The Iran War

by Jack Strain

  Manpower, we got, though where we put the detainees will be problem number one in the beginning, but we are already working on that. Your agency takes the initial lead until we mobilize the necessary resources, and then NCTC takes over.”

  Eyes wide with shock, Dietrich replied, “Now wait a minute Travis. You're telling me that a couple of thousand Blackwater types - fucking mercs - are going to be roaming the country with the authority to arrest and interrogate our own citizens? This is wrong Mr. President. You can’t go along with this.”

  Unusually quiet up to this point, a very intense Baxter Davis responded harshly. “Don’t be so goddamned dramatic, Madam Secretary. These are trained agents who will be under federal authority to take the war to the enemy. Hell, you just said that you don’t have the resources.”

  “The DIA worked with those cowboys in Afghanistan and Iraq, and they caused more havoc and made our jobs more difficult and all the while making a fortune. Mr. President let me get together with the FBI, DEA, ATF, local and state law enforcement and make targeted arrests, and then we roll up whatever cells are active. Anything else is madness.”

  Very dramatically, Davis slammed the table and spoke with words dripping with acid, “Madness…seriously madness. This coming from the woman who allowed three hundred Americans to die today and is now bitching and complaining when we just provided you with the resources to go out and round up terrorists.”

  Red-faced, Dietrich immediately came to her feet and burst out, “Look here, who the hell…?”

  President Wolfe had had enough and barked, “Enough! That’s it! Not another word.”

  Panting, she was so angry at Baxter’s words, Dietrich wanted to squeeze the life out of the former Wall Street broker.

  President Wolfe walked towards his Secretary of Homeland Security, and with an icy stare to go along with the cold words, he said, “This is happening, Kara. We have an imminent threat to the lives of innocent Americans. I intend to put the fear of God in their cowardly souls. Baxter’s right, you’re not up to it so I will be accepting your earlier offer to resign. I expect it on my desk within the hour.”

  Feeling as if she just got slapped across the face, Dietrich took a step back and tried to absorb the president’s words. Knowing that nothing was going to stop the men in this room from their course of action, Dietrich tried one last time, “Mr. President, fine I will resign but hear me out. You are making a tragic mistake, and I’m not even talking how history will judge you. The moment you start flooding this country with private security agents and rounding up thousands of Muslims, you will drive the real killers underground and make damn sure that more lone wolves will go out and kill American citizens.”

  Wolfe’s eyes softened for a brief moment as he heard Dietrich’s sincere words, then he suddenly shook his head side to side. Looking at the Director of NCTC, he said, “I appreciate your concerns, Kara, but I feel they are misplaced. Thank you for your service.”

  President Wolfe waited for the former Homeland Security Secretary to leave and then asked, “Travis, do you stand by this plan of action?”

  A resounding “Yes, sir” echoed in the small room.

  President Wolfe then said, “Looks like I need another Secretary for Homeland Security. This is your plan - are you sure that you're up to it?”

  With a shining glean in his eye, the former JSOC commander puffed out his chest and proudly answered, “Yes, sir, Mr. President. I swear to you that we will take the war to them and secure this country, no matter what.”

  The three remaining men talked for another thirty minutes. In six hours, all U.S. borders would effectively be closed. In twelve hours, Executive Order 1010 would go into effect. In twenty-four hours, the initial raids would begin and within seventy-two hours, the largest mobilization of U.S. federal power ever assembled would begin waging an all-out war on its domestic enemies. President Wolfe wanted a war on terror, and Travis LaHue was about to give him one.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  October 21st

  White House Executive Residence

  It was after midnight, and most of the White House was starting to wind down after one of the most harrowing days since the beginning of the crisis eleven days ago. The president and the first lady had turned in to bed about an hour before. Both were physically and emotionally drained, and unlike many former occupants of the White House, they shared the same bed and enjoyed their privacy at night. The two were in a deep slumber when both jumped as three powerful raps on the door reverberated throughout the room, and then the door flung open.

