by Lewis, Rykar
“The President will see you now, Major,” the man said, motioning with his head to the closed door leading to the President’s personal office.
Parks thanked the man and took a few deep breaths.
He was dressed in his green Service Alphas, and his chest was full of ribbons which he’d won throughout the years. His uniform was freshly ironed and Parks could almost cut himself on the creases in his pants. The standard Marine black shoes were polished and shiny, and his hair was freshly cut almost to the skin. He was ready. Slowly he pushed the door open and boldly stepped in.
“Major Keith Parks reporting as ordered, sir,” he announced, as he stood at ruler-straight attention.
The man behind the desk slowly and deliberately looked up from the stack of papers he was reading through. He and Parks were the only ones in the room, and for the first time, Parks saw the President in real life, but only out of the corner of his eye, for he was looking straight ahead, not at the President.
Winnfield set down the papers and looked directly at Parks. “Major Parks, I’ve been looking over your military records, aided by the National Security Advisor, over the last few minutes, and if you’ll allow me to go over them with you, I’d be grateful.”
Parks couldn’t believe the President was asking his permission. The President could do what he wanted; he didn’t have to get Parks’ approval.
Winnfield picked up the stack of papers on his desk, rested back in his chair, and told Parks to relax. Parks went to “parade rest” with utmost precision.
The President began, “Major Keith Parks: graduate from the University of Washington, two hundred and fifty-second in the class of five hundred and twelve; commissioned a second lieutenant fall of 2004; assigned to Camp Pendleton, California, and became the commander of a platoon of Marines in the 1st ANGLICO. After a year on the base you were deployed to Iraq for six months while attached to I Marine Expeditionary Force. At the end of the two years at Camp Pendleton, you were promoted to first lieutenant, and transferred to the 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion at Camp Lejeune, and again, you were a platoon commander. You were shipped overseas with the entire battalion for nine months to Iraq, where you won the Silver Star for an act of bravery while engaged in armed conflict with terrorists.” The President cleared his throat and continued. “At the end of your three-year assignment with the 4th MEB you were promoted to a captain and moved to Fort Bliss, in El Paso.” Winnfield shuffled the papers and proceeded. “After working at JTF-North’s J3 for two years, you were once again moved to Lejeune with the Anti-Terrorism Battalion, and served as the executive officer of Bravo Company.”
Parks cut in. “Uh, negative sir.” Those were the first words he’d spoken to the President besides introducing himself and he hoped he’d done the right thing.
The President looked up at him. “What was that?”
Parks repeated himself. “Negative, Mr. President, sir. That’s Commanding Officer of Bravo Company.”
“Oh, very impressive.” Winnfield looked back to the papers. “So, you were sent overseas again, to Afghanistan this time, on a mission to take out terror cells. While you were there, you led an attack against a very strategic terrorist training camp. You led your company strategically and effectively, and during the operation you performed several heroic acts, above and beyond the call of duty. However, among those acts of heroism, you were shot in the left shoulder. Months later, your battalion was taken back to the States, you were awarded the Medal of Honor, and you also received a Purple Heart.” The President looked up again. “That’s three very high awards you have earned. And they were all in the line of counterterrorism.”
President Winnfield laid the papers down on the desk in front of him. He leaned far back in his office chair and folded his hands on his chest. “Is there any question in your mind as to why I chose you for this job?”
Parks didn’t answer; he just stared straight ahead and kept standing stalk still.
“Well there’s none in mine,” the President assured. “Now, Major Parks, do you know the nature of this assignment? Obviously not, your PCS orders didn’t explain a thing, so the job is mine.” Winnfield appeared to be totally relaxed and sure of himself. “Normally – for your personal information – the National Security Advisor would have done what I just did and what I’m about to do. But this whole ordeal is mine, and I intend to oversee it to its entirety. To get down to business, Major, this is a top secret assignment. The information you’ll receive is never ever to leave this room.” The President was dead serious. “Are you aware of the terrorist attacks performed two months ago?”
“Slightly, Mr. President, sir.”
“Who isn’t? As you know, these terrorists came in undetected, and the outcome of that night was horrific. That goes to show what terrorists can and will do when they have a free rein. Not that we gave them a free rein, but we just didn’t catch them in time. That, my friend, will never, never, happen again.” The President leaned his elbows on his desk and didn’t take his eyes off Parks even for a second. “That is why you’re here. That is why you didn’t get stationed to some Marine base. To explain matters, parts of my National Security Council and I have met and decided that a new counterterrorism team needed to be formed. We have been contemplating such an action for a long time but the recent attacks have just pushed us to immediate action. Anyway, you will be in the new team I’m forming.”
Parks felt like he’d been hit in the stomach. He didn’t know how to react or what to say so he didn’t do either and kept on listening.
Winnfield went on. “You and your team will specialize in taking out terrorists before they take us out. Your team will be national security/counterterrorism, lightning-quick, mouse-like quiet, 24/7, special operation experts.”
The President stopped for a brief second so Parks took advantage of it.
