Next he demanded an apology and full restitution to the families of every innocent victim of their heinous crimes. Pausing just long enough for the interpreter to translate, but not giving the Chinese president a chance to interrupt, he went on to make his next demand.
“We now believe that the stealth missiles that were used to shoot down our airplanes were manufactured in Eastern China just north of Guangzhou and we want those factories destroyed immediately,” the president said. “After we have those assurances, I will be sending a special envoy to Beijing to set up formal talks regarding several areas that need immediate attention such as cooperation on a host of national security issues including the handling North Korea and Iran, trade issues focusing on copyright infringement and currency manipulation, as well as several projects we need to pursue as partners for the development of additional energy resources
“Finally, we will pursue full membership for Taiwan in the United Nations.” He sat back in his leather chair and waited for the reply while the translator quickly relayed the entire message.
“I understand, Mr. President,” the Chinese leader began. “First I want to offer my profound apologies for the actions of these rogue agents and the actions of the completely unauthorized military group issuing those orders. They had been operating under the mistaken belief that all of China would rise and support their actions once it was learned that their aim was to distract, if I may use such a simple word, yes, distract the United States from responding when they staged an attack on Taiwan in an effort to reunite our country.”
“We believe in peaceful measures only,” the president interrupted.
“Yes, we know. And we too believe that peaceful dialogue is the best way to work with our brothers on the island. But I digress. I want you to know that I only learned of this entire matter a few hours ago, but I have taken immediate steps to rectify the situation. Military exercises have ceased, the entire military contingent near Guangzhou has been arrested. They will be brought to trial. As for your special envoy, we will welcome him and begin the process of negotiation and cooperation in areas we determine could be fruitful.”
“And the missile factories?” the president pressed.
The Chinese leader paused for a moment, waiting once more for the translation and then said, “If you will simply examine the latest film from your Borealis aircraft, you will see that those factories have already been destroyed.”
The president was dumb-founded. Borealis was a top secret black program. Most of the officers in the Pentagon didn’t even know it existed.
He glanced over at his chief of staff with a questioning look. His aide held up both hands and shook his head. Finally, the president said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Please, Mr. President. It’s all right. We are on the same side … at least for now.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
THE WHITE HOUSE
The following day the president’s secretary walked into the Oval Office through her side entrance carrying a stack of papers. “Sir, here is your expanded schedule, along with the latest cleared version of your speech to the joint session of Congress tonight.”
The president looked up, reached for the documents, and with a broad smile he said, “I assume you’ve seen that the market is up five-hundred points.”
“Yes, sir. And still rising,” she said. “I also saw that Bandaq’s stock has hit an all-time high.”
“As well it should,” he replied. “Wish I could own some of it.”
“Now, sir, you know that all of your assets are in a blind trust,” she said with mock dismay.
“Of course they are,” he said with a sigh. “Speaking of things I can’t control, I haven’t been able to find out where Colonel Daniels and Doctor Talbot are. I wanted to have them in the audience tonight. Up in the balcony. Then I could recognize them when I lay out our new program for national security. Well, you know the drill.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“So where are they? You’d think that the entire federal government along with our legendary White House operators would be able to find two people who are somewhere right here in the United States,” he said with a note of frustration.
“Yes, sir. One would think so. In fact …”
“In fact, what?” he asked.
“In fact, I believe this is the first time our operators have not been able to find someone you had specifically asked them to find … uh … sir.”
“I think you’re right. Well, tell them to keep trying. We still have a few hours to get them into position.
“It’s just that no one seems to know their position, sir,” she said with the beginning of a smile.
“What are you grinning at?” the president said.
“After all they’ve been through, I just hope they’re position is somewhere … well, some place where they’re enjoying a little liberty right now.”
“Liberty,” the president repeated.
“Oh, and that reminds me,” she said. “That’s the name they gave the new baby.”
“Who gave that name to what baby?”
“Don’t you remember your gifts from the president of Mongolia? Liberty is the name of their new baby yak at the National Zoo.”
######
What national security threat will the White House staff face next?
-------------------------Turn the page for a preview of ------------------------
FINAL FINESSE
BY
KARNA SMALL BODMAN
Finesse – v. “To handle with a deceptive or evasive strategy.”
FINAL FINESSE
CHAPTER ONE
GEORGETOWN – MONDAY EARLY MORNING
“All non-essential White House employees remain home due to ice storm. Update in four hours.”
Samantha Reid stared at the email and pushed a strand of her long brown hair back off her forehead. She knew that most everyone would try to show up for work today because nobody wanted to be thought of as “non-essential.” At least she had a four-wheel drive jeep she’d been driving for years. Not the chicest car that regularly parked on West Exec., the driveway separating the West Wing from the Old Executive Office Building, or OEOB as they all called the big empire place that housed most of the staff. It was a car she’d bought near her parents’ home in Texas where everybody drives jeeps.
