by Rawlin Cash
Cheryl began crying. She was sat next to Raynor. "I don't want to die," she said.
"It'll be okay," Raynor said, knowing full well that it wouldn't.
Jackson radioed the secret service members outside the stadium with his walkie-talkie. All the signals were dead. Whoever attacked them knew where all the secret service members were.
Raynor saw the look of horror on Jackson's face.
"What is it, Jackson?"
Jackson turned to the President. "I don't know, sir. I'm sorry."
Suddenly, a bullet whizzed into the booth and struck Jackson in the head. The blood from the fallen secret service officer sprayed over Cheryl's face. Her shrieks of horror could be heard over the sounds of gunfire and explosions.
Raynor shook his head.
He pulled his wedding ring out of his pocket.
He thought about his wife and their dog—Clancey. He'd given up so much of his life to get to where he was.
Outside the booth, the remaining secret service agents dropped. A group of soldiers ran up to Raynor and Cheryl. They were dressed in KPA gear.
Raynor shook his head.
It was a coup.
The soldiers pointed their AK-47s at him and barked orders in their native language. Raynor just sat there looking at them, his arms raised. He gestured for Cheryl to do the same.
It was at that point that the sounds of a helicopter echoed through the stadium. A Russian Hind-D attack helicopter lowered onto the stadium field nearby.
As the cockpit opened, a man dressed in more formal military attire got out. He walked up to Raynor and had a big smirk on his face. He had a scar on his face, from his left eye to his right cheek.
"Are you the President?" the man asked.
Raynor, sweating and nervous, nodded.
"And who is she?" the man asked.
"She's my Press Secretary."
The man chuckled, pulled out a small pistol, and shot Cherly in the head. "I only want you."
"You bastard!" Raynor said. He got up to attack the man, but a group of soldiers pulled him down. "Who are!? What is this about?"
"You wanted peace? Your country has held our people back for years. I won’t let our Supreme Leader make a mockery of all we have lost. You are my prisoner.”
"Who are you?"
"My name is General Woo, and I am the leader of North Korea now."
Woo snapped his fingers, and one of his men knocked the President out. Woo then ordered his men to bring the President to the group of military vehicles outside the stadium.
He looked around at the destruction.
He saw the dead body of the Supreme Leader on the stage.
He smirked.
His plan has worked perfectly.
Eighteen
Vice President Kenneth Cosgrove adjusted his tie and checked himself in the Presidential bathroom in the White House. His thin grey hair was brushed to conceal a bald patch and the liver spot he'd developed in his early forties. He'd excused himself from the meeting with the National Security Advisor because he wanted to hide the smile that had crept along his face.
It was perfect.
He warned President Raynor for days about the stupidity of the peace treaty.
And, as expected, Raynor was now suffering the consequences of his arrogance.
Cosgrove being the career politician that he was, knew that it was an opportunity, one that would make him the most powerful man in the world if he played his cards right.
He took off his thin glasses and wiped them with a rag he had in his front lapel.
He and the NSA were meeting to go over the state of affairs. Since Raynor was being held as a hostage, Cosgrove, the Vice President, was about to assume the powers and duties of the President.
Born in Lincoln, Nebraska, to a poor farmer and a housewife, Cosgrove knew the farming life wasn't for him. He was smart and read with a greedy and hungry habit. There wasn't a day that went by in his youth when he did not have a book on his person.
After graduating with a Bachelor and Masters of Arts in Political Science, he found a job as an intern for an up and coming Nebraskan senator. He paid his dues, did what he was told, and when others gave up or found the work too grueling, he persisted. It didn't take him long to find a position in the White House during the George H. W. Bush administration. He served as chief of staff from 1989 to 1993.
After his stint in the White House, he got a job at the Department of Defense and oversaw various military campaigns. From those in Kosovo to the second Iraq War. But he knew he needed more experience, and while he was in his early forties when the shock and awe campaign began, he knew that he needed a new perspective.
That was Cosgrove's greatest strength—he knew his weaknesses. And he was never afraid to admit them. If something had to be fixed, he'd either figure it out or find someone who could.
He resigned from his position at the Department of Defense and then made his way to a private weapons manufacturer. He spent five years on the board before jumping back into politics. He'd made the connections he'd needed to make—he'd done what he had to do.
And now was his chance to shine, now was his chance to make a name for himself.
President Raynor had been silly.
He'd fought against the system.
He was too stubborn, too bull-headed, too noble.
To survive in Washington, to have legs, you needed to be malleable. You needed to know when to change, and you needed to know when to run.
Before leaving for North Korea, Cosgrove and Raynor had a meeting.
"I'm going to do what no President has been able to do," Raynor said.
"You're an idiot," Cosgrove replied. “China won’t let you declare peace. Too much power is at stake in the region.”
The two men were in the Oval Office. It was well past midnight, and there was a draft creeping in through one of the windows.
"You know, what I like and hate about you is the fact that you don't show me any respect," Raynor said.
"I'm just telling you the truth."
"You could be nice about it."
"Nice… mean… I told you the truth."
