The Benghazi Affair: A Parody Novel

by Ward Salud

  Keeping his grip, he cajoled Hillary towards a central drone, bigger than the rest. “Modified Predator drones,” #2 said, almost triumphantly. “All those drones you send after us, well . . .” He forced her onto the Predator drone with him close behind and situated both of his feet on top, close to the wings. “Some of them join our side with a little bit of tinkering of course.”

  With the gun pressed against her temple, #2 took out a device and pressed a button. On command, the rooftop hinged open and slowly revealed the night sky outside.

  “Best hold on, Hillary,” he said. Clamps suddenly rose up from the top of the drone and then fastened around #2’s feet, keeping him secure on the drone and turning it into his own glider. “I’ll take you on a magic carpet ride.”

  Rockets flared underneath, lifting the drone up, and with a backfire on the rear backburner, it whisked them away to the darkness of the Iranian sky.

  •••

  “Where did they go?” President Obama asked. The President and the entire National Security Council was at the Situation Room in the basement of the White House. National Security Advisor Susan Rice along with Vice President Biden, Secretary of Defense Panetta, and the rest of the NSC stared up at the video screen where various video feeds of the assault on Fordow commenced. The viewer switched constantly from soldiers storming a corridor to some securing an area. On another video feed, an explosion blew open a door, part of a controlled explosion by a team of soldiers, who ran into the room.

  A few of the NSC staff sat on the leather backed chairs by the cherry conference table that occupied the center of the room, but the President himself was close to the video screen towering over Rice.

  “Detecting unidentified aircraft out of Fordow,” a voice said on the audio feed. The Situation Room itself was connected on a secure line to operators in Langley, the Pentagon, and Hillaryland Ops at State.

  “What?” Obama said, concerned. The same look of concern marked Susan Rice’s face. He turned around to his NSC staff who, staring at their tablets, were also at a loss.

  “Find out what that—”

  “Sir,” the operator at the audio feed said. “Huma is on the line. Says it’s urgent.”

  Obama furrowed his brow again. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. “Patch her through.”

  A moment passed, but Huma’s voice came through loud and clear. “Mr. President,” she said, gasping. “#2 has left Fordow on a modified drone.” Obama was about to say to shoot it down, but she continued on. “Hillary’s with him.”

  Obama set his jaw as heard the news, but he had to keep his cool. He’s always reminded himself to never show too much emotion or passion, sometimes to his detriment, but to hear that Hillary was in danger . . .

  “Mr. President?”

  Obama broke out of his reverie. It was Susan Rice who spoke his name. “What do you propose?”

  The entire Situation Room looked at him for the next course of action. Sometimes, the burden of the presidency proved too much even for him.

  “Um,” he said, trying to collect his thoughts, Hillary was still out there. She could be dead for all he knew. “We should, um,” he stammered. “Can we take control of the drone?” He remembered their drones had fail-safes to prevent an enemy from taking control of their technology.

  General Dempsey, now standing from his chair behind the cherry table, shook his head. “We tried that already. #2’s the only one in control.”

  Obama gazed down, his lips pressed together in frustration. Every second meant #2 was getting further and further away.

  “Drones on standby,” Dempsey added.

  He knew what the General was asking. They could shoot him out of the sky, but if Hillary was with him . . .

  “Mr. President,” General Dempsey pressed, silently saying that every second mattered.

  He had no choice, Obama thought. He thought he’d already asked for Hillary’s forgiveness before, now he was asking for it again. I’m sorry, he thought silently as though Hillary could hear him half a world away.

  He gazed at everyone present at the Situation Room, each one with a grave face, and steeled his resolve. “Send the drones,” Obama ordered.

  •••

  The stars of Iran shone down on Hillary as #2 held her atop the drone that streaked above the barren sands. The lights from the Fordow facility gave off the dimmest light, while the lights of the modified drone beamed silently ahead.

