by Jerry Ahern
“The other provisions state, ‘Thereafter, when the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that no inability exists, he shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive department or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit within four days to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Thereupon, Congress shall decide the issue, assembling within 48 hours for that purpose if not in session.’”
“Finally, ‘If the Congress, within 21 days after receipt of the latter written declaration, or if Congress is not in session, within 21 days after Congress is required to assemble, determines by two-thirds vote of both Houses that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall continue to discharge the same as Acting President; otherwise, the President shall resume the powers and duties of his office.’”
Closing the manila folder that carried his reference documents, Johns continued, “Right now, we do not know the President’s status. I feel it is premature to take any action other than identify you as the ‘Acting President.’”
Chapter Sixteen
Before the “Fight in the Forest,” Randall Walls, the Emergency Management Services Director, had shared some “disturbances” he had found in aerial surveillance photos with Paul Rubenstein. These ultimately led to the discovery of the location of the secret infiltration of Captain Dodd’s forces. Paul had been the first to understand the pattern which otherwise would have been unnoticed; once the pattern had been realized, they were obvious. This fact had never been released to the media.
After the attack on the day of Michael Rourke’s inauguration, Paul had contacted Walls, and they had begun investigating aerial surveillance footage of the Honolulu area. Walls and Rubenstein were now pouring over the data, and they knew what to look for.
“You were right Paul,” Walls said excitedly. “Here they are just like the last time but in a different area. They start only 10 days before the last attack. Here, day one, several of these visual disturbances occurred. This time, they are coming from several directions but always ending up here.”
“I see it Randall,” Rubenstein confirmed and pulled a topographic map from the bookshelf, spreading it on the table. “I have to make a phone call.”
The call was answered simply, “Shaw.”
“Tim, Paul Rubenstein here. I’ve got some information for you.”
“Paul, I can’t talk right now. We’re a little busy.”
“Tim, this is important. I think we may have located Michael.” Tim Shaw sat up in his chair.
“Paul, this line is not secure.” Shaw sat and motioned to one of his men to start a trace. “Give me a minute.”
The Agent scribbled a note and handed it to Shaw, “Okay, I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Paul, are you sure about this?”
“No Tim, but I think it is a pretty solid lead.”
“I’m on my way.” Shaw hung up the phone and turned to the other agents, “I want a secure SAT phone and three of you downstairs right now. Get me Director Nixon.”
*****
Paul and Walls were briefing Shaw; Paul moved to the map, “This is the Waiāhole Forest Reserve area, north of Honolulu. Based on the data, we have a site identified. It appears there is an underground tunnel complex that dates back to the mid-twentieth century.”
“My guess is that this site was prepped before the attack on the day of the inauguration,” Walls said. “Probably, it is protected by the counter-illuminated camouflage technology we have seen before. Most likely, there is an invisibility cloak or a force field that assumes the colors and textures of its surroundings.”
Shaw asked, “How big is this place?”
Paul referred to his notes, “This northern leg of the complex is 2.76 miles long and about 750 feet above sea level, connecting with side tunnels that come in from different directions and, specifically, the Kahana, Waikane, Waianu, and Waiāhole valleys. Our data shows there is an old railroad track inside the complex that was used to facilitate movement of personnel and equipment when the system was constructed.”
“So we have six potential entry points.” Shaw said.
Paul nodded, “Could be more but that’s what we can see.”
“You have the surveillance tapes?” Shaw asked.
Walls pulled the keyboard closer and hit several keys. “Like with the days just before the “Fight in the Forest,” this activity went unnoticed. Here, 10 days before the attack, disturbances were always moving in the same direction, from the same direction, and ending right here. Day two—the same disturbances, but now from two directions all ending in the same place. Day three—more disturbances, multiple directions all ending here,” he pointed toward the screen.
“You’re sure these are real?”
“Tim,” Paul said with emphasis. “These are the same patterns we saw that lead to the last battle. Randall has double-checked the satellite feeds and ran diagnostics as well as wind patterns, thermal atmospheric shifts, weather patterns, and bird migrations. There is something there. Now...” Paul nodded, and Walls brought up another satellite image.
Walls said, “This is the day of the attack on the inauguration; watch right here.”
Moments before the attack, a “disturbance” could be seen over the Waiāhole Forest area and tracked southward. The disturbance, which looked to Shaw like a large puddle of water, was moving over the forest. You can still see the trees below but not as clearly as the trees not under the puddle. Suddenly just outside the city, the “puddle” disappeared. Then, four flying craft took its place, and the attack commenced.
This was Shaw’s first aerial view of the attack, and though it did not last long, the attack’s devastation was brought back with horrifying detail.
“Now, watch right here...” Rubenstein directed. One of the flying craft entered a plume of smoke coming from the crash scene of the passenger liner, but it never appeared on the other side. In its place, now that he knew what to watch for, Shaw found the “disturbance” and watched its path back to the Waiāhole Forest.
Walls pushed some more keys and the view changed, “This is Highway 63 where the first ambush was sprung yesterday.”