"So, you think I shouldn't go."
"No."
"It's peace. We can end the war in North Korea."
"Who cares," Cosgrove said. "Do you think America is the moral compass of the world? I suspected you were dumb, but now I know you are. There are people to save all over the world, but that isn't our mission."
"And the American people?" Raynor spat back. “What if North Korea escalates the war with South Korea? What if those nukes get into the wrong hands? Americans will lose lives.”
"Again… you go on like some boy scout. I don't care about American lives… You haven't been in Washington long enough to know how the world works."
"And you've forgotten how the world should work!”
The two men stared at each other, the outsider and the insider.
Opposites in so many ways.
Their voices had both grown loud, and they knew that their aides and interns could hear their conflict.
Cosgrove sighed, pushed himself up from the oak chair he was sat in, straightened his suit, and then said, "You're going to be a one-term President if you keep this up."
"Isn't that what you want?" Raynor sneered.
Thinking about the conversation now made Cosgrove chuckle. They'd had the exchange just two days before the President left.
Cosgrove walked out of the bathroom and met the NSA in the Oval Office. Before sitting down at the Presidential desk, he looked out over the White House's front lawn gardens.
"Mr. Vice President," the NSA said. "Are you ready to continue?"
"Yes," Cosgrove said, sitting down. "Where were we?"
"We were going over our response?"
"I don't want us to respond just yet. I think it's best if we sit on this. The Chinese President just called. He says that together we can work on a response.”
"Sir?"
/> "You heard me."
"Should we reach out to the CIA? Or the military? SEAL team six?"
"No. We’ll work with China.”
Cosgrove turned away from the NSA and faked a cough. The smile had crept back on his face.
"Of course," the NSA said, a confused look on his face. "I'll tell our joint chiefs."
"It's important that we remain on stand-by until we know what is going on. We need to be diplomatic. We don’t even know if the President is alive or dead.”
"Anything else, sir?" the NSA said.
"No," Cosgrove said. "You're dismissed."
The NSA left the Oval Office, and Cosgrove closed his eyes. The President was an idiot. He didn't understand the way Washington worked. He also didn't understand the way the military industrial complex worked. Hundreds of billions of dollars were on the line. Shareholders needed to be respected and honored. The worker needed to be respected. China was a big market and Cosgrove wasn’t just going to let Raynor piss them off.
After taking a long, deep breath, he checked his private cell phone and saw the message from a contact at a weapons manufacturer.
He smiled.
Business was about to boom.
Nineteen
It was warm for a December morning in Washington. The temperature was well over seventy, and the soil was soft to the step. Hunter opened the door of his Ford GT and walked toward Langley's George Bush Center for Intelligence. Thick green pines surrounded the agency's buildings.
Hunter wondered if that was part of the trick with the CIA. The natural forest felt like a mask, a veneer, covering up the fact that most of their work was done in urban, densely populated city centers.
He moved with an arrogance that others at the campus noticed. It was early, and he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep. He'd been glued to the television all night, watching everything. The country was in a state of panic.
He'd woke up to his phone buzzing.
He was shocked to see it was Fawn. He'd drank at least eight beers at the bar with her. She had at least six Manhattans. He pushed himself up from his bed, took his G-12, and listened to what Fawn had to say.
"I thought you'd still be sleeping," he said.
"How do you feel?"
"Like shit."
"Same."
"What's this about?"
"The Director has called us in for a meeting. It’s about the attack on the President."
"I thought you were on probation," Hunter said. "I thought I was too old-school."
"I don't know what it's about. We're to meet in his office."
Hunter shrugged and got himself ready.
At least the meeting gave him something to do.
As he walked inside the lobby of the CIA's main building, he spotted Hank.
"Long time no see, buddy," Hank said to Hunter.
"You're way too much of a morning person for me," Hunter said.
"How'd the meeting with the Director go yesterday?"
"I was fired."
"Why are you here?"
"I don't know. The Director wants to speak to me."
"Strange," Hank said. "I'm about to meet with the Director, too."
Hank stepped through the metal detector and waited for Hunter to meet him on the other side.
“Before we go up, I need a coffee," Hunter said.
Hank checked his watch. "We're going to be late."
"When did you give a shit about being late?"
Hank smiled. "Alright."
The two men made their way to the most secure Starbucks in the free world. It was the only Starbucks where the baristas weren't permitted to ask for the customers' names—the Starbucks in CIA headquarters.
Once Hunter got his coffee, the two of them made their way to the tenth floor. After they checked-in with the Director's secretary, they made their way to his office.
"He'll be five minutes," Hunt's secretary said.
Hunter and Hank sat down in front of the Director’s desk.
"You look sick," Hank said.
"I drank too much."
Hank laughed. "What do you suppose this is about?"
"I don't know," Hunter said. "A part of me doesn't want to know. A part of me wants to leave this building and never look back."
"I get it," Hank said. "I figured they'd wronged you. You're not like the rest of us. I can see it in the way you go about your day-to-day. You have a certain Je ne sais pas."
