Operation Assassination

by Anne Fox

  “Oh, holy shit. Here he goes,” Spud muttered.

  “We should keep in mind... that this nation is a powerful nation. A powerful nation... with enemies. These events... are the kinds of events... events... that are intended and contrived... contrived to cast doubt on our ability as a nation...”

  The President paused, and then continued, banging his fist on the lectern. “This country’s enemies should keep one thing in mind!” he shouted. “This country is still, still the most powerful country on this Earth, and should they conspire to attempt to defeat us, they will... they will have to deal with the consequences of my... determination to use... to use the weaponry we possess, including nuclear weapons to defeat them!”

  “WHAT THE FUCK!” The team members all jumped to their feet. “What the fuck did he just say?!”

  The President stormed from the press room, which had erupted in chaos, his aides on his heels.

  “Holy shit,” Hank said, burying her face in a hand. “I’m betting every nation on the face of the planet with nuclear capability has just rushed to start repointing missiles, repositioning subs....” She looked over at Spud. “What the hell did he just do to us?”

  “Maybe set us up for becoming a big, green glass bowl.”

  The team sat, somber, watching the news, finishing their morning coffee. A general state of panic had set into the country, with some evacuating the larger cities, others making runs on supplies they felt they might need during a crisis. News reports continued to describe the reactions of nations around the world, especially those that possessed nuclear arms. The President was notably absent, with Congress left to the task of trying to calm the populace as well as the nation’s allies, while those allies sought to distance themselves from the United States in a move for self-preservation should the worst happen.

  “We haven’t seen this kind of tension in the world since the Cuban missile crisis,” Voice remarked. He went back to looking through the Classifieds in the newspaper.

  Edge sighed. “I should be above deck, getting ready to go to war.”

  “Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Amigo said.

  Voice suddenly sat up, and taking out his ever-present pencil started decoding an ad.

  “Something for us?” Spud asked.

  “You people are always so stinking impatient,” Voice muttered as he continued to scribble in the margin of the page.

  “Message reads, ‘Quantico gunny arriving 0900.’”

  “I’ll go up to meet him,” Hank said. “It’s a little early, but he always seems to show up early. I’m going to go change into service Cs. Everyone else at least get into your full cammies.”

  Hank went off to her quarters and changed, then headed upstairs, noting the other team members making their way from their quarters to the library. She sprinted up the stairwell to the hidden access above and made her way to the front entrance to the BEQ. She opened the door as the base commander came up the stairs. Saluting, she greeted him with, “Good morning, Sir.”

  He returned her salute and stepped inside, removing his garrison cap and tucking it under his belt. “With everything that’s happening, I fear neither this morning nor many mornings to come can be characterized as ‘good,’ Gunny.”

  “Yes. It’s rather depressing,” Hank acknowledged, leading the way through the hidden access and down the stairwell into the unit’s facility. “I believe we’ll find the other team members in the library.”

  She led the way through the corridors, the two of them silent. Passing into Honor Way, she tapped the niches of the unit’s three fallen, the colonel doing the same, and at the midway point slapped the shutter of the niche on which was engraved “Mission First” with the colonel again imitating her example. Entering the library, she turned as he entered and said, “Thank you, Sir, for honoring our fallen.”

  “It was my great privilege,” he said.

  They both sat with the other team members at the table. “To what do we owe your visit, Sir?” Edge asked.

  “I was contacted by some members of the Senate,” he began. “They are vaguely aware of your existence and would like a meeting. They contacted me to arrange it.” He looked around the table. “Doesn’t the unit have a contact within Congress?”

  “No, Sir,” Spud replied. “We’re Department of Justice. Judicial branch of government. They’re legislative branch. We, in fact, would not have you as a contact except for the reality of our presence here as your guests at Quantico. We don’t have any contact within the Administration. The closest we come to having someone in the White House is our contact within the Secret Service.”

  “Well,” the colonel began, “they would like to come here for a meeting.”

  “Absolutely not,” Spud replied. “There is no one in Congress who has been vetted and can be trusted to know about this unit and this facility. The request to come here is denied. I’m sure the rest of the team agrees.”

  Hands reached out and knuckles were tapped on the table.

  “If they want to meet, we can send a representative of the team above deck to meet them at a place of their choosing,” Spud continued. “But they will not be coming here. You can relay that message back to them.” Spud looked over at Hank. “Hank, can you escort the colonel back above deck?”

  Hank walked ahead of the colonel, again slapping the shutter engraved with “Mission First” and tapping the occupied niches, the colonel following her example. Once around the corner, she said, “I hope you can understand my husband’s denial, Sir. We still live somewhat by the cultures in which we were trained. Your motto as a Marine is ‘Semper Fidelis: Always Faithful.’ Mine is ‘Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.’ Spud’s is ‘Worthy of Trust and Confidence.’ Those things tend to get woven into our unit motto: ‘Mission First.’ Our mission is law enforcement, taken to the highest level possible. We can’t allow anything to reduce our ability to perform that mission.”