  In a clearly agitated voice, they heard Dutch Schultz yell out, “Douglas, Marija, I’m coming in, so I hope you're decent.”

  Ten seconds later, the silver-haired, blue-eyed former Wall Street finance guy walked inside with papers rolled up in his right hand. He was one of only two individuals, the other being the National Security Advisor, who had complete freedom to wake up the president day or night and no restrictions on his access to the Executive Mansion. Still wearing the same wrinkled black three-piece suit from the morning, Schultz looked both disheveled and angry at the same time.

  Flustered a bit, President Wolfe rubbed his eyes, and through a half-yawn asked, “What the hell, Dutch? Did something happen?”

  “You’re goddamned right something happened.”

  Shockingly, Dutch threw the papers at the president and the tightly rolled papers thumped off his shoulders and landed on Marija who said, “Hey, Dutch! What the hell?”

  Dutch was so agitated he could feel his chest tighten like he was slowly being buried alive. Struggling to calm himself, he took several deep breaths before saying, “You had better ask what your husband is doing, not me. Tell her, Douglas. Go ahead. Or should I do the honors?”

  Schultz waited five seconds and then said, “Fine. Your husband here just ordered the U.S. Federal Government to start rounding up Muslims across the country. And not just a few extremists here on a student visa - not our Douglas. He’s rounding up Americans and doing God knows what with them. Go ahead, tell her, Douglas.”

  Whatever shock he felt after being woken in such a manner wore off quickly from the viciousness of the attack by his Chief of Staff. Wolfe flung his covers off and stood from the bed and walked over to get his robe, the whole time glaring at Schultz whose eyes glowered right back. Wolfe walked around the bed until he was face to face and said sharply, “This is not the time or place for this, and you goddamned well know it.”

  “For once you’re actually right, Douglas, this is not the time or place. It should have been when you and that bastard Davis concocted this half-assed executive order. I am still your Chief of Staff and should have been there to tell all of you that we can’t fucking do this.”

  “Who in the hell do you think you are to come into my bedroom in the dead of night and talk to me like this? Americans died today, or have you forgotten? No more, not on my watch.”

  Judgmentally shaking his head side to side, Schultz countered, “Do you hear yourself? This is not some bullshit campaign speech. ‘Not on my watch.’ What the hell does that even mean? Does it mean that suddenly the Constitution doesn’t matter? Have you even read the order? For fuck’s sake, it violates about every civil liberty on the books. You look like a monster.”

  Starting to pace, President Wolfe knew Schultz was going to be a pain in the ass on this one and that’s why he left him out in the first place. Taking on a darker tone, Wolfe wore a mask of pitiless indifference to Schultz’s objections and said, “Three hundred and seven dead Americans and I’m the monster. How many more will die today? Tomorrow? The day after? I’m tired of it, so if doing whatever it takes to crush these fanatics makes me a monster, then fine I’m the monster.”

  “Don’t give me that shit, Douglas. This goes way beyond a crackdown. Our new Secretary of Homeland Security, LaHue, a choice by the way that you didn’t even bother to run by me is a rabid anti-Muslim who we only took on in the administration to appease the alt-righ
t nutcases from Baxter’s side of the party. I read the estimates already. Thirty thousand could be in federal custody in a week…no charges, held indefinitely. Once this starts, how do you stop? You can’t come back from this. The country will never be the same.”

  Then both men turned when Marija Wolfe’s accented voice interjected, “Is it true, Douglas? Will we really be rounding people up?”

  Annoyed that Dutch was getting his wife to turn on him. He walked towards her and sat on her side of the bed. Holding her hand, he said, “Dutch has it all wrong my darling. There are thousands of dangerous people on watchlists who we have been tracking for years, those are the ones we will bring in and question. We let them go once we are sure they are not a threat. I can’t take seeing any more bodies. How many died at that school today - forty-five kids? It has to end. I have to end it.”