Hunter nursed his coffee. He felt weak. He'd was pushing himself too hard with alcohol. He needed to slow down.
Asher entered the office and closed the blinds.
“Good morning,” Hunter said with a wry smile.
"Shut the hell up," Asher growled.
Hunter leaned back in the plush leather seat. “What’s this about? Yesterday you said I was old news. You said I was trash. Yet, I get a call this morning from Deputy Director Aspen telling me you wanted to see me again."
"Our President's been kidnapped by a North Korean General."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
Hank sat quietly in the room. He nervously shifted his focus back and forth between Asher and Hunter.
Asher sighed and opened up a drawer. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass. He poured himself a glass and shot it back. "Our hands are tied behind our backs," Asher said. "The Vice President is calling the shots now, and he's a god damned prick—he’s undermining us.”
Hunter smirked. "Finally, something we agree on."
"The Vice President has called off all US military operations. The CIA cannot act without his authorization. It’s all apparently at the request of China.”
Hunter shook his head. It was a power move. China and the Vice President were seizing advantage.
Asher lowered his head. "It feels like Vice President Cosgrove is trying to teach the President a lesson. This is purely political. Who knows what the grand strategy is, but the DC political class has been waiting for a moment like this."
"Bastard," Hank said. "That's a really shitty move, y'know."
Hunter looked at Hank from his periphery and rolled his eyes. He turned back to Asher. “So, what’s this about?”
"Our hands are tied behind our back," Asher said. "We, as an organization, need to stand in line with the military. Plus, if we were to perform any operation in North Korea, we'd need the military’s support."
"So, why am I here?" Hunter asked.
"And why am I here?" Hank said, a confused look across his face.
"You're to meet a foreign ally in the warehouses on the campus. You'll get instruction from there. That is all I am supposed to tell you.”
"What the hell?" Hunter said. "Yesterday, you said I was a psychological risk."
"Our ally refused to work with anyone else. They asked for you and only you. It was the only way they'd help us. And, I will do anything to rescue the President. The Vice President is giving too much power to China.”
“What ally?” Hunter said.
“MI6.”
Twenty
There were three large warehouses on the CIA campus. They were hidden in a wooded area a twenty-minute walk from the main building.
"Why the hell are you walking? I could have driven us to the warehouses,” Hank said, wheezing.
"It's a short walk."
"It's a twenty-minute walk."
"You need the exercise," Hunter said to Hank.
"Ah, you're an asshole. You're going to be the end of me, I swear."
The two men walked up to a large, twenty-foot tall warehouse. Hunter walked up to the front door and knocked.
The door swung open.
It was her—the British woman.
"You look legitimately surprised?" Margot said with a light giggle.
"What the hell is this?" Hunter said. “When I heard it was MI6, I knew it’d be you.”
"Your President's been kidnapped, your Vice President is a daft cunt, and your country needs help."
"You to know e
ach other?" Hank asked.
Margot extended her hand toward Hank. "My name is Margot Fox. A pleasure to meet you?"
"Hank Trail."
The two shook hands.
"I had the pleasure to meet Mr. Hunter while on an operation in Amsterdam a couple of days ago. Things went sour real quick.”
"You're the girl?" Hank said.
"Ah, he talked about me," Margot said. "It was a shame he never said goodbye." She leered at Hunter.
Hunter shook his head. "What the hell is this?"
"Follow me," Margot said. “We might be the only hope your country has to rescue the President."
Hank and Hunter followed Margot into the warehouse.
Inside, it was mostly empty, save for two broken down humvees in a far corner, and a clutter of old computer monitors from the eighties rested up against the north wall.
There was a group of people in the far corner. Hunter couldn't tell who they were. They were all standing around a small table.
Margot was wearing tight-fitting Khakis and a white blouse. Her ass looked great. Her red hair gleamed despite the dullness of the day outside. She had that way about her.
Hunter followed her closely.
"Ah, you made it!"
Fawn was with the group standing around the table. She walked to Hunter and Hank. "How was Director Asher?”
"Still pissed off," Hunter said. He turned to Margot. “Can we get to the point? I am a little hungover.”
“Right,” Margot said. “I made a few calls last night. I caught the red-eye from London and arrived in Dulles in the morning." She walked up to the table. "MI6 has research labs all over the world. They tend to be out in the open. Many of our top scientists are professors at American Research Universities."
Hunter nodded. "You said your cover was that of a professor at Cambridge, right?"
"You remember! That's right."
Hunter rolled his eyes. He knew why she was giving him the whole routine. She was mad at him, angry that he’d fucked her and then left her without saying goodbye.
Fawn turned to Hunter. “She was the woman in Amsterdam?”
Hunter nodded.
“Shall I continue?" Margot said. "The calls I made last night are confidential. They stay within this room. As I am sure you remember, Mr. Hunter, I am a specialist in North Korean and Chinese military affairs. I am also an MI6 agent. My most recent trip to Japan was three years ago, where I made a connection, via a secure satellite phone, with a young group of rebels in North Korea. They call themselves the Liberators. The Liberators reached out to me last night. They know where the President is being held.”
