The Benghazi Affair: A Parody Novel

by Ward Salud

  Far across on the other side, however, Alessandra ran for her life, escorted by a group of escaped prisoners.

  Amid the din and fighting, Hillary hurried over to a dead guard and kneeling down, picked up his Magnum from his waist. Later, they would honor the sacrifice of these brave Peruvians, but right now, she couldn’t allow Alessandra to escape.

  Hillary ran through the prison ward as fast as she could. In front, an escaped prisoner noticed her and bared his teeth. He charged, but she was quicker.

  Deftly, she shot him in the head, where upon impact on his cranium, spraying blood everywhere, he fell to the floor. Hillary hopped over the dead body and continued to run. Behind her, the telltale sign of an explosion boomed, sending a geyser of blood and body parts into the air.

  He was a suicide bomber, she knew, adding another element of danger to her mission.

  Another group tried to block her escape. This time, the same group that had made quick work of the guard, now focused on her.

  Hillary raised her gun and fired the first, second, and third shots. She didn’t target their heads, however. She targeted their knees.

  The shots found their mark, and they each buckled to the floor. Pushing her way through the group, she managed to clear them, and after getting some distance, she heard an explosion behind her as well as the squish sound of a bomb ripping through skin.

  She was close now. The end of the prison ward was near, and if she was lucky, she thought, she could still catch up to—

  To her surprise, a suicide bomber lunged and grappled with her. “Die, Hillary!” he shouted, his remarkably white teeth snapping open.

  She didn’t have much time left before—

  Just barely, she kicked him back, sending the escaped prisoner into an opened cell where he blew himself up.

  BOOM

  The explosion rocked her backwards and sent her reeling to the floor as his blood disgustingly splattered on her. Her ears rung, and her surroundings spun around her.

  In the cell where the explosion took place, a hole opened up to the jungle with rubble and debris as well as the bloody remains of the suicide bomber surrounding it.

  Though her ears still rung, Hillary picked herself up and staggered towards the newly-created hole. If she could somehow make it outside, she might be able to create a shortcut to be able to . . .

  She stepped over the rubble to the jungle outside where the unrelenting heat of the tropics bore down over her. Leaning against the wall with her hand, mosquitoes buzzed about, but it wasn’t that which she heard.

  The sound of turbofan engines headed down the airstrip next to the converted prison complex. Hillary turned towards the source of the sound, and she held her breath.

  With wind gusting against her and blowing her blond tresses back, a C-17 cargo plane, the same plane they had arrived in, taxied by where it continued until it took off into the sky.

  Hillary could only look up in dismay. As the cargo plane flew off, its wheels lopping inside the vehicle, to the horizon, she watched as Alessandra James escape their custody.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  WASHINGTON, DC

  UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  OCTOBER 20, 2012

  It all made sense.

  Hillary Clinton stalked through the halls of the White House headed for only one place—the Oval Office. She had figured it out. Why hadn’t she figured it out sooner? Heaven knows . . .

  As she stalked through the halls, only staring intently forward, White House aides moved out of her way, sometimes even backing up onto the blown up color photographs by Pete Souza, the White House photographer, that hung on the walls. The aides, young men and women, all looked back at Hillary’s grave expression and then, exchanged glances with one another.

  At last, she went into the Oval Office corridor. Anita Decker Breckenridge, the President’s personal secretary, instantly hurried towards her, alarmed upon seeing Hillary.

  “Madame Secretary,” she said, hurrying out of her office towards her even as Hillary headed straight for the Oval Office corridor. “The President said he wasn’t to be—”

  Hillary ignored her. She kicked the door into the Oval Office, which swung open with a thud, and then, walked right in.

  Across from the Resolute desk, President Obama stood by the couches, having conversed with two of his military advisors, Admiral McRaven and General Martin Dempsey. They all had stopped what they were doing, having noticed Hillary storm into the Oval Office.