“Forgive me for interrupting, sir,” Parks excused himself, “but you are referring to this team as my team. Is that meaning that I’m just part of it or...” Parks let the President finish his thought.
“No, no, you haven’t heard have you? Of course, no one’s told you. You are going to be the team leader. You will be the go-to person. You will be the responsible person for whatever happens. You will be this country’s lead protector.”
A shocked Parks listened on. “To get on with my explanation, this team will consist of seven members,” Winnfield said. “Three agents from the CIA and three agents from the FBI. They are the best agents in the business, believe me. National Security Advisor Tom Smith will get you acquainted with them in a moment, but I still need to give you an outline of your job.”
“You will have an office near your team members’ in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. All day every day, you and your team will train and sift through intelligence reports – emails forwarded to you from the CIA’s operations center – on the terrorists that are posing a threat to our national security. By reading all the intel summaries, you will have a better understanding of who you’ll be dealing with. Now, the Director of National Intelligence, along with the Directors of the CIA, FBI, and Secret Service, will brief you on the major threats that are drawn to our attention. You will be notified by an intelligence watch officer on duty when a terrorist or other form of threat has entered the U.S. Without delay you will report to me, and the Directors will brief you on the threat. Then you will be sent to take out that threat immediately. You will be on call night and day, for the enemy never rests a minute.” Winnfield was now standing and pacing as he continued. “Lastly, I must tell you that the purpose of this team is to ensure nothing like what happened on the 16th of January ever happens again in the history of this country. I have chosen seven of the best counterterrorism fighters known to man for this team, and I expect good results. I will allow nothing less. Do you have any questions?”
Parks had a few, but he didn’t know if the President or National Security Advisor was going to answer them. “Mr. President, sir, will the Nati
onal Security Advisor fill me in on the details of this assignment?”
“You bet. Everything will be covered in detail.”
Winnfield walked up to the statue-still Parks and extended his hand. Parks went to attention and then he shook it.
In a caring voice the President said, “God bless you boy. You’ll need it.”
* * *
National Security Advisor Tom Smith escorted Parks around the White House, and introduced him to key people he’d have to confer with later on, like Vice President Stan Anders, FBI Director Franklin Watkins, CIA Director Mike Cummins, Secret Service Director Nathaniel Roxon, and Director of National Intelligence Josh Travis.
After the official introductions had been made, the National Security Advisor took Parks to his personal “National Security Advisor” office, gave him a seat, and offered to answer any questions he might have.
“I’ll take you to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building – we call it the EEOB – and introduce you to your team in a minute. But first I’d like to answer any questions you have,” Smith explained.
“I have a few, sir,” Parks told him. “First, who will I be working for directly? Second, will my team have any part in gathering the intelligence on the terrorists, or will the intelligence agencies do that for us? And lastly for now, sir, will I be required to conceal carry a firearm?”
Smith jumped on the last question first. “I think it is wise that you conceal carry a firearm. To do that, you don’t even need a permit. Your job suggests that you should have a personal sidearm, and you are already authorized to carry one.”
“To answer your first concern,” Smith went on, “you will be working for the President and the Marine Corps, just as always. However, you will report to me, and everything you do will be directed by me. I am your secondary boss. To put it on military terms, the President’s like the battalion commander and I am like the company commander. My connection is more detailed and one-on-one with you. I will assess supplies, transportation, communication, and so on. The Directors of the FBI, CIA, National Intelligence, and Secret Service are merely information providers to your team, they have no authority whatsoever. Now, my job is to brief the President on matters concerning your team, and be the conduit for orders. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” Parks answered, taking mental notes.
“The last question I have to answer is the trickiest, I’m afraid. But allow me to put it to you this way. This team of yours is not counterintelligence. It is a counterterrorism team. The counterintelligence specialists at the various agencies are the main intelligence gatherers, but, you will be briefed by their watch officers via email on any and every threat. The CIA is in charge of foreign intelligence, while the FBI heads up domestic intelligence. However, for simplicity’s sake, and since we need both foreign and domestic intelligence for your team, we’ve created a small joint-agency task force at CIA Headquarters. That way the CIA’s foreign intel and the FBI’s domestic intel reports can flow together and be sent to your desk from a single source. When an actual terrorist comes in and you receive word about it, you will report to the President, and the Directors will give you an in-depth, face-to-face briefing on the terrorist threat. Of course, the President will oversee that whole briefing.” Smith drank from a bottle of water that was resting nearby on his desk. “However, on a small scale, you and your team will have a knowledge of counterintelligence. That way you can better understand the reports that come in from Langley – oh, that’s where the CIA is headquartered if you didn’t know that already. So basically, you read the intelligence reports to be kept up-to-date on things, and when a terrorist is found, you’ll report to the Situation Room, and the Directors will brief you.”
The National Security Advisor told Parks to follow him, and together, they walked across the White House parking lot to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, which was adjacent to the West Wing of the White House. Smith informed Parks that he would see that he would be reserved a parking space close by, and he’d get right on that when he returned to the White House.
