylor were presently unable to carry out the duties of their offices and instructed that successors be expeditiously appointed.
With that simple, unprecedented and historic ruling, the Democratic Speaker of the House was going to become the President of the United States.
The day after the planes went missing, the Parkes family returned to Washington. Although the White House would be their home now, the personal effects of President Harrison and his family were still exactly where they had been when the four of them l
eft. Cham and Karen lived in Georgetown, but the Secret Service insisted they move into the White House immediately. With the country at DEFCON 1, protecting the President was top priority. For the time being they would sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom on the second floor of the White House, just down the hall from the private residence that would be theirs as soon as President Harrison's personal belongings were removed. That was just fine with Cham Parkes; he coveted nothing more than to be living in the White House.
Without the fanfare he would have relished, at three o'clock on Wednesday the chief justice of the Supreme Court gave Chambliss T. Parkes the oath of office. Only his family and Chief of Staff A. J. Minter were in attendance. The new commander-in-chief was a Democrat from Texas, a man whose cronyism, favoritism, self-dealings and lust for power were legendary, and he was now exactly where he had always yearned to be. The only thing that would have made it sweeter was if the Republicans hadn't controlled the Senate, but that would only be a minor inconvenience.
Cham knew how to work the system. He had only seven months of Harry Harrison's unexpired term to serve, but President Parkes was planning far beyond the upcoming election. Now that he was the incumbent, he was sure he'd win the nomination this summer. Four months later, this coming November, he'd win the whole thing. He'd be elected President, earning his own four-year term. After that, nothing could stop him. He just had to be careful and make no mistakes until he snagged the victory.
Fifteen minutes after the ceremony ended, his cellphone rang. He glanced at the number and asked his caller to hold. He shooed everyone out of the Oval Office. Once the doors were closed and he was alone, he said curtly, "Don't you ever call me again on this phone."
"And hello to you too, Cham. Yes, it is also good to hear your voice." The caller spoke in cultured but heavily accented English.
He spat, "What do you want?" There was one person on earth who might keep him from being elected President next January, and he was talking to that man now. Cham intended to put him in his place. He was the President, after all.
"That's not the tone of voice I expected from you, Mr. President." The title was tinged with sarcasm. "I'm simply an old friend, a loyal supporter, calling to congratulate you. I prepared a little present for you – a little inaugural gift – and I've sent it off. It should already have been delivered by now."
This is going to stop right now, Parkes thought smugly. He didn't need help from this "old friend" any longer. Cham had agreed to make something happen if he became President, and he'd honor that commitment. After all, his old friend had made it well worth his while. But they didn't need to start being phone buddies, and he would have nothing to do with this man once he'd delivered what he promised.
"Fine. Done deal, then."
"Until next time." The caller hung up before Cham could comment. A deal was a deal, and this one was, in fact, done. There wouldn't be a next time.
At six o'clock President Chambliss T. Parkes gave his first address to the nation. He was eager to assert his new authority, and his advisors thought the nation needed to hear from him. In his distinctive Texas drawl, Parkes promised that every resource available to the government was being employed to learn what had really happened less than forty-eight hours before.
"If this is an act of terrorism, we will leave no stone unturned in our quest to find and kill these people," he asserted. "If it is something else, we must learn what happened so we all can put this tragedy behind us. It is my fervent hope that we come together not as Democrats or Republicans, but as Americans, unified in our desire to keep our homeland safe, great and impregnable."
CHAPTER SIX
The Third Day
Thursday, April 2
Two days after the incidents, debris was spotted two hundred miles west of Puerto Rico within a few hundred miles of what had been Air Force One's flight path. A naval vessel plucked a Gulfstream aircraft seat from the water. Two hours later the DHS chief announced that a seat from the plane had been found. It was positively identified. Within minutes the world saw the familiar seal of the President of the United States on the chair's back cushion.
Shortly thereafter, President Parkes held his second news conference. Without a hint of compassion Parkes declared that the President, his family, Chief of Staff Bob Parker and seven others had perished in what was assumed to be an act of terrorism. The President had no authority to declare a person deceased, but this one did so anyway.
Once the President had read the remarks his speechwriters prepared for him, the briefing should have been over. But Parkes wasn't finished. He very deliberately folded his notes, put them in his pocket and continued speaking extemporaneously. What came next was strictly Cham Parkes doing whatever he wanted since he was now the leader of the free world.