It revealed three black SUVs on a convoy when a “disturbance” could be seen approaching from the north. It accelerated, passed behind the convoy, and moved ahead of it. Suddenly, the flying craft appeared for just an instant, and the lead vehicle was blasted off the road; just as quickly, the craft disappeared. Less than a minute later, it reappeared and attacked the remaining vehicles.
“Son of a bitch,” Shaw said quietly.
“But watch, this is the important part,” Paul said.
Again, viewing the screen, they noticed that immediately following the attack the craft disappeared again and the “disturbance” could be seen moving off to the north. Barely visible through the smoke of the burning vehicles, movement could be detected but not discerned. It appeared as though someone had survived the devastating attack.
“Why didn’t my people find this?” Shaw asked with an edge to his voice.
“Well, Tim,” Paul said. “They didn’t know what to look for.”
*****
Jason Darkwater had first met the Rourkes during an operation at Eden City, but he had not been the first in his family line to fight alongside the Rourkes. As Captain Darkwater then, he had never been a desk jockey and had participated in a number of military operations with the Rourkes. He was tough, dedicated, and a fighter when required, but he was also a thinker; he knew tactics because he had employed them. He had no fear of getting in harm’s way himself; he also knew it took greater courage to send someone else into harm’s way than going himself.
Darkwat
er had retired from the Navy as a Rear Admiral; less than one percent of career officers are promoted to flag rank. Darkwater graduated second in his class of over 900 midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy with a bachelor’s degree in American political systems.
He had spent the majority of his time with the Office of Naval Intelligence. It is the leading provider of maritime intelligence to the U.S. Navy and joint war fighting forces as well as national decision makers and other consumers in the Intelligence Community.
Darkwater, born in Dallas, Texas, had attended John F. Kennedy High School where his mother worked as a math teacher. Darkwater was deeply inspired by his parent’s attention to detail and “never quit” attitude. Darkwater’s grandfather and father had both graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy and fought for the U.S in sea and air battles decades ago, each rising to the rank of Captain. Jason had followed their tradition.
Darkwater was accepted into the U.S. Naval Academy immediately after graduating high school. Following his graduation and commissioning, his flair for intelligence work finally had totaled up more operations than the next five other operatives. Between field assignments, he had served at each of the ONI subordinate centers in a variety of positions, eventually commanding the Kennedy Irregular Warfare Center.
With the appointment of a new Navy Chief of Staff however, the controversy started, and Darkwater was eventually being administratively removed from that position. It was reported he had “ruffled feathers” and conflicted with the Secretary of Defense—who later resigned—because Darkwater “wouldn’t kiss his ass.” In one investigative report, Chief of Naval Operations stated that, “... People can say what they want to say, but Darkwater challenged people who did not want to be challenged. The guy is courageous, a patriot’s patriot.”
Forced out by those he had challenged, Darkwater retired from the Navy that year to help care for his son who had been diagnosed with a severe genetic disorder. He retired as a one-star or Rear Admiral, as he did not hold the rank of two-star Admiral long enough to retain it as a permanent rank; as a final insult, his son had not survived.
In the vacuum left by the death of his son and his retirement, Darkwater realized he had to get a “game” or he’d lose his mind. Typically untypical, the apolitical Darkwater turned to politics. Many wondered, “How can a man who hated the politics of power decide that the best place to combat those politics was from the inside?” Even Darkwater had never found a satisfactory answer to that question.
Chapter Seventeen
Alpha Team of the Special Response Unit formed into three wedge-shaped lines across Highway 63; its job was to run the point and break trail for the other teams. The other two teams, laid out similarly, were positioned to follow Team One at a distance of one-quarter mile. Bravo Team’s mission would be to drop out, isolate the attack scene, locate survivors, and determine as much as possible from the evidence available. Charley Team was to back up Alpha Team as necessary in its hunt for the President.
Anders and the Command Team would attempt to break whatever was causing the communications blackout, direct forces as needed, and arrange for evacuation and recovery of any survivors. He gave the signal, and the AATVs gunned their engines and roared down the highway, hopefully moving toward the watchful eye of Marine fighter jet air cover. Each AATV held a driver who was also responsible for communications, a turret gunner, and a heavy machine gunner.
Anders’ vehicle, also armored, was larger; it contained a four-man team consisting of a driver, a weapon’s specialist who manned the two heavy plasma cannons, a gunner who operated the twin heavy machine guns, and Anders who was in touch with Central Command and trying to clear the jamming situation. He was close enough now to see the smoke rising from the ambush site; several miles ahead, he thought he could see more smoke on the horizon.
Alpha Team blasted past the site without slowing. Bravo Team established security over watches with two squads, and the third charged through the destroyed guardrail and down the embankment. Charlie Team accelerated and closed on Alpha’s rear. Anders’ vehicle slowed as it passed the ambush site in the event they had to back up Team Two. Anders, call sign TACTICAL, keyed his microphone, “TACTICAL to Bravo; status, over.”
