by Jack Strain
Although the president came into the White House with a controversial reputation, he couldn’t have been more kind and gracious to the staff, especially the ones who made sure to sneak him his favorite foods when the first lady wasn’t around. It broke their hearts to watch the president walk around as if the life had very nearly been sucked out of him. Gone were the big smiles, funny small talk, and lightheartedness that the cameras in the media never seemed to show.
Plus, the first daughter and her family were much adored by the staff who came to enjoy her two beautiful kids that loved to play hide and seek with their grandfather. In very short order, Liliana made her presence felt in the White House, and the staff was on a mission to honor her memory in the days to come.
Another office was alive with energy on this late evening. The president’s Chief Strategist, Baxter Davis, was finishing up yet another phone call after a seemingly unending stream of them had come in all day and now into night. He had been called many things over the years, everything from a white supremacist to the president’s hatchet man, but no one ever accused him of being lazy. He planned to keep taking and making calls through the night if need be.
Baxter was about to make another call when in walked his number two, Susanna Hastings. She was late, but he didn’t care. After ten years, Baxter knew that if Susanna ran late, she had her reasons. The raven-haired Hastings was a working-class girl who made good on her smarts and legendary work ethic and tireless devotion to the cause. She possessed a quick wit and an acid tongue that would lash out without mercy when crossed.
She lucked into that golden internship that Hollywood likes to make movies about that turns into a dream job. Susanna was a student at American University, interned at Davis News Corp six months into the startup, and ten years later was indispensable to Baxter. He would need her now more than ever.
Though late, she came bearing gifts, a tray with two steaming hot mugs of coffee and two hefty slices of the White House kitchen’s famous apple cinnamon pie, and by the wondrous aroma filling Baxter’s office it was fresh out of the oven.
Grinning like a ten-year-old boy in his momma’s kitchen, Davis said, “Susanna, you are a lifesaver.”
Susanna got a kick out of knowing that she gets to see the real Baxter Davis, not the Darth Vader-like character the media made him out to be. She responded playfully with a mischievous grin, “Who said any of this is for you? I’m just passing by on the way to my office for a late-night dirty skyping session with my hubby, a girl has needs you know.”
Taking off his glasses and shaking his head, Davis raised his eyebrows a bit and said, “Now why did you have to ruin a perfectly lovely moment by talking all nasty. Hot coffee, apple pie, it doesn’t get more wholesome than that around here. Go, you ruined things.”
Half turning around, Susanna kept the fun going, “Well, if that’s the way you want it. I’ll be back in about a half hour…hope I don’t forget to wipe the apple filling from my chin.”
“Funny girl . . . now get that pie over here. We got some work to do.”
Susanna knew that playtime was over, Baxter could be joked with from time to time, but could shift to all business in seconds. “Okay, Baxter, how’s the president?”
“He’s a strong man, Susanna, a strong man. He’s hurting but full of resolve. I don’t think he will back down. How’s the preliminary draft coming on his speech?”
Baxter had already sent word that the president’s address would be handled out of his office, not the regular speechwriters’. Suffice it to say they weren’t very happy. “That’s why I needed the coffee and sugar rush. It’s coming along, but I want to finish the first draft tonight so you can review it first thing in the morning. I feel good about it so far. You sure the president is on board for what you sketched out?”
“Completely.”
“What about pushback from Schultz and some of the other folks? Dutch will fight you on some of these points.”
Davis just put another heavenly piece of pie with that flaky crust into his mouth and couldn’t answer right away, holding up his index finger, he quickly gulped some coffee, and finally said, “Goddamn that is so good. Dutch can complain all he likes, but the president made one thing perfectly clear to me and everyone else who heard him this morning: He wants a real war on terror - to win. His words, not mine.”
Susanna made a face and tilted her head as she cringed at the words “to win.” She said, “Look, Baxter, I love the sentiment, but you know how this will play in the media. He’s a sympathetic figure for the moment, but the media will turn on him the second they see an opening, and this will be it. Besides, how do we convince average Americans that we can win against something that has been around since the seventies?”
Leaning back in his high-back leather office chair, Baxter clasped his hands together and said, “You just said it. It’s been going on since the seventies, and since 9/11 people have gotten used to it, even accepted the inevitability of it. Yesterday changed everything. The country didn’t know all the victims who died in the Towers or the Pentagon, but they knew the first daughter, and they watched her die. And you know what they were all thinking - they pictured their own sons and daughters dying like that. I’ll bet anything not just our people, but damn near all Americans are ready to give a blank check to the president.”
Baxter’s right. The country wants blood. Fifty years of this senseless violence, the American people are sick of excuses made by pansy liberals and academic eggheads.
“Okay Baxter, I’m on it. What else do you have for me?”
He could tell by her body language that she knew what he wanted. Good. Next, he said, “I want more of our people out in the streets, and I want to keep them out there. It still needs to look spontaneous. I don’t want to see a bunch of politicos running around like this is being orchestrated by the White House. And another thing: no violence. At least not yet.”