  “Understandable,” the colonel replied. “And something I can admire.”

  They climbed the stairs back to the BEQ above the unit’s facility. “I’ll pass along the message to the Senators who approached me,” the colonel said. Reaching the front door and opening it, he replaced his cap on his head and turned to her, saluting before she could render hers. Saluting, she apologized for her late reaction.

  “Beating you to the punch was quite deliberate on my part, Gunny,” he said, holding his salute. “A sign of my utmost respect for what you and the rest of your team do.”

  He completed his salute, and she followed by completing hers. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He turned and walked solemnly down the stairs to his vehicle. As she watched, she couldn’t help but think, We’re all acting like the walking dead.

  14

  Voice sat, doing his usual breakfast routine of reading the Classifieds. The rest of the team picked at their food, no one talking, the mood somber, dejected. Even Hank had lost her usual appetite.

  Voice sat up and slowly drew his pencil from his pocket. “Don’t even ask. I’ll tell you when I’m done,” he muttered. He began scribbling in the margin of the page.

  “Message reads, ‘Your representative requested to meet with Senators at 1000.’” He sat back. “The place for the meeting is also given. Who’s going?”

  “That’s a good question,” Edge said.

  “The little issue we have here is that with everyone being either ex-military or ex-federal law enforcement, there’s always a possibility that someone in DC is going to recognize one of us,” Amigo said.

  “Everyone except Voice,” Spud pointed out.

  Six faces swung in Voice’s direction. Seeing them looking at him, Voice said, “No, no, no. Not me.”

  “You’re the most logical choice,” Cloud said. “Do you think any of those old farts in Congress would recognize a face from Thor Games?”

  “You have to understand something,” Voice began. “Part of the joy, if you want to call it that, of being a game programmer is that you get
to spend your time with a computer and not have to deal with lots of people. Being here is pretty much the same for me: I work with a team, just like I did when game programming, and then the rest of the time is spent working with Hal or goofing off making little covert drones. It’s perfect work for me. Meeting with Senators? Uh, no.”

  The rest of the team continued to look at him. “Do you have a suit?” Crow asked.

  “I just got done telling you, I’m not the one for doing this,” Voice protested.

  “Mission first,” Crow said.

  Voice’s demeanor had oh shit written all over it.

  “It’s not as big a deal as I think you’re making it,” Spud told Voice. “You go, you sit, you listen to what they have to say, you come back.”

  “And what if they ask me questions? What do I tell them?”

  “Did you get the new comm routine working?”

  “Yeah, but...”

  “Then just open a team channel and we’ll coach you through it,” Spud said.

  “I really, really would like someone else to do this,” Voice protested.

  “¡Marica!” Amigo muttered.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Sissy.”

  Voice scowled at him.

  “Look,” Hank said. “We all know that game programmers tend to be socially awkward teenagers encased in adults’ bodies. But you’ve known from the time you accepted being on this team that it involves doing things that weren’t in your original job description. Yes, you’re our programmer, you do the techie stuff, and that’s what you’re best at. But right now, we need someone who isn’t going to be recognized, and guess who the guy is who likes to hide from everyone and just talk to Hal? Suck it up, Buttercup. This is your mission this time.”

  Voice stood up. “I guess I’d better go change.”

  As Voice headed to his quarters, Spud said, “I’ll drive him. In case our Senators are a little too curious about us and decide to follow us back here.”

  “We could put some insurance on that by asking the Colonel to lock the base down for us as well,” Hank suggested. “No one in unless they have a base sticker on their vehicle. We can have it lifted once we get the two of you back inside.”

  “How do we get a message to him that we need this?” Amigo asked.

  “I’ll go in person,” Hank said. “Voice, bring your cammies and Marine Corps ID with you. You’ll need them to get back into base.”

  “Roger,” she heard in her earpiece.

  “Guess that goes for me, too,” Spud said.

  “Unless you like climbing over razor wire while being shot at,” Hank said. “I intend to ask for FPCON Delta.”

  Voice walked into the hotel that had been designated for the meeting and asked for directions to their conference room. “Hal, initiate team conversation,” he whispered, then, “Everyone on board?”

  Hearing a chorus of “Here” in his ear, he said, “Thanks, guys. Here goes.”

  Walking into the conference room, he was greeted by a group of seven men. He recognized all of them as being senior members of the Senate.

  “I represent the unit,” he announced.

  They stood and shook hands with him.

  “Please have a seat, Mr?” one of the Senators said.

  Voice sat. “Smith,” he said.

  The Senators all looked at each other.

  “Very well, Mr. Smith,” the Senator said, a slight smirk telling Voice he didn’t believe his name was ‘Smith’ at all. So what, Voice thought.

  “Mr. Smith, we have an assignment for the unit that we feel only the unit can perform. It is an assignment of the utmost importance. I’m sure you are aware of what’s been occurring around the country. Are you aware of what has been happening internationally?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “What has been happening internationally,” one of the Senators began.