All of this was undoubtedly a massive plot, the President said matter-of-factly. Although no wreckage had been found from the second plane, Air Force Two was unquestionably part of it, and he declared it had been destroyed as well. Although he halfheartedly promised the search efforts would continue, the President opined that given the remote area where Air Force Two disappeared, he didn't expect that debris would ever be found.
The reporters in front of him were wide-eyed with astonishment. Some looked as though they were in shock, others whispered into their recorders. Never before had a President stepped out like this. Parkes was offering his own personal opinions about the most serious crisis in American history!
As if things couldn't become more bizarre, Cham Parkes still wasn't finished. Next came a startling announcement that infuriated his advisors, his cabinet members and many Americans. He lowered the nation's threat level to DEFCON 3 and announced it was back to business as usual in America. Aircraft, planes, borders and schools would all reopen by dawn tomorrow, Parkes ordered, pointing out that nothing had happened since the planes disappeared and there was no longer a continuing threat to America.
Without taking questions, the man who'd been President less than twenty-four hours walked away from the podium. Fox News later called his news conference "astounding to the point of insanity and given without a hint of emotion. After only one day in office we can say this is a President unlike any other the nation has ever seen. America can only hope he will listen to the advice of the many qualified individuals whose job it is to run our government." The inference was unmistakable – President Parkes was going to do things his way. It wouldn't be long, a Fox panel said later that day, until every Harrison appointee was replaced with cronies of Chambliss Parkes.
_____
Two hours before the President’s press conference began, Lydia Beckham, a seventy-three-year-old grandmother from Merrickville, Ontario, was accomplishing something that had been on her bucket list for years. For three months she'd been taking flying lessons at a local airport, and today she was going on what was called a "cross-country." Flying solo, she'd go to a nearby small airport, land and get her logbook signed, take off again, do the same thing at another airport and then return to home base. It was a rite of passage for student pilots, and she was both apprehensive and ready to get it done.
Today she was alone in a four-seater Cessna 172 trainer, flying from Merrickville to Kingston, Ontario, seventy miles away. Although the weather had been beautiful when she left, spring could bring rapid changes. Storm clouds began building ahead and Lydia became nervous. She wanted to talk to her instructor on the radio, but she panicked. Forgetting everything she'd been taught, she was turning the dial frantically when a sudden downdraft buffeted the plane for a few seconds. She screamed and banged on the radio, but it wasn't working at all now. She knew she'd turned the wrong dials. Lydia had never been this scared in her entire life. She prayed to God to let her live. Trying to calm herself, she steered away from the cloudbank between her and Kingston. She turned her little airplane south toward clear skies.
When the Cessna reached a broad expanse of water, she knew she had come to Lake Ontario. Still addled, she thought she should turn around,
but now there was lightning behind her. Suddenly it began to rain fat drops that splattered hard on the windshield. She turned right again, desperately trying to get to the clear skies she could see in that direction.
She was so confused that she couldn't remember how to interpret the instruments that told her where she was going. Where she was now didn't matter anyway to Lydia. What mattered was finding an airport – any airport. If she could just land, she promised God she'd never get in an airplane again. Finally she saw dry land coming up ahead of her. Thank God! She put the plane into a steeper descent than her instructor would have liked, but she desperately had to land as soon as possible. Suddenly she let out a shriek. An enormous black airplane of some kind, flying very, very fast, shot by on her right side, less than a hundred feet away. Seconds later there was another one directly in front, coming straight toward her until at the last minute it veered sharply to her left. She pushed the yoke harder to increase her descent. She wanted to be down, now.
Unfortunately the little grandmother from Canada had made a mistake. She had entered United States airspace over the state of New York. President Parkes ordered the threat level lowered to DEFCON 3 just half an hour later, but at the moment Lydia’s plane entered New York the country was still at its highest level, DEFCON 1. The control tower at Kingston, Ontario, frantically tried to contact her, but she couldn't hear them.
A tiny airplane that might be packed with explosives, its pilot perhaps on a suicide mission, had just flown into the United States and was maintaining radio silence. Two F-16 fighters had been scrambled to intercept her when she entered US airspace. As they flew very close, they could see an elderly female pilot, but she ignored their orders to turn back. Instead, the pilot had put the plane into a very steep descent, something that seemed to the military pilots to be a kamikaze dive.
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