“We can’t control that, and you know it. But I can get our people to reach out to our friends on the radio and cable shows to keep the pressure up. Is it too early to serve up scapegoats yet?”
Now it was Baxter’s turn for his own mischievous grin, he answered, “This is why I love you girl, tough as nails. I love it. Hell yes, we’re going to find some scapegoats, but we need to be careful here. This is how we’ll play it. Leak it out there that the administration wanted to push for much stricter security measures, but opposition from ACLU types, Dems, and the media - all of whom have accused the president of being anti-Muslim - forced him to lighten security measures and that led to the terror attack.”
Hastings was taking notes now. She looked up and said, “Beautiful, Baxter, just beautiful. We demonize the media again and delegitimize any group who will be looking to stand up to whatever measures the president plans in the coming weeks.”
“That’s right, you got it. Get some of our people to prepare a series of news clips of the media sticking up for the extremists and brutalizing the president. In forty-eight hours, I want it to look like they killed the first daughter as much as that Iranian terrorist. Remember, blood doesn’t wash off easily. I want the media covered in it. Then let them try to oppose us. Our people will eat this up. Okay, now get to it. Use whatever discretionary funds you need to get it done. We’ll talk first thing in the morning.”
Chapter Eleven
October 12th
The White House Situation Room
The foreboding atmosphere in the room matched the task before the principals-only National Security Council meeting today. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs General Samuel J. Duncan was accompanied this morning by the Vice Chairman, Air Force General Pat Sullivan. The Operations section of the JCS worked deep into the night, and the final version about to be presented to the NSC had been approved by the full Joint Chiefs of Staff barely two hours ago.
National Security Advisor Wright nodded to General Duncan who immediately came to attention and walked towards the lectern. Standing just shy of six feet tall,
the proud Marine warrior took his responsibilities today very seriously, and as he stood there with his ramrod straight posture and penetrating gaze, all in the room felt Duncan’s profound sense of professionalism and tenacity. He began the briefing. “Good morning Mr. President . . . ladies and gentlemen. If you could turn to the binder that is in front of you to follow along, I will be detailing the recommended war plan that the Chiefs have formally endorsed at the direction of this body. While there are many details to finalize, we feel strongly that this plan meets the criteria laid out yesterday by Secretary Mahler and National Security Advisor Wright.
As you can see, there are four separate war plan operations to be implemented concurrently. We have designated the four operations as follows, Desert Strike is aimed at Iran, Cedar Strike deals with Lebanon, Eagle Strike focuses on Syria, and Global Strike reflects targets of opportunity around the globe and is anticipated to be part of an ongoing commitment of war-fighting resources.”
For the next thirty minutes, General Duncan conducted a detailed and thorough briefing and watched as the assembled administration national security principals reacted to his words. Some offered up grim, determined expressions while others betrayed hints of surprise and perhaps even hesitation at the scope and capability of American military forces. Several asked minor questions, most simply listened and waited for President Wolfe to react before weighing in on the presentation.
President Wolfe normally didn’t enjoy long briefings and his penchant for doodling at times was cause for raised eyebrows by some. Today, however, he listened very intently and took notes while the Chairman spoke and when he finished, President Wolfe asked pointedly, “Seems to me General that we are spreading ourselves pretty thin. Are you confident that the initial attack will have the impact you just described?”
General Duncan thought, I sure as hell hope so.
“Mr. President, as I noted on the second slide, due to the timetable you have ordered, we did struggle with identifying a strong enough force package, but thanks to Secretary Mahler’s orders to begin flushing assets to the Gulf region within hours after the attack we have many of the assets in place. I also would like to note that our Gulf partners have been very accommodating.”
Wolfe followed up, “General you are on a very tight timetable, are you absolutely certain you can pull it off?”
Secretary of Defense Mahler quickly cut in before Duncan could respond, “Mr. President if I may, the Chiefs have put together what I think is a winning war plan. Everyone here in this room should know that we are going to put a world of hurt into some folks, but it’s very complex and put together at a speed that is outside our normal planning ranges. Yes, the timing is tricky, and we made that clear to General Wright, but I can guarantee you that our enemies will be on the receiving end of a message that won’t be long forgotten.”
Elliot Adelman, the acting Secretary of State, whose experience dates back to the Reagan administration, offered up, “I would like to note that we are getting some serious pushback from several allies, but most have been very supportive. Even the Turks are working with us, but the Iraqi Government has been very difficult. We may need stronger measures.”
National Security Advisor General Wright answered in a hawkish fashion, “Elliot, you tell them point blank that we’ve poured hundreds of billions into that country, so now is not the time for any bullshit.”
Adelman figured the NSA would give an answer like that, ignored the histrionics, and countered, “That’s all well and good General, but we are looking at the potential for significant civilian casualties. Our ambassadors are communicating that the support we are currently receiving will evaporate quickly if we are not careful.”