  Hillary pressed on. President Obama set his jaw and stood up taller preparing for Hillary’s advance.

  She slapped him.

  “Shame on you, Barack Obama!” she cried out. The generals exchanged stunned glances even as Obama, his head turned away, received the slap stoically.

  “Since when,” Hillary scolded, “do presidents send agents out to die?! I thought you would never send anyone in harm’s way without telling them exactly the parameters of the mission!”

  Obama said nothing for a moment, only continuing to rub his cheek. “I’m sorry, Hillary,” he said finally in a low but firm tone.

  “You knew Alessandra wanted to be captured,” Hillary continued. “You knew she would escape on that plane, and you knew they had smuggled suicide bombers into that prison. What I want to know is why?!”

  Obama, his six foot, one inch frame towering over her, regained his composure and looked down on her with surety and grimness. “We had no choice,” he said to her, his eyes looking like it had lost its innocence. The military men beside them looked away, also feeling the gravity of their actions. “We had to sacrifice you and the others,” the President explained, “to get what we needed.”

  Hillary couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This wasn’t the hopeful Barack Obama she lost to in the Democratic Primary. “This isn’t the America I know,” she said to him. “This isn’t the Obama I know. What happened to change, Barack? Her voice started to break. “What happened to hope?”

  Obama gazed down. Though on the surface he kept his cool, she knew inside that he held back his anger. “If it’s a choice between America’s security or my conscience, Hillary,” he said. “I’ll gladly pay the Devil his due.” He gulped trying to keep his emotions in check. “You don’t know the responsibility of the office. You don’t know what it’s like.”

  She stopped, seeing the pain in Barack’s eyes. At that moment, she could see the toll exacted on her once youthful President. There were more wrinkles there, more gray than black in his closely-cropped hair, and those eyes . . .

  Would she have made the same choice? She asked herself. All her life she had dreamed of the presidency, but seeing Obama as he was now . . . did she still dream the same dream?

  Oh who was she kidding, she thought, shaking herself out of her reverie. Of course she still did. Yet, she didn’t anticipate the amount of moral ambiguity a president had to face. The sacrifices he . . . or she had to make.

  “I apologize again,” Obama said, his face awash with guilt, though the fact the duplicity was out in the open, his voice sounded strangely liberated. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive . . .”

  Seeing him there, her resistance melted away, and her anger receded. Just then, Stevie Wonder’s song played in her head, the song he played just for her shortly after Bill told her of his infidelity, a song about forgiveness.

  If she could forgive, Bill, she thought, suddenly resigned to her feelings. She could forgive, Barack.

  Though she still felt wronged, Hillary looked up at Barack and quietly nodded.

  “It was the only way,” Obama said. “We had to find the location of their base.”

  Her curiosity was piqued and listened intently for more.

  “The C-17 Alessandra stole,” Obama explained. “It contained a tracking device. We’re tracking her movements right now.”

  “Where is she headed?” she asked.

  Obama picked up a tablet on the coffee table and handed it to
her.

  The tablet screen displayed a map of the world as well as the plane’s trajectory from Peru clear all the way to the other side of the globe, to the Himalayas. A cursor the shape of a plane blinked over a spot in the north between the Indian, Pakistani border.

  A place called Kashmir.

  •••

  THE SIACHEN GLACIER

  DISPUTED TERRITORY OF KASHMIR

  OCTOBER 20, 2012

  The C-17 cargo plane flew in between a great mountain range. As the highest mountain range in the world, snowcapped mountain peaks rose towards the sky, while snow and ice bore down, signifying its status as one of the most inhospitable regions of the world. This was the Siachen Glacier in Kashmir, a part of the Himalayas and a territory that India and Pakistan, both nuclear powers, contested. Known to be uninhabitable, that didn’t stop both of the subcontinent nations to contest it, making the Siachen Glacier one of the most dubious militarized regions in the world. Both India and Pakistan had their bases here, although there was another . . .