  “Wait,” another said. “Mr. Smith, what level is your security clearance?”

  “I hold a Top Secret clearance, Senator, as do all unit members. Further, the unit restricts all discussions regarding unit missions to unit personnel only. We do not even discuss mission specifics with the agencies that request the mission.”

  “So, we can speak to you with complete confidence?”

  “Absolute confidence.”

  “What has been happening internationally,” the senator who had originally spoken said, “is that virtually every nation that possesses a nuclear arsenal has missiles pointed at us. We even have subs with nuclear warheads poised just outside our territorial waters. This nation is in grave danger.”

  “You’ve only confirmed what we have all suspected, Senator.”

  “Would you care to tell us what you believe has led to this situation?”

  “Senator, the unit doesn’t speculate on situations which we may be asked to become involved in.” You’re doing fine, Voice heard in his ear.

  “We believe we know what has led to this crisis,” another of the senators said. “We have a President who is not fit to serve.”

  “I can’t comment on that other than to say that I believe the Constitutional provisions for removing him were all attempted,” Voice said.

  “It remains, though, that the President now stands as a threat to the very continued existence of this country,” the senator said. “He cannot be allowed to remain in office.”

  “I don’t see how the unit can be of assistance in this endeavor,” Voice said.

  “Our understanding is that the unit has very specialized skills, and that it can act in a manner that doesn’t reveal its involvement,” the senator said.

  “This is true.”

  “Then what we are about to ask of you can indeed be of assistance in this matter.”

  Voice kept a neutral expression and asked, “What would you have us do, Senator?”

  “Assassinate the President.”

  Voice nearly winced as six voices practically shouted WHAT?! in his ear.

  “Senator, can I confirm that I heard you correctly?” Voice asked, unable to hide a bit of shock.

  “We would like the unit to assassinate the President,” the senator repeated.

  “Tell him you have to confer with the rest of the unit,” Voice heard Spud say in his ear. “Then get the hell out of there.”

  Spud and Voice raced down the staircase and into the unit’s underground facility, making their way quickly toward the library. “Unit, alert, meet the team in the library,” Spud called through the comm link. He heard the alert being repeated throughout the facility as he and Voice turned through the doorway. Neither of them had slowed to pay the usual homage to the unit’s fallen nor slap the shutter with “Mission First” engraved on it.

  Hearing quick footsteps behind them, they took in the five other team members, all sitting at the table, silent, appearing shell-shocked. The unit’s support personnel were all gathering, taking seats around the room.

  “Is everyone here?” Spud asked.

  “All present,” said Edge, having kept track of who came into the room.

  “For those of you in Support,” Spud began, “you are unaware that the team was asked to meet with a group of senators. That meeting was arranged for today, and Voice was in attendance. The senators made an extremely unusual request.”

  Doc Andy was paying special attention to the looks on the faces of the team members. “I take it the team was listening in on this request?”

  The other five members of the team all turned to look in his direction.

  “The looks on your faces suffice,” Doc Andy said. “What was the request, Spud?”

  Spud took a deep breath. In measured tones, he said, “They have asked us to assassinate the President.”

  Voice’s face held what is typically called ‘the thousand mile stare.’ “I still can’t believe I heard them.” He sat in the nearest empty chair to him.

  “That explains why all of you in the Field Team look like you’re in shock,” Doc Andy rema
rked as the rest of the unit’s support personnel murmured in agitated tones around the room.

  “They say we’ve got nukes pointed at us,” Voice said, his voice shaking. “They say we’ve got subs with nukes right outside our boundary waters.”

  The support personnel were now all staring at Voice in silence.

  Spud, as Voice had, sat in the nearest empty chair to him. “We’ve all taken an oath. Many of us have taken that oath twice.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. The conflict within him was readily apparent on his face. “That oath is to the Constitution. The presidency is part of that document. For eight years while a part of the Secret Service, I stood ready to protect the President as part of protecting the presidency. But right now, we have a President who is willing to have us annihilated. Does protecting the President in this case actually protect the presidency? Are we upholding the Constitution?”

  “You aren’t suggesting we actually take this mission,” Amigo said.

  “I don’t know what to suggest we do,” Spud replied.

  “This is not what we do,” Cloud said. “We’re talking about murdering someone. And not just anyone. The President of the United States.”

  “We should be alerting the Secret Service gunny,” Crow said. “These senators are dangerous, and a danger specifically to the President. They’ll find someone else to do their dirty work.”

  “Here’s the only problem,” Spud said. “Hal, display images of the US President and football on monitor L1.”

  The monitor in the library sprang to life, showing the President being closely followed by a man with a large briefcase.

  “Just in case there’s someone here who doesn’t know what I’m talking about,” Spud said, getting up and going to the monitor, “this is the football.” He pointed to the briefcase. “Inside this case, there’s another: an aluminum case. Inside that case, among other things, is a card called ‘the biscuit.’ The biscuit has on it our nuclear launch codes.”