  “Stop struggling,” #2 ordered. Unlike him, whose feet were fastened securely on top of the drone by metallic clasps, Hillary had no such safety mechanisms. He held her in a headlock with a Makarov pistol still pointed at her forehead, but still she remained defiant.

  Hillary tried to squirm out ever so slightly. Maybe she could find a way to bring them both down, she thought even as the wind blew against her, no doubt her hair adding as a further irritant to #2. “You’ll never get away.”

  “You’re really tempting me,” #2 said exasperated, waving the Makarov pistol menacingly.

  She wanted to pivot and spit at him, but she was finding that difficult.

  Two sets of wingtip lights appeared from behind their modified drone, drawing both of their attention. Beside her, she could feel #2 draw back his breath.

  In the twilight sky, two Predators were in hot pursuit of them . . . and gaining fast. As if in retaliation, #2’s modified Predator drone flew a little bit faster.

  “Looks like your friends are here,” #2 said sardonically.

  Hillary knew it as well. Barack must have sent the drones to take care of this problem, she thought. She loosened a bit and didn't fight as hard as before knowing what was going to happen. She would have done the same if she were in his position: sacrifice her to get at one of the world’s top terrorists. Still, she couldn’t quite believe this would truly be the end. Well, she decided. If this was the end, she may as well enjoy the ride . . .

  “What’s the matter, #2?” Hillary taunted. “Underestimate America’s resolve once more?!”

  Focusing on steering the drone ahead, he growled silently beside her, while Hillary peered back waiting for the Hellfire missile that was to come. Bring it! she said aloud to herself, and paradoxically, she actually wished for the strike.

  As her blond hair whipped against the wind, her determined grimace faded, however.

  Odd, she thought.

  The Predator drone behind them continued on its trajectory. It should have fired by now, it had a clear shot at them. Was Barack hesitating?

  Then, she noticed something. There was another Predator drone, but this time, it was directly below them. Its wingtip lights glinted in the night, also refraining from firing its payload.

  #2 tightened his headlock and forced her to turn back. She didn’t resist him, however, even if just to tweak her captor. Dark shapes cast menacing shadows on the parched ground below.

  Why wasn’t Barack firing? she asked herself. It should have been done by now, the end, the final strike, unless . . .

  Her eyes gazed down at the Predator drone below, still flying on its path. They’re trying to tell me something, but what?

  She tried to wrack her famously Machiavellian brain. If they’re not firing, then . . .

  She shifted atop the drone, and as she tried to stabilize her footing, the answer came to her. They want her to land on the drone, she thought, feeling a gush of excitement for figuring it out. It was the only correct answer. Why else hadn’t they fired?

  A third Predator joined the chase, linking its flight path with the first drone behind them. That cemented her thought process even more. They’re waiting for her to get out of the way at which point, they will then fire.

  Once more, she gazed down at the drone below them. It’s going to be quite the drop just like her approval ratings at times, she thought.

  She had to try, though.

  #2 fastened his hold around her neck as he directed the drone to veer in an attempt to shake off the other drones’ pursuit. He’s not
going to let go easily, but he also won’t fire his pistol. She’s the only human shield he’s got, that meant she could surprise him—

  She stopped thinking about it. Knowing one of her faults was overthinking things, she simply acted. A quick elbow jabbed against #2’s abdomen. Caught by surprise, he cried out, and upon loosening his hold on her, she tilted forward and dropped straight down to the Iranian sands.

  Down, down she fell, the crisp wind whipping against her . . .

  A moment later, a Predator drone flew in the sky, but down below, Hillary dangled in mid-air, holding onto the cable. She had fired her grappling hook from the sleeves of her battle pantsuit just in time.

  Talk about who’s up and who’s down, she thought, her heart rate returning to normal.

  As she dangled, #2 appeared behind, his drone heading straight for her.

  Uh oh, she thought. She knew the drone she was holding onto was controlled by personnel inside a ground control station somewhere, but #2 apparently had full control of his.

