Order of Succession

by Bill Thompson

  Perkins wiped sweat from his brow. "Frankly, I have no idea what to think. But I'll tell you this. It doesn't look good."

  Joe signed off with a promise to see what he could find out. His stomach began to churn. He'd always been a macho guy, but with things unfolding the way they were it was scary – terrifying, if you really let yourself think about it. He ran to the restroom and threw up his breakfast.

  CHAPTER TEN

  One week later

  This afternoon in a church near downtown Oklahoma City, Brian and Nicole would attend a unique service – a combined funeral for a family of four, one of whom was the President of the United States. There would be no caskets because there were no bodies. It was an eerie, surreal time for the nation, and certainly for those invited to attend the service.

  Brian had hired a sedan and a driver for the three-hour trip to Oklahoma. Security and logistics would be a nightmare since news agencies from around the globe were on hand to cover the funeral. More importantly, Brian had lost his closest friend. Driving for three hours was the last thing he needed to do.

  As they traveled north from Dallas on Interstate 35, they reminisced about Harry and Jennifer Harrison and their two girls. Brian had been Harry's freshman roommate at the University of Oklahoma. Nicole had met the couple when she and Brian began dating several years ago. Once Harry became President, the four of them remained close, even though it became more difficult to see each other often. Brian and Nicole spent the night in the White House every few months after private dinners in the family quarters, and when Harry had to be in Dallas or London, he made sure Jennifer came along so the four of them could get together, even if only briefly.

  Sometimes they'd grab an hour at Love Field in the living area aboard Air Force One before Harry and Jennifer flew back to DC. Other times they'd have a quiet meal at Nicole's condo in the Ritz-Carlton. Less often they dined out. The logistics required for the President of the United States to have dinner in a restaurant made that the most difficult choice, but occasionally they did it anyway. The memory of their being rushed by Secret Service agents through the kitchen and into a private room at the Mansion on Turtle Creek six months ago brought smiles to their faces.

  There had been so many good times. Brian recalled memories of the hilarious predicaments the college boys had gotten themselves into. Nicole had heard all the stories before, but today she laughed all over again. Brian needed to talk and she wanted to listen.

  Emotions ran high. There were smiles one minute and tears the next. "It's just so crazy that we're going to Harry's funeral," Brian commented, wiping his eyes. "And not just Harry but his entire family. My God, how will his father and mother ever cope with this? How could someone lose a son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren and be able to go on living?"

  Henry Harrison, the President's father, was a retired US senator whose son had succeeded him. He and his wife Julia loved Jennifer as if she were their own daughter and they adored the girls, their only grandchildren. Nicole sobbed as she thought of losing an entire family in a flash, then having to move ahead without even knowing what had happened.

  Earlier in the week the President's personal secretary had called about funeral arrangements. Harry's mother and father had requested Brian and Nicole sit with the family. She explained that admittance to the sanctuary was by invitation only, but a nearby auditorium that seated two thousand people would broadcast the service on closed-circuit TV for the huge crowd that was expected.

  The scene in front of the church was more chaotic than they expected. Security was high today even though President Parkes had again made a unilateral decision to reduce the threat level back to its lowest point, DEFCON 5. At a barricade two blocks from the church, Oklahoma City police officers checked their names off a guest list and waved the sedan through. They saw two dozen news trucks, their satellite dishes aimed skywards, lined up on a side street. Announcers giving live reports stood nearby, the church providing the background. Out of deference to the President's family, this was as close as the news media would be allowed. They were near enough to see the guests arriving and offer commentary, but too far away to speak to anyone in person.

  At the bottom of a staircase leading to the entrance of the church, a cadre of armed Secret Service agents double-checked their names. At the top of the stairs stood twenty Marines wearing flak jackets and cradling automatic rifles. President Parkes's decision to stay in Washington had been criticized by many, but Vice President Breaux was there. He shook hands and patted shoulders of many of his acquaintances as he shuffled down the aisle between his two Secret Service men and took a seat behind the family.

  Brian nodded to several people he recognized as they were ushered to the front. He saw members of Congress and the Supreme Court, several cabinet officials and the governor of Oklahoma. When they reached the pew, the usher whispered that they should move to the middle. The two aisle seats next to Brian were reserved for Henry and Julia Harrison.

  As soon as the President's parents were seated, the service began. Reverend Franklin Graham gave the opening prayer, the pastors of both this church and a one in Washington that the Harrisons attended gave eulogies, and there were solos by an acclaimed opera star.

  The Vice President was impassive, but virtually every other person in the room was moved by emotion. Tears flowed and muffled sobs could be heard frequently during the forty-five-minute service. Julia Harrison took Brian's hand more than once during