Smith walked up to the Secret Service agents guarding the doors of the EEOB, and whipped out his White House badge. They let him in, but when Parks tried to enter, the agents scrutinized his badge with such intensity, Parks figured they thought it was a fake. Fortunately Smith intervened and told them to let Parks in. They reluctantly complied, and Parks caught up to the National Security Advisor, who, as a fast walker, was already halfway down the hall.
The duo reached the end of the hall and then turned down another long hallway. Smith and Parks then ascended a long staircase which led to the second floor. The EEOB was a grand structure. Its building site and surrounding land was over 11 ½ football fields long in total area, and it took over $10,000,000 to build it. Designed by Supervising Architect of the Treasury Alfred Mullett, and the chief designer, Richard Ezdorf, the structure took seventeen years to complete; from 1871-1888. Inside the Eisenhower Executive Office Building – formerly called the Old Executive Office Building – were over five hundred and fifty rooms, with sixty-five staircases, eighty-five fireplaces, a basement, and five floors packed with offices.
Again the National Security Advisor led Parks to a hallway that led to the right, where they traveled to the middle office in the hall. Smith opened the door and let Parks enter first, and then he came in and shut the door behind him. The office was spacious and the windows in it allowed for a magnificent view of the greening lawn and much of the city. Parks figured it would be amazing at night to see all of the city’s lights illuminated from these windows.
Smith brought Parks’ attention to six men seated in chairs and on couches at the rear of the office. One was facing his back to Parks, but on command of the man beside him, he turned his chair around and faced forward.
“Allow me to introduce you to your team, Major Parks,” the National Security Advisor explained, stepping toward the first man on the left.
Parks followed him.
“Major Parks, this man in front of you will be your deputy commander. He’s one of the best counterterrorism agents in the whole CIA. His name is Solomon.”
The tall, lean, black man rose to his feet. Standing 6’ 3” and weighing about 190 pounds, he was decked out in a loose, blue, turtleneck sweater, black slacks, and dress shoes. He was thirty-five years old, but looked much younger. His face was adorned with a faint goatee. His head was shaved almost bald, and he had a rather large nose. When he spoke, he had a very thick Jamaican accent.
“Solomon who?” Parks asked, extending his hand toward the man.
Solomon shook it warmly, and said, “Solomon Solomon X. At your service, Major Parks.”
Had Parks heard him right? Solomon Solomon X? He must be hearing things. Parks put his ear closer and asked again what his name was.
Solomon replied loud and clear, “Solomon Solomon X. And no, you’re not hearing things. My first and last names are exactly the same. It’s a long story, but I can brief you on it later.”
“I see,” Parks replied, smiling and releasing Solomon’s hand. “I am Major Keith Parks of the United States Marine Corps.”
Solomon nodded. “I know Mr. Parks. Welcome to the Nation’s capital.”
Parks thanked him and followed Smith to the next man in line. He was Greg Norse with the FBI. The men that followed were, Phillip Marler with the CIA, an intelligence expert; and then Jim Corley, an FBI agent; Jason Samuels, FBI; and Eric Lee with the CIA; respectively. All seemed to be nice enough guys, and from what Parks could tell, a couple of them appeared to be very open to work with an “outsider.”
Smith then excused himself and explained that he had to get back to his office and take care of paperwork. He left Parks with the order to meet with him in his office at the White House whenever he finished the meeting with his team.
The silence that followed was almost embarrassing, but thankfully Solomon broke the ice. “I hear you’re pretty good, Major Parks. I guess that Medal of Honor
on your chest says so.” Solomon was in no way mocking Parks, but only trying to become better acquainted.
Parks was self-conscious, but he calmly responded, “I appreciate that Mr. Solomon; I hope I won’t let you down.”
“Please, call me Solomon, I don’t like my last name being used,” he joked. The whole room erupted in laughter, mostly from pent up nerves.
“Since no one’s going to say anything, Keith,” Solomon started, “I think I’ll explain to you why my name is so unique.”
Parks was shocked that he’d just used his first name, but then again, this was not the Marine Corps, things were done differently here. Parks nodded his approval and sat down in a chair that was close by.
“I am the tenth person in my family line with this name; it was a tradition to pass it on to the first-born boy in the family. Well, I am the first of ten children, so I was the lucky one that got the name. Solomon Solomon I was a freed slave – better put would be an escaped slave – during the late 1700s. Years down the road he became a successful man in Maryland, but when he first came to the state looking for work he was often asked what his name was. He always replied, ‘Solomon.’ Well, when he tried to get a job at a store, the owner asked what his name was. The man was already skeptical of hiring him, so when he found out that he only had a first name, the man threw him out of his store, thinking he was some street bum. Grandpa Solomon couldn’t believe that a second name could mean getting a job or not. So, he decided to make his own second name right then and there. Now he was not very, uh, brilliant, I guess you’d say. The only name he could think of for a last name was his first. He then named himself, Solomon Solomon. So Grandpa Solomon went into another store and told the owner his new name. Well, the store owner thought he was crazy, but for some reason he actually hired him.”