Rules of Engagement

by Ken Fite

  I showed my White House staff credentials at the guard post. After contacting the president and telling him that I needed to see him, I told him that Jami was with me and she’d need clearance to enter with me. Keller had asked me what the visit was about, and I told him I’d explain everything when we got there. The guard verified Jami’s name on the list, studied her identification, and escorted us onto the property.

  Ten minutes later, Jami and I were ushered to the presidential study upstairs. With a knock at the door, the agent posted there pushed it open and gestured for us to enter, saying that Keller was expecting us.

  “Mr. President,” said Jami as she walked in first and shook his hand before greeting Emma Ross, whom Jami had met eighteen months prior when there was a credible threat against Keller on inauguration day.

  “My God,” said Keller as I stepped in behind Jami and he looked at me. “What the hell happened to you?”

  My eyes darted over to Ross, then back to the president. “I need to speak with you alone,” I said.

  The president crossed his arms. “Blake, anything you have to say to me can be said in front of Emma.”

  “Please,” I said.

  Keller turned to his chief of staff and nodded. I watched as Ross gestured to the door, grabbed a newspaper from the table next to the president’s chair, and walked out of the study with Jami.

  “What’s this all about?” said Keller as I turned back once the door had been closed and we were alone.

  “Nikolai Ivanov.”

  “Ivanov?” he repeated and turned his back to me as he approached the window. “What about him?”

  I took a few steps closer and looked him over before responding. “Where is he, Mr. President?”

  Keller turned back with a surprised expression on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sir, I need to know where he’s being held,” I said, paying close attention to his facial expression and body language. Based on my training as a SEAL and as a counterterrorism operative, I knew that he was lying.

  “Don’t lie to me, Mr. President,” I said as he turned back to the window. “I deserve to know the truth.”

  Keller remained at the window. He dropped his head and, after several seconds, started to nod to himself. “You’re right,” he said softly. “You do deserve to know the truth.” The president paused again as he collected his thoughts. “Early morning on New Year’s Day, I had an intelligence briefing on the events in New York.” Keller slipped his hands into his pockets with his head still hung low before he continued. “The FBI had gone into TITANPOINTE and went up to the top floor and found the two men who tried to bring down the intelligence-gathering system.” He looked over his shoulder to me. “Ivanov was alive.”

  “That’s not possible,” I said. “There was enough C-4 up there to destroy the entire floor of the building.”

  Keller began walking to me slowly. “From what I read, it was piled up in a corner on the opposite side of the building. He was trapped inside an elevator. The blast reached him, but it just didn’t kill him, Blake.”

  Neither of us spoke for several seconds as I thought about that night in the city. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The president looked past me and shrugged. “There are protocols for situations like this, Blake. Processes. Procedures. The American people don’t need to see terrorists within our own country brought to trial, only to have it drawn out for months if not years until these people are exonerated or brought to justice.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Far better for the public to believe that he’s dead.”

  “I’m not the public. I’m your counterterrorism advisor,” I said and paused a beat. “And I’m your friend.”

  “Blake, don’t—”

  “Sir,” I said, interrupting him, “you should have told me. I could have done things differently.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” replied Keller. “For all intents and purposes, the American people believe he’s dead. And he might as well be. Nikolai Ivanov will never again see the light of day, I can promise you that.”

  I crossed my arms, took a step forward, and stared at the president as he looked back at me. “Where is he?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said again after a few seconds of silence, deciding to end the conversation there.

  “Mr. President,” I said as I winced in pain and grabbed my right shoulder from the stress of the situation. “Please. I need to know where he is. It’s important.”

  Keller dropped his gaze and shook his head. Finally he spoke. “Mount Weather. Sixty miles west of us.”

  I looked away, recognizing the name of the facility, but unaware of what it was. “What’s Mount Weather?”

  “As far as the American people are concerned, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. A civilian command facility,” he said and shrugged again. “Center of operations for FEMA, a site controlled by Homeland Security.” Keller’s eyes remained fixed on mine. “But the truth—” he said, looking past me to the door before glancing back “—is that Mount Weather is the location for a shadow government. Precautions for a doomsday scenario, a program put in place by Reagan. Several buildings on the surface, but three hundred feet underground—” he pointed to the floor “—is a massive complex. A subterranean fortress carved deep into the mountain. Twenty multistory buildings. Fresh water reservoirs two hundred feet across. A hospital. A broadcast studio where I—or my successor—could keep Americans posted on events. Enough supplies for two hundred government officials to survive for a month. Enough bunks for two thousand. In the event of a nuclear war, should Washington get wiped out, any surviving members of our government would be taken there.” The president took in another breath, and after letting it out, he added, “And there’s a prison down there where people like Nikolai Ivanov are kept. That’s where he is, Blake.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THE PRESIDENT’S WORDS cut right through me as I realized what he was trying to tell me—that there was no way I could ever get inside a facility like Mount Weather. I imagined the kind of security that would surround such an off-the-record government installation. I needed to find another way to get to Ivanov.