  Looking at Dutch, Marija spoke in a voice filled with emotion, “See, Dutch, it’s not so bad. Douglas must do this. Please, he’s your friend, help him. He needs you.”

  Closing his eyes for a brief moment, the exhaustion finally catching up to him, Dutch lowered his voice and softened his tone, “I’m sorry, Marija, I can’t support this. The law is the law, period. It’s not too late, Douglas, we can stop this thing. Remember what you told me this morning, that Liliana wouldn’t have wanted this? Don’t make it worse.”

  Turning towards his friend, Wolfe said more calmly, “That was before I watched with my own eyes American citizens flung off a bridge, not to mention everything else that has happened. I’m done.”

  Wolfe paused for a moment, looked down towards the ground, then made eye contact with his closest friend. With a determined edge to his voice, he asked, “I will ask you only once, Dutch, will you support my decision to enforce Executive Order 1010?”

  Shaking his head slowly, Schultz looked Wolfe in the eye and said, “I can’t do it, Douglas. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy your presidency – hell, the country. Let’s dial it back, see what parts we can soften, especially federalizing all those private security folks. That’s obviously a non-starter…”

  Holding up both hands to stop, Wolfe walked towards Schultz and said, “I’m not dialing anything back. If you can’t support me when I need you the most, then I need you to go. Dutch, I’m going to need your resignation.”

  Feeling as if he had been slapped across the face, Schultz responded haltingly. “Douglas, you can’t be serious. I’m the only one you can really trust. You need to reconsider. Sleep on it, and we can talk in the morning.”

  Firmly, the president said, “Sorry, Dutch, but this has been coming for a while. It’s for the best.”

  An image of that smug bastard Baxter laughing at him suddenly caused Dutch’s mood to darken, so he declared, “If that’s the way you want to play it, then fine, but I refuse to resign. You’ll have to fire me.”

  “Fine, you’re fired.”

  Before a shocked Shultz could fully comprehend what was happening, Wolfe yelled out to the Secret Service agent on watch outside the bedroom. “Maria, come in here and escort Mr. Schultz down to his office. He will be collecting his things. Then escort him out of the West Wing by noon tomorrow.”

  Wolfe then turned his back, walked towards his bed, and took off his robe as a shaken Schultz was led out of his best friend’s bedroom by the dark-haired, intense Secret Service agent.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  October 22nd

  Saint Joseph’s University, Philadelphia, PA

  Across the entire country, targeted raids on domestic terror suspects began overnight. From Boston to San Francisco, select teams of highly trained federal agents organized into roving task forces from the FBI, ATF, ICE, and Homeland Security spread out across the nation and sprang into action in the dead of night. Heavily armed agents stormed into city apartment buildings, suburban homes, and rural farmhouses arresting nearly fifteen hundred individuals. The initial raids were conducted overnight to avoid media scrutiny. The overwhelming majority meekly submitted to being detained while those who did resist found themselves roughly treated by men and women in no mood after the violence of the past forty-eight hours.

  As rush hour traffic was building up across the country, Americans were starting their Mondays like any other. However, today was not any other Monday. Operation Imminent Purge was being launched by a fully mobilized combination of local, state, and federal security agencies. Unlike the dead of night targeted arrests, today was about sending a message to the American people and those who would threaten them that President Wolfe’s vow to take the war to the terrorists was being fulfilled.

  On the outskirt of the city of Philadelphia, Saint Joseph’s University students were going about their daily morning routine of hitting the cafeteria for a quick breakfast or fueling themselves up with a collection of offerings from the campus Starbucks. Walking in cohorts towards the various academic buildings, most students found themselves focused on worries of potential surprise quizzes or upcoming papers and tests and paid no mind to a small team of four local Federal ICE agents dressed as maintenance workers and landscapers.

  If any student had given them any thought, their only giveaway would have been the single ear plugs or the way a wrist would lift towards their mouths to speak into their mics. Instead, they went on their way to class, and the agents kept a steady vigil for their target.