  The C-17 headed towards a single mountain, higher than the rest, where inexplicably, one of its sides opened.

  Concealed in rock, it was actually a large hangar door, and with a rumble, it rose vertically as the unfazed plane continued to head towards it.

  Alessandra James, dressed in a parka to combat the frigid temperatures, stayed inside the cargo hold of the plane. There wasn’t much privacy. She was amongst her men; her at the loadmaster station, a compartment close to the front of the plane designated for the loadmaster, a position that checks on the weight of the cargo, and they, the former prisoners who led her escape, at the jump seating that ran the walls of the plane. Beside her, steel access stairs led up to the cramped cockpit. No first class accommodations here. No cabins, but she didn’t mind. She was finally going to be with her love.

  As the turbofan engines hummed in the background, she sat up in the loadmaster seat, though she didn’t care to strap herself in. It actually worked, she thought, she couldn’t believe it.

  At last, the cargo plane touched down and taxied into the mountain lair. The hold of the plane shook as it made its landing, Alessandra, gripping her seat and loadmaster computer console for support, waited until finally, their plane finished its journey. A moment later, the aft payload door unhinged and began to open, bringing with it a rush of mountain wind. Though the payload door, slowly lowering at an angle to form a ramp, hadn’t yet finished landing down onto the ground, she ran to the exit.

  Once the payload doors touched down, she looked out searching for him. Her skin felt the chill but still looked out for any sign of her love.

  Then she saw him.

  He wore a parka that obscured his toned frame, but he was still as handsome as ever. Clambering down the rear door ramp that had touched down on the ground, she ran to #2 who had stayed near the entrance of the hangar.

  Carved out of the mountain itself, it was once a Pakistani base that Al Qaeda, under #2’s guidance, requisitioned for their own use. Steel supports bolted to the sides of the carved up mountain held up the ceiling.

  #2 and Alessandra embraced, and finally, she was able to touch his lips. She drowned in his kiss until painfully, he tore himself away from her. “I have missed you, my love,” he said.

  This was all worth it, she thought, feeling the rush of it all. It was all worth it as long as she was with him. Unlike many of his Arabian brethren, #2 was clean shaven, and his handsome face looked longingly at her. “Come,” he said to her. He took her by the hand and faced the hangar doorway, clearly about to lead her into their mountain sanctuary. “I want to show you our new home . . .”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SIACHEN GLACIER

  DISPUTED TERRITORY OF KASHMIR

  OCTOBER 20, 2012

  Between the snowcapped mountains, a fleet of Black Hawk helicopters flew, their blades thundering, through the mountain pass. In one of the most inhospitable regions in the world, Hillary Clinton sat on the cabin floor of the helicopter by the opened sliding cargo door, her feet dangling over the edge, and watched the stark whiteness of the Siachen Glacier. Behind her, seated on crew seats, three other DSS agents, like her dressed in parkas, stoically waited for their mission to begin. It was hard to hear much of anything through the din of the rotor’s blades, but if there was anything important, their pilot would notify them. There wasn’t much to do but wait.

  Though they were thousands of feet in the air, the snowcapped peaks of the Siachen Glacier, part of the Himalayas, still rose into the sky, so close that Hillary felt she could touch them. Looking out, she could almost laugh. Decades before, Sir Edmund Hillary, the explorer who she was named after, was the first to scale Mt. Everest. Now, she was scaling her own Everest in going after Alessandra and #2. The quirks of fate, she thought.

  They had tailed Alessandra to the Siachen Glacier, a remote corner of Kashmir, a volatile region of the subcontinent claimed by both India and Pakistan. Much to their surprise, she had led them to a secret mountain stronghold, which intelligence had later found out to have previously been a Pakistani installation. As to how it ended up in #2’s hands, she didn’t know, and at this point, it didn’t matter. They had to eliminate the threat. Ahead of her in another Black Hawk, Huma joined in on this mission. It was all hands on deck, she knew. It was time to end the game.