  “I need you to make a phone call,” I said to the president.

  Keller laughed to himself at the suggestion. “And do what exactly, Blake? Ask them to let the guy go?”

  “You have to do something.”

  “Why?” he pressed and took a step closer to me. “First, I need you to explain to me what this is all about.”

  I shook my head and looked away. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to calm my nerves. “Jami,” I replied. “If I can’t free Nikolai Ivanov by daybreak, they’re going to come after her.”

  “Who’s going to come after her?” he asked, his voice now lower than it was just moments earlier.

  “Dimitri Ivanov,” I replied. “His son. He’s responsible for everything that’s happened today. The ransomware that targeted Chicago and Washington hospitals. The DDC bombing. This is personal, sir.”

  Keller’s eyes stayed fixed on mine. “Is that who did this to you?” he asked, looking me over. “Dimitri?”

  I nodded. “Like I said, I have until daybreak to bring his father to him. Please. I need your help.” He watched as I walked past him, put my hands on the back of my head, and slowly slid them down my neck.

  “Does she know?”

  I stared at the floor and shook my head.

  “Then I think you need to tell her, son.”

  “Mr. President, I’ve just spent the last six months of my life looking over my shoulder. Waiting for these people to find me. Wondering who they were. Where they were. When they’d show up.” I stopped walking and looked up when I got to the window. “I don’t want that life for her. That’s why I’ve pushed her away from me for so long.” I turned back to look at my friend. “If I don’t deal with this, they will come after her. The rules of engagement don’t apply to these pe
ople, sir. Please,” I said again. “I’m asking for your help.”

  Keller crossed his arms and looked down to the floor. “I can’t do it, Blake.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t,” he repeated. “Ivanov is under the Bureau’s control along with Homeland. They call the shots.”

  “Then call Bill Landry. Call the FBI director.”

  He looked up and thought about it.

  “Just make one call.”

  “Alright,” he said, once again stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll do what I can to help. But first, we—”

  Before Keller could continue, I heard a knock at the door behind us. It opened slowly. I turned as Jami entered with Ross following close behind. Jami looked pale and was carrying the newspaper that Emma had been holding when they had left us just a few minutes earlier. “You okay? What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Jami, walking past the president and unfolding the newspaper she carried. She looked down at the paper, turned it around for me, and extended her hand so I could take it from her.

  I read the headline, started scanning the rest of the story, and looked up in disbelief. “What is this?”

  “Another leak,” replied the president’s chief of staff as I looked back down and continued to read the story.

  The New York Times was not fond of the president and didn’t go out of their way to hide it. Over the last eighteen months, they had ripped his presidency apart. First, claiming that he had won the office out of sympathy due to his kidnapping. Then they claimed voter fraud. Since the beginning of the year, there had been multiple leaks coming out of the White House, with Keller unable to control the flow of information.

  The author of the story had their facts straight. It was a public outing, revealing that the president had his own black ops team at his disposal, handling domestic counterintelligence missions for him. The story centered on me and my past with Keller. It had details all the way back to high school, Keller training me to help me become a SEAL, my unusual rise to become a presidential advisor, and how it was just a cover.

  It explained in detail how I had saved the president’s life on the night that he was set to receive his party’s nomination for president and again on inauguration day. It exposed what I had done in New York City six months ago, revealing the details about the NSA operation at the site called TITANPOINTE that should have remained a secret. I finally got to the end. “We can’t let this get out,” I said. “We have to stop this.”

  “Third major leak so far and we’re only halfway through the year,” said Ross.

  “All from the Times?” I asked, and Emma nodded her answer. I looked at the byline. “Who’s Meg Taylor?”

  Ross folded one arm under the other and brought a hand up under her chin, resting it there to think. “Been filling in for David O’Malley. Young, ambitious woman. Currently in the White House press corps.”

  “How would she get these kinds of details on Blake?” asked Jami, but the chief of staff just shrugged.

  “You said she’s part of the press corps?”

  “Temporarily,” Ross clarified. “She’s been working from O’Malley’s desk downstairs until he returns.”

  “Do you have any contact information for Taylor?” I pressed.

  Emma shook her head.

  I looked at Jami for a moment, then turned back to Ross. “Can we see her desk?”

  Emma deferred to the president, who considered the request. “What are you thinking, Blake?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking that whoever’s leaking information to the New York Times might be the same person leaking information to Dimitri Ivanov about his father.” I paused, looking at each of them before continuing. “They’re using people like Taylor to try to bring down your presidency. The leaks are coming from the intelligence community, not from inside the White House,” I said, thinking about Simon Harris.

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Keller.

  “Because Dimitri Ivanov said he had people on the inside. It’s the only thing that makes sense right now.”