  A tall, muscular agent tried to look inconspicuous as he watered a flower bed with a hose while scanning the knots of individuals making their way down the paved walkway towards McShain Hall. Their target was an economics professor who was scheduled to teach a ten o’clock class, but according to reviews the agent read last night, often ran late. Finally, as most students were already in the building except the few perennial late students who raced past him, he viewed a tallish, balding, dark-skinned man dressed casually walking towards the building.

  Lifting his wrist up, he said, “Hey boys, I got eyeballs on the subject . . . oops sorry, Marci, not used to having you on ops . . . anyway, repeat: I have him in my sights.”

  Another agent positioned near the Chapel of Saint Joseph across the street had good cover and pulled out his binoculars and watched as the target walked as if he did not have a care in the world. One thing caught his eye, the way he walked caused a chuckle and the senior agent for the operation said, “Will you watch the way this gomer walks? Somebody needs to tell this guy that he looks like Travolta from Saturday Night Fever strutting around out there.”

  A youngish female voice answered on the closed channel, “What the hell is Saturday Night Fever?”

  Another agent could not help himself and said while trying to stifle a laugh, “I’m pretty sure my grandmother talked about that movie once or twice. Jesus Christ, Ted, how old are you? You sure that you’re up for this op?”

  Stifling a laugh himself, the team leader, an experienced ICE agent, said, “Okay, assholes, can the chatter. Dave are you outside the classroom?”

  “That’s an affirmative.”

  “Good, stay there. Vince, follow him. Marci and I are en route and will be there in five minutes. Don’t spook the guy. Stay alert, he’s not likely to be armed. According to the files his dad back home in Pakistan is supposed to be a money guy of some kind, not muscle.”

  Three squelches confirmed the team understood their orders. Moments later, the agent outside the classroom worked his mop across the floor and didn’t even look up as the target walked into his class and announced loudly to the students’ obvious delight, “What’s up my snowflakes? Dr. Wazir is in the house. I hope all of you have recovered from your hangovers and ready to stop disappointing your parents and get to work. Turn to chapter six and let’s get to it.”

  Two minutes later, the four agents exchanged final looks and waited for the team leader to make the call. He held up his fingers and mouthed the words one…two…three…now!

  Two agents burst through the front and two through the back door into the classroom with weapons drawn and holdin
g their badges high. They began yelling “FEDERAL AGENTS. DR. AHMED WAZIR STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND GET YOUR HANDS UP! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! NOW!”

  Before the green-card-carrying, well-liked, bespectacled professor - who was known around campus for his jovial demeanor - could react, his lecture notes were slapped out of his hand and an agent swiftly turned him around and pushed his body violently into the chalkboard causing the startled Pakistani to yelp in pain when his face struck the wall. Before he could even react, his hands were being cuffed, and his body being patted down.

  He cried out in a panicked manner, “What is happening? Please stop! You’re making a mistake! This is a mistake!”

  The agent in charge announced in a powerful voice, “Dr. Wazir, you are being taken into custody under the provisions of Executive Order 1010: Suspicion of terror activities. You need to come with us.”

  Dr. Wazir was a very proud man from a prominent family and not used to being treated in such a manner. Though scared, he found the courage to suddenly turn around and say in a voice mixed with stress and fueled by rage, “Get these off me now you dumb fuckers! Do you hear me? This is bullshit! Fucking piece of shit assholes release me now!”

  He was so agitated that he began to twist his body left and right and caught one agent off-guard and knocked him square in the jaw with his head. Whether it be a beat cop or a federal agent, no officer of the law likes to be touched, let alone struck and without warning the barrel-chested ICE agent punched the stunned professor in the stomach. Reacting to the violent strike to his mid-section, Wazir doubled over, and before he could say anything else, the agent lifted his knee and caught him under the chin, flinging the tall Pakistani professor back against the wall.