President Wolfe angrily weighed in, “Tell our people, they have their instructions and don’t mince words with them. Make it clear, we intend to end these killings and that we will do it either with or without their support and will remember our friends who stood by America when we needed them.”
Dutch Schultz took a deep breath and decided to switch things up, “Mr. President, I think you just made things crystal clear. Elliot if you run into any more issues keep me apprised, but let’s keep moving. General Duncan, could you talk more about mobilization needs?”
The meeting would continue for another hour, but the president heard all that he needed to hear. He approved the war plan and set in motion the largest allocation of American might in two generations.
White House Press Room
Press Secretary Sally Mercer had earned the reputation of being unusually combative with the White House Press Corps. President Wolfe often commented that the former PR specialist from a prominent Alabama political family was tough enough to handle the New York press and for him, there was no greater compliment. Her daily press briefings became newsworthy in and of themselves due to her often aggressive and dismissive scolding tone and had been the subject of numerous humorous skits on late night talk shows and Saturday Night Live, but today was quite different.
The dark-haired, matronly looking Mercer was dressed in a black pants suit with a single white carnation on her lapel and appeared unusually tense with so many people packed into the relatively small press briefing room. With seating for only about fifty regular White House correspondents, another fifty or more were left standing and fighting for room, but space was limited. The ordinarily combative White House Press Corps was expected to balance a need for decorum considering the president’s personal tragedy but were also desperate for news. The tension in the room was extraordinary as the nation waited for the most anticipated press briefing since the day after 9/11.
Mercer kept her opening statements brief and purposely light on details, and then a frenzy of questions rang out. She pointed at Seth Rogers, FOX News. He asked, “Can you provide more details about the president’s address tomorrow?”
“Sorry, Seth, I gave you what I could…the president wants to address the nation and certainly deserves this opportunity. Next . . . Melissa.”
The tall forty-something blonde-haired reporter from Reuters asked, “Are we going to war, Sally? There are reports from military installations worldwide that American planes and ships are taking off for parts unknown.”
A visible bead of sweat was now forming on Mercer’s temples. Absentmindedly wiping it away with her left sleeve, she answered, “Obviously, I can’t comment on issues of national security, Melissa, but I can say that American military forces along with our allies are adopting a wide range of prudent defensive measures. In light of the tragic events two days ago, clearly, the president is working to ensure that the American people are safe from further cowardly attacks.”
Mercer pointed to Vanessa Robinson, a recent addition to U.S.A Today. She blurted out, “U.S.A Today is getting reports that Homeland Security is about to issue major restrictions on Muslims entering through all points of entry into the U.S. If this is true, doesn’t it run the risk of confirming the opinions of many that the president has racist views about Muslims and plans to use this attack as an excuse to punish all Muslims for what happened two days ago?”
Visibly angry at the nature of the question, Mercer ripped into the new White House reporter with a vigor. “How dare you suggest something so outrageous? This president watched his daughter die on TV and still had the strength to attend to his duties as President of this nation. I defy you to find me anyone half as dedicated to the American people.
And to answer your question, yes Homeland Security is very prudently placing travel restrictions not just on Muslims but anyone who has traveled to a country that the State Department has designated a sponsor of terrorism. Do I need to remind you that chemical weapons were used just two days ago? This President is going to protect America first and worry about being politically correct second. Next . . . Mike.”
Mike McKenna, a long-time fixture from Reuters, stood and asked, “I would like to get back to the president’s planned address to Congress. We are receiving reports that American forces ar
ound the globe are on the move and Israel has begun reoccupying parts of the West Bank, and it looks like Gaza is next. Are we planning on sending boots on the ground to fight those responsible for Wednesday’s attack, the group who calls themselves Allah’s Avengers?”
Why do I have to keep saying the same damn thing to these people? What the hell do they think President Wolfe is going to do, ask them to tea? Jackoffs.
Ignoring her discomfort, Mercer adopted her by now familiar annoyed tone, “Mike, how many times will I have to say it today? Do you really think that I will try to upstage the president? Are you kidding me? The president will speak directly to the American people tomorrow, not through the media that has so often demonstrated nothing but disdain towards this administration. Regarding the cowards who perpetrated this slaughter, I know one thing for certain . . . they may run, they may hide, but there won’t be a place on this earth that President Wolfe isn’t prepared to hunt them down and unleash holy hell upon them and any who seek to protect them.”
The room grew a bit quiet as Mercer’s words were delivered with such an unflinching coldness. The press conference would continue for the next forty minutes, but the lead for every major network would be Mercer’s powerful and uncompromising words.
Chapter Twelve
Saudi Royal Palace, Riyadh
Unlike the unrulier cabinet meetings common in the West, great decisions impacting the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia were made by the King and a few hand-picked family members. Although much has changed over the decades in this great desert nation, much remains the same. However, on this tension-filled day, the eighty-one-year-old Saudi King Salman bin Abdulaziz felt as if he was being asked to do the impossible.