  Keller nodded to Ross. “Take them downstairs. Help them any way you can, Emma.” The president stretched out his arm and brought his wrist up to his eyes to check the time. “I have some calls to make. Blake, I’ll reach out as soon as I have some answers,” he added as Jami and I followed Ross out the door.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  EMMA ESCORTED US down to the press corps offices. As soon as we walked through the doorway, the overhead lights automatically came on, revealing several rows of desks. Ross stepped forward, crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes as she searched the room to find O’Malley’s desk.

  “It’s here somewhere,” she whispered to herself as she brought a finger to her lips and tapped it slowly as her eyes flicked back and forth across the empty room. “I think it’s back there in the corner somewhere.”

  She began walking through the maze of desks as Jami and I followed. Once she reached the corner desk, Ross lifted a few papers to reveal an old wooden nameplate with O’MALLEY embossed on the front of it.

  The room had a distinct old-house smell to it and reminded me of my father’s office from when I was a kid. The scent was a combination of cluttered papers, mildew, and stagnant air inside the cramped space. I couldn’t help but look around the old office and acknowledge the history that the room represented.

  “Blake,” said Jami as I looked back down and saw that she was holding something and handed it to me.

  It was a picture of me along with fourteen of the president’s aides and closest advisors. My eyes grew wide. “This was from the night we bombed the Shayrat air base.” I brought the picture closer to my eyes. My face had been circled and someone, Taylor, I guessed, had written my name right on the photograph.

  Handing it back to Jami, I started to sift through some of the papers spread across the desk that Meg Taylor had been working from as Jami looked it over. “Why’s your name written on this picture, Blake?”

  I was wondering the same thing myself. “Maybe Taylor came across the picture and started going through the list of Keller’s team present the night of the airstrike. Maybe she didn’t recognize me and decided I was worth checking out,” I said as I continued to sift through the loose papers on the desk.

  Jami handed the picture over to Ross, who stood behind us as Jami joined me at the desk and began going through the loose papers, receipts, and other paperwork carelessly left on top of it. Then I found something that looked promising, held it up, turned it so the overhead light could catch it, and started to read it over.

  “I think this is a receipt,” I said, scanning the paper and turning it over to look at the back side.

  Emma took a step closer and looked at it over my shoulder. “It’s for a temporary parking pass,” she said. “With O’Malley being out, standard operating procedure is to issue a temporary pass to anyone that fills in from the Times. We wouldn’t want to issue anything longer than two weeks for someone filling in, but wouldn’t want to put a reporter through the hassle of having to get a new parking pass every day, either.”

  “You make them pay for a pass?” asked Jami as I turned around to look at Ross, who shook her head.

  “No, but as you can imagine, security is tight. We require photo identification, social security number, and a pretty extensive background check, so we need to know in advance when one of the news outlets will have someone filling in. We expedite wherever we can. But—” she pointed to the paper I was holding “—we make them sign that privacy notice for the background check and mail a copy to their home address.”

  I studied the information written on the privacy notice. I recognized the Federal Flats temporary housing address in Georgetown. “This isn’t far from here,” I said, turning the paper to show Jami. “Let’s head out.”

  Jami nodded. But as I folded the paper in half and turned to leave, Emma stood in our path, blocking it. “Blake,” she said, soundi
ng concerned as she turned from Jami to me, “we need to talk about something.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Ross tilted her head slightly, trying to find the right words to say. “As chief of staff, it’s my job not only to lead and direct Keller’s team, but also—” she paused for a moment “—to protect the president as well.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Protect him? I don’t understand. What are you trying to say, Emma?”

  “The story that’s coming out in the Times just a few hours from now,” she said, lifting her wrist and checking her watch. “It’s bad, Blake. Really bad.” She took a step closer and crossed her arms as she did. “You and I both know that when this story hits, it’s going to create a firestorm we haven’t seen in years.” She turned to Jami. “A black ops team, not only green-lit, but directed by a sitting president.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said and turned to Jami. “I haven’t worked with Jami in six months now. Two Bureau agents,” I said, referring to Chris Reed and Mark Reynolds, “a Chicago analyst. They just let me work with them on occasion. Emma, when the American people find out about this, I don’t think it’ll be—”

  “They’ll go after him,” said Ross, interrupting me. “They’ll appoint a special counsel to investigate. They’ll issue subpoenas and will start identifying witnesses. They won’t care why Keller did it. And if they decide to move forward, they’ll go to the Bureau to bring criminal charges against him. Do you want that?”

  I thought about Bill Landry at the Bureau and how much he had opposed me over the years, clearly not a supporter of the president or me. “No,” I said and looked down at the floor for several seconds, thinking.

  When I looked back up, Ross was still staring at me. “And then they’re going to come after you,” she said. “A special prosecutor will be named by the Justice Department. You’ll be questioned as if you were on trial. Everything you’ve done to help Keller over the last eighteen months will be looked at, Blake.”