  Fortunately, she thought. He won’t fire. He’ll be as good as dead if she was gone—

  A hellfire missile fired from #2’s drone. Rocket fire trailing behind, it zoomed straight for her. The drone she held onto veered sharply to the right, whipping her violently, but somehow, she still managed to hold on.

  It didn’t work. The Hellfire missile with its heat-seeking sensors was not fooled. It veered as well and headed straight for impact.

  Hillary felt a choke on her throat as the missile neared closer and closer. Any moment, it will make contact—

  Another drone, this time a Reaper, another class of UAV larger than the Predator, suddenly flew up and intercepted the missile just in time. For a moment, the explosion lit up the night sky, while an ear deafening blast filled the landscape. Hillary tried to cover one of her ears with her free hand, but still, the ringing sounded in her ear from the explosion.

  Still dangling, the drone continued to flee from the scene. As the ringing subsided, another drone appeared just below. The slick drone sped slightly and caught up with them. Looks like another ride, she thought.

  She let go and dropped once more, ultimately landing on the drone. Carefully, she rose up and balanced herself on top of the drone, where her low-heeled pumps magnetically clamped onto the metal. Oh yeah, I forgot about that, she thought, remembering the enhancements Jake put on her pantsuit as the Reaper continued to fly to what she presumed was safety. Guess she found a use for her magnetic pumps after all.

  Behind her, #2 cut through the explosion's smoke and gave chase one more time. He doesn’t give up does he? she thought.

  They now entered a cavernous area with the jagged edges of cliffs posing a major danger to their flight paths. It was darker as well, the lights of the Fordow facility and grounds vanishing behind them.

  #2 was undeterred and continued to vengefully follow them into this new arena. She wished she could control her own drone, like he could, but nevertheless, it avoided the cliff faces at least for now.

  Other drones apparently pursued #2 even as he was pursuing her. One of the drones, beside #2’s drone, tried to kamikaze straight onto his, but he veered away at the last moment, causing it to crash into a cliff face, igniting it into a ball of flame.

  More determined than ever, he crouched as though pressing his own drone to go faster.

  Hillary’s drone made a sharp turn to avoid an oncoming cliff face, and slightly dizzy, she tried to center herself. She turned back again. Behind her, #2’s drone was nowhere to be seen.

  Hmmm, she thought as her drone sped in between two cliff faces. Maybe they lost him. It would be her good luck if that was so . . .

  Heading directly towards her in a higher altitude, #2 sped on his drone. A vindictive grin spread on his face.

  Damn, she thought.

  The drone shifted rapidly downward as though directly targeting her—

  He jumped, and as her eyes widened, he spread his arms to grasp at her. Making his landing, he held onto Hillary’s lapels even as she tried to push him off of her drone, which continued to speed dangerously amongst the cliff faces.

  “You’re going to kill us both,” Hillary cried out, struggling with him.

  “If I die, you die, Hillary!” he said back, almost fanatically. His strength overpowered hers, and soon, he was beginning to hold her once more in his grip.

  He’s too strong for her, she knew, in a contest of strength, she was bound to lose. Grabbing onto her shoulders, he began to laugh maniacally as though the full moon above maddened him. Ahead, the drone sped straight for the cliff face.

  She now knew what to do. Left or right, she couldn’t win. There was a third way . . .

  With fire in her eyes, she gazed at the increasingly maddened #2.

  “You first,” she said.

  She gave a head-butt to his face, which forced his head back. Blood spurted from his nose, and his grip loosened on her.

  The magnetic low-heeled pumps unsealed against the metal, and then, with arms spread wide, she let herself drop. Recovering, #2 stared aghast at Hillary falling away from him.

  The drone crashed onto the cliff face, engulfing the aerial vehicle and #2 himself into a ball of flame. The sound rocked the area even as debris and shrapnel flew up everywhere.

  Hillary saw it all, and while she felt guilty about it, she had the slightest satisfaction at #2’s demise.

  But not her own.

  She continued to drop straight down, the ground coming fast, almost too fast.