She glanced out the picture window of her tiny Georgetown apartment overlooking the Whitehurst Freeway. Just beyond was a narrow park lining the Potomac River, its trees weighted down with icicles. To the right, the Key Bridge was silhouetted in the dim pre-dawn light where a lone taxi, trying to navigate the icy roadway, suddenly spun out and slammed into a guard rail.
Good Lord. It may look like a scene out of Swan Lake, but it really is treacherous out there. She had known a front was moving in, but an ice storm in early December didn’t happen all that often, and nobody had predicted it would be this bad.
She looked down at her computer again. She always checked her personal and secure email accounts as well as texts when she first woke up, as she often got urgent messages from her boss, the head of the White House Office of Homeland Security. They had been working practically round the clock on a whole list of issues and new safety measures, coordinating with the agencies, following up on tips and executing presidential orders.
She had stayed late last night summarizing the fallout from a threat to a big shopping center made the day after Thanksgiving. Thankfully, that one turned out to be a hoax.
Today she knew they would be focusing on other problems including a new missile defense system they were trying to get deployed on a number of commercial airplanes. She checked her schedule and remembered that a group of airline executives was due for an 11:00 AM meeting in the Roosevelt Room. The mastermind of a new 360-degree laser defense, Dr. Cameron Talbot, was supposed to join the airline officers. But now, with the storm raging, she doubted if any of them would make it in.
She also had a meeti
ng to follow up on an attack on the Metro. Transit cops had nailed a guy trying to leave a backpack filled with explosives on board a DC train headed for the Pentagon. When the Metro was built, some genius had designed a stop directly underneath the building. What were they thinking?
She shoved her computer aside and padded into the tiny galley kitchen. It looked like it could have fit into a train with its shallow cabinets on two walls, sparse counter space and a stove that was a relic from the eighties. Her whole condo was less than four hundred square feet, but she had gladly exchanged size for the convenience of a Georgetown address that put her within minutes of the White House, though this morning, inching along the icy Washington streets, she’d be lucky if she’d make it in an hour’s time.
She flicked on the small TV set that took up way too much space on the kitchen counter and heard a commercial advertising a new drug. There were pictures of a kindly looking grandmother pushing a laughing child on a swing while the announcer said in the tone of an after-thought, “Side effects could include dizziness, nausea, muscle weakness, weight gain and in rare cases, temporary loss of vision, coma or stroke.”
Samantha shook her head at the absurdity of it all, but then heard the news anchor come back on with the weather report. His map showed a wide swath of storms, snow and ice reaching from Oklahoma all the way up to Delaware, with D.C. on the leading edge.
She measured the coffee, stuck an English muffin into the toaster and checked her watch. She’d have to skip her morning workout in the basement fitness center. With the added commute time, maybe they’d delay their usual early morning staff meeting, but she couldn’t take that chance.
As she reached for a coffee mug, she made a mental note to remind her boss about his appearance on CNN at noon to discuss the Metro train arrest and the shopping center situation. She knew she’d have to write his talking points, but wondered what other potential disaster would have to be added at the last minute.
CHAPTER TWO
OKLAHOMA – MONDAY EARLY MORNING
“Honey, wake up! Something’s wrong.”
Her husband rolled over and made a muffled groan.
“Really. Wake up. It’s freezing in here. Furnace must have gone out or something.”
“Uh huh,” he mumbled and burrowed down inside the covers.
“Please, honey. I mean it.” She reached over and tried to turn on the bedside lamp. “Oh great. Just great. The power’s out.”
The windows in the old farm house rattled as a strong gust of wind pushed sheets of ice and snow against the north wall. “It’s gotta be forty degrees in here. We have to get the furnace going or something.” She yanked open the drawer in the table and fumbled until she felt the flashlight. She flicked it on and shoved the man until he finally opened his eyes.
“What the … what do ya mean it’s forty degrees?”
She pulled the heavy quilt to one side, and he snatched it back. “See what I mean?” she asked. “The furnace. Do something.”
He slowly turned the covers back and ambled to the bathroom where his terry cloth robe was hanging on the door. “Okay. Okay. I’ll check it out.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Nah. Stay warm. Gimme the flashlight. With this wind, it’s probably just the pilot light. I figure we should get a new heater one of these days.”
“You know we can’t swing that now, not with the bills and all.”
“I know,” he sighed. “Just wish I didn’t have to keep fixing the damn thing all the time.”
The stairs creaked as he made his way down to the basement and headed to the back. He peered at the furnace and checked the pilot light. Sure enough. Out again. He held the flashlight with his teeth and tried to light the gas, but it wouldn’t come on. He turned the valve on and off and tried again. Nothing. He grabbed the flashlight and muttered, “Damnation. Gas ain’t getting’ through. Must be a clog or somethin’ in the line. Better check the fireplace.”