“Bravo here, no sign of POTUS, TACTICAL. We have one KIA from the POTUS convoy, two in critical condition, who will require immediate dust off, medical evacuation and one with non-life threatening injuries. It appears to have been a heavy energy weapon blast that impacted the right front of the lead vehicle and blew it off the road and down the embankment. Security team is out but negative signs of the bad guys. Survivor says that, after they were hit, the other two vehicles followed procedure and attempted to leave the kill zone, over.”
“Roger, Bravo,” Anders said and rekeyed his mic. “TACTICAL to Alpha Team, over.”
“Alpha, negative on POTUS, TACTICAL. I am closing on what looks to be a second ambush site. Heavy smoke is coming from what appears to be two closely located sources. Approximately one minute to scene, negative contact with opposing forces, yet, over.”
“Alpha, any contact with friendlies? Over.”
“Affirmative, we have air cover. Approaching scene, give me a minute. TACTICAL, we have located the other two vehicles, still zero contact with POTUS. Securing scene, we have two missing, four KIAs but again, no sign of POTUS. We’re going to need aerial surveillance to scout the area, terrain not friendly to the AATVs, over.”
Anders ordered his command vehicle to the side of the road; this would be his command post location. Changing frequencies, he contacted Central Command, “TACTICAL to Command, over.” There was no answer; he tried twice more before making contact.
“TACTICAL, this is Command. Status, over.”
“Command, this is TACTICAL. POTUS contact is negative. All three vehicles were destroyed; we have casualties at the first site and are awaiting a casualty report from the second site. We have two needing immediate dust off at the first site and two missing from the second site, including POTUS, over.”
Anders got a signal from his driver; Team Three was trying to raise him on the tactical frequency. “Standby Command.”
Switching channels, Anders said, “Charlie Team, this is TACTICAL, over.”
“TACTICAL, this is Charlie. Alpha has secured the scene with two squads; Charlie Team supplemented by one of the squads from Alpha is expanding the search area. We have three KIA, one expectant; he probably would not survive even with medical help. One needs immediate evacuation, and there are two MIA including POTUS. There has been zero enemy contact, over.”
Anders wiped his face with one hand, “Roger, Charlie. Have the choppers arrived? Over.”
“Affirmative, TACTICAL just got here, over.”
“Affirmative Charlie, we need a joint ground and air operational search pattern working, and we need it now, over.” Switching frequencies, Anders gave the report to Central Command. The only response was, “Roger, out.”
*****
Michael Rourke woke up slowly; consciousness was shimmering like the surface of a lake, and he was trying to swim up to it. He was down deep, a long way off, and his chest hurt; he didn’t know if he would make it before he had to breathe in the water that would drown him.
Suddenly, his lungs filled, not with water but with life-giving air. He was leaning against a tree, his head hurt, and there was blood obscuring one side of his face. Sitting across from him with his eyes closed was Ken Farris, one of his protection team. Farris was hurt. A piece of metal protruded from his side, and he was in obvious discomfort in his abdominal area.
Nudging Farris’ foot, Michael asked, “Ken, are you alright?”
Farris opened his eyes and smiled, “Hello, Mr. President. You had me worried, didn’t know if you would wake up or not. That cut looks pretty bad.”
Michael smiled, “Looks worse than it feels, how about you? Did any of the others make it?”
Farris shook his head, “Don’t know, maybe Franklin, but I
couldn’t be sure. You were out cold, and the rest were either unconscious or dead. I had to get you outta there. I think we’re safe here for a little while; the cover of smoke gave us a good screen to get away in. Haven’t heard any sign of them following us. We’re about a mile from the scene of the attack.”
Rourke nodded, “What about you Ken? You carried me the whole way?”
Farris shook his head and with a grin said, “No Boss, I had to drag you the last quarter mile. You’re a big boy.”
Michael crawled over to Farris, “Thank you Ken. What can I do for you? You’re hurting pretty badly.”
“Don’t think there is anything you can do,” Farris said. “I’m not sure if it is the spleen or the liver, could be both I guess. Probably would make it if I could get to a trauma center, but I’m bleeding internally, and I’m getting weaker by the minute.” Farris had diagnosed his injuries as matter-of-factly as if he were reading the Sunday paper. “Either the spleen or liver can be dangerous; if the damage was massive, I’d already have bled out. My radio and your cell phone are gone. Yes Sir, I searched you for it as soon as we were out of the danger zone; both are probably in the burning wreck. We can’t contact anyone. Now Mr. President, I need you to listen to me. You need to get out of here, and you are not going to be able to haul me with you.”
Michael frowned, “I’m not leaving you, not after you saved me. I’m not doing it.” Farris leaned forward and grabbed Michael’s shirt, “Yes, you are Sir, and you’re going to do it right now. My job is to protect you, not the other way around.”
Michael stood up and raised Farris to his feet, “I’m not leaving you behind my friend.” Rourke threw Farris’ arm around his own neck and took two steps before Farris collapsed and drug both of them to the ground.
Farris looked around and then said, “Yes, you are Boss. You have to hold out until our people can get here. It shouldn’t take too awfully long, but you’re alone, unarmed, and people are after you and I’m...” Before he could finish his thought, Secret Service Agent Kenneth Farris grimaced once, closed his eyes, and died.