  Hillary looked over to the side where she knew they were heading to their target. We’re coming after you, Alessandra, she thought. She picked up her SIG Sauer beside her and cocked the gun. This time, she’s playing for keeps.

  •••

  In another Black Hawk, Huma Abedin sat on the crew seat with her other compatriots, fellow DSS agents like herself. Unlike them, however, she didn’t think she was under the same orders as they were.

  As the Black Hawk’s rotor blades whirred, the scenery outside was eerily pretty. It seemed to be a peaceful place: the peaks, the snow. Yet, she knew not many could survive such harsh conditions. Even inside the parka she wore and the body heat of those around her, the chill of the Himalayas seeped into her bones. Each breath she took fogged the air.

  President Obama had once more given her secret orders. The others were to secure or destroy the HAARP array as well as eliminate #2. But she was to also to look for any information that will lead to the mole.

  She sighed. The computers inside the stronghold should be her best bet.

  She should have aired her doubts, she thought. All her investigations led her to believe there wasn’t a mole. It was impossible. No one at Hillaryland would do such a thing, and the incident at the Lincoln Memorial further solidified that conviction. Yet, when the President asked her if she understood her mission, she only said yes dutifully.

  Stupid Huma, she chided herself. Stupid Huma. She shifted her seat and for a moment briefly envied her fellow DSS agents. Working for historic figures like President Obama and Hillary Clinton wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It made it hard to contradict them especially when she was only a lowly secret agent.

  Huma looked out onto the stark mountain peaks of the Himalayas. How did she get caught up in such a life? she thought even as the fleet of Black Hawks continued their forward trajectory.

  •••

  Alessandra James woke up in a canopied bed amidst rustled cashmere sheets. Underneath the canopy, she stretched her naked form and took a moment to savor the night before. It was the wildest of nights.

  She was in one of the bedrooms of Two’s . . . their mountain stronghold. Cut inside the rock, there were no views, and the walls were of the granite and jagged edges of the mountain itself along with reinforcing steel bollards and panels grafted onto the rock. Yet, though it was by all intents and purposes a cave, Two still made it comfortable.

  Along with the canopied bed, floral Persian rugs protected their feet from the cold floor, while incense scented the air. He even provided a vanity so that, as he put it, she could marvel at her own beauty. And though they were inside a mountain in
the Himalayas, their stronghold was comfortably heated.

  Lying there, she ached inside for his presence. Even now, she could still feel his thrusts. Him on top and her savoring every moment . . .

  Pulling the sheets around herself, she picked herself up and headed to the mirror to start her day. On the mirror, her reflection, her blonde hair in a tangled mess, stared back at her. She didn’t care. It was a new life, she told herself, and she regretted nothing.

  Just as she was about to sit down and prepare herself for the day, a gunshot rang out. Her head snapped towards the sound that now included screams and shouts.

  What on earth could that be? she thought.

  •••

  They were almost there.

  In the distance, #2’s mountain stronghold rose into the air, towering over the rest of the nearby mountains as the Black Hawk helicopters, traveling fast, flew in formation. Inside Hillary’s Black Hawk, each of the DSS agents along with herself checked their weaponry. Ramirez, Deanna, and Tolmer, seated in the helicopter’s seats, checked their M-16s, while Hillary placed a clip into her SIG Sauer and placed additional clips into her parka pockets.

  “Approaching Siachen Glacier Base,” one of the pilots, a man named Brian said. She remembered meeting him from an earlier “meet and greet” session they had in the State Department before leaving for their mission. “If you have anything to say, Madame Secretary, please do so now.”

  Hillary pressed on her earpiece. The Black Hawk’s rotor blades were as loud as always, but she heard the message. “Roger that,” she said.

  She hoisted herself up and hung on the straps. Outside, a gush of snowdrift winged the plane as more of the mountains passed by.