He climbed the stairs, went into the living room and knelt down in front of the weathered brick hearth. He tried the switch that turned on the gas logs. Nothing. He shivered and pulled the belt on his robe tighter. “Never shoulda put in the damn gas logs,” he whispered to himself, “regular ones burned fine. But no, she says they’re too messy to clean up, so we get the gas logs. Fine mess we’re in now.”
“What’s happening down there?” she called over the banister. There’s still no heat coming on.
“I know, damn it. There’s no gas gettin’ into the house. No furnace, no fireplace. Nothin’ works. Call your sister and see if we can come stay in town till we can get someone to fix the line.”
“I can’t call her now. It’s five-thirty in the morning.”
He got to his feet and started up the stairs to the bedroom. “So we wait an hour. Get back in bed. There’s nothing we can do now but wait.”
Several miles to the south, an underground bunker, covered by a golf course, had been built in the sixties with an elevator taking workers down to a ten thousand square foot facility. It currently is equipped with living quarters, a kitchen, bathrooms, and storage areas, all to support a massive control room where employees of GeoGlobal Oil & Gas monitor their maze of pipe lines.
The supervisor pointed to a large board covering an entire wall featuring a map with red, yellow and green flashing lights that indicate the status of the lines stretching over a multi-state area. Five computer screens have the capability of zooming in on a section of pipeline, checking diagnostics and analyzing their operation.
“Pressure drop on number twelve,” he shouted. “What the hell!”
His assistant rushed over and stared at the map. “What the devil is that?”
“Gotta shut her down,” he called as he hit a series of computer keys.
“Must be a break of some kind. Helluva storm out there, you know.”
“Storms don’t knock out our lines. Where the hell were you during Katrina, huh?”
“Yeah, I know, but … I just wondered …”
“Stop wondering and start acting,” he ordered.
Suddenly several phone lines began ringing at once. The supervisor grabbed the one closest to his console. “Control room here.”
“Hey Joe, that you? This is Sheriff Chapoton. Big fire west of town. My deputy just called it in, and now our phones won’t stop. He says it looks like some gas line exploded. That’s gotta be one of yours.”
“Exploded? How the hell could that happen?”
“You’re the gas guy. You tell me. I’ve got the fire chief on his way out there with his boys.”
“We saw a pressure drop, so we closed down that line. Fire should burn off pretty quick.”
“Fine. But what’s going on out there?”
“Right now I can’t say. But we’ll get our crews over there pronto to check it out. We’re on it.”
The head nurse on the third floor of the small country hospital raced down the hall. “Blankets. We need more blankets,” she called out, almost colliding with a doctor coming out of the neo-natal unit.
“It’s way too cold in there” he exclaimed as he ran out the door.
“With that storm getting worse, we’ll probably lose power now too” the nurse lamented.
“If that happens we’re in deep trouble. No gas coming in, and the generator is being repaired,” the doctor said as he raced toward a storage closet.
“We’ve been begging for a new one for ages.”
“Fat chance,” he said. “Generator, MRI, CT scan, you name it, we don’t have it. Not in this town.”
“Could you try to get some portable generators from Don over at the hardware?” the nurse suggested, hurrying along to help him.
“I’ll try, but they won’t open for a while.”
She looked distraught as she followed the doctor into the unit where five tiny souls were wrapped in thin pink and blue blankets. “He’s got to help us,” she called over her shoulder as she picked up one of the babies and h
eld her close. The newborn was whimpering. “Whatever happens in this storm, we’ve got to save the babies!”
CHAPTER THREE
THE WHITE HOUSE – MONDAY MORNING
Samantha pulled up to the Southwest Gate of the White House and waved at the agent inside the guardhouse. He could see the sticker on the back of her rear-view mirror. He waved back when he also saw the badge she fished from inside her coat.
The massive black wrought iron gate opened to the driveway on West Exec. She headed toward her assigned parking space, giving a mental thank you to her boss for securing parking spaces for the six heads of his directorates. Gregory Barnes may have an inflated opinion of himself, but she had to admit he looked after his staff, especially the ones who made him look good to the powers that be.
After she had graduated from Princeton with majors in English literature and geology, Samantha had quickly figured out she couldn’t make a living with the English part, but geology opened a whole raft of job offers. Her dad was in the oil and gas business, she had been raised near the Texas oil fields, and it was only natural that she would feel quite at home with a subject where she already knew the history as well as the lingo.
She had accepted a position with a consulting firm specializing in energy issues and when one of her op-ed pieces on energy independence was printed in the Wall Street Journal, Greg Barnes called to ask if she’d accept a position at the Department of Energy where he was assistant secretary. She had called her dad to ask his advice on whether to take a pay cut and go into government. She always remembered his reply, “You can either serve yourself or serve your country!” She took the job.
Secretary Barnes came to rely on her to do his research, write his speeches and statements when he had to testify before Congress and pull everything together when he appeared on television news shows. The man could speak in great sound bites and while others in the agency ridiculed his ego behind his back, the talk show hosts loved his act.
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