  She shouldn’t have worried. Just when she started to think it was the end, a drone swooped in at first below and then flying above her. The battle pantsuit’s grappling hook fired and then clasped onto the drone. Her body swung wildly, but she was grateful. As she dangled, holding onto the cable that latched onto her aerial rescuer, they sped away, she liked to think, back to America, back to home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  HART SENATE OFFICE BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, DC

  UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  JANUARY 23, 2013

  The scowling faces of the Senators peered down on Hillary as she sat alone at a desk, facing up at their aged faces. The Senators all sat on a raised mahogany paneled tribunal desk. Chairman Menendez looked nervous as the Republican Senators to his right continued their barrage of questions hoping to score political points. Senator Rubio, the young Cuban American Senator from Florida, already had his turn as did Sen. McCain, the aged Senator from Arizona.

  Hillary had sighed more than once. It was only morning, but it was already shaping up to be a lonely day. The committee chamber at the Hart Senate Office Building on Capitol Hill was packed with spectators filling the gallery and cameramen seated on the floor ready to snap pictures at a moment’s notice. In the gallery, reporters carefully took notes on their laptops, while up on the raised tribunal desk, aides to the various Senators sat behind their respective bosses. Her own aides were seated in the front row of the gallery close to her. Huma herself sat rigidly, no doubt wishing she could defend her boss from their withering attacks.

  Today was the scheduled hearings on Benghazi, and a round of inane questions from Sen. Paul from Kentucky had just concluded. The strike on Fordow was a success, but none of the Senators knew that, the operation having remained confidential.

  “People have accused Ambassador Rice and the Administration of misleading Americans,” she tried to explain patiently, wearing a green pantsuit as well as thick heavy rim Fresnel prism glasses as a result of the injuries she suffered in Whitehaven. “I can say trying to be in the middle of this and understanding what was going on, nothing could be further from the truth.”

  She took a deep breath. Fools, such fools, she thought. If she could only tell them what was really going on, but such was her burden.

  “Was information developing?” she continued. “Was the information fluid? Would we reach conclusions later,” she said, gesturing to the right, “that weren’t reached initia
lly, and I appreciate the—”

  “But, Madame Secretary,” Sen. Ron Johnson, the Senator from Wisconsin, thundered accusingly. “Do you disagree with me that a simple phone call to those evacuees to determine what happened would have ascertained immediately that there was no protest?” He looked down at her incredulously. “I mean that was, that was a piece of information that could have been easily, easily obtained. Within, within hours—”

  “But, Senator,” Hillary said back wearily as though dealing with an errant schoolchild. Her patience had been tried many times during this witch hunt, but she had kept her composure, at least for now.

  “If not days,” Sen. Johnson finished.

  “Senator, I—you know,” Hillary said back. She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “When you’re in these positions, the last thing you want to do is interfere with any other process going for—”

  “I realize, I realize,” Sen. Johnson said, raising his voice.

  “Going on, number one,” she retorted, finishing her point. She formed her fingers to form the number two as she said, “Number two—”

  “I realize that’s a good excuse—”

  “Well no, that’s a fact.” Hillary shot back. “Number two, I recommend highly you read both what the ARP said about it and the classified ARP because even today,” she said with emphasis, “there are questions being raised.”

  “Now,” she continued. How much longer is this? she thought. God, how much longer? “We have no doubt they were terrorists, they were militants, they attacked us, they killed our people, but what was going on, and why they were doing what they were doing—”

  “No no no,” Sen. Johnson fumed. “Again, we were misled that there were supposedly protests and then an assault sprang out of that, and that was easily ascertained that was not a fact.”

  “But, but you know—” Hillary said, her patience fraying.

  “And the American people could have known that within days. And they didn’t know that.”

  “With all due respect,” Hillary said aloud, her anger now boiling over. “The fact is, we have four dead Americans,” she said gesturing incessantly with both hands. “Was it because of a protest?” she said, waving irritatedly to the side. “Or was it because of guys who decided to go out for a walk one night and decided to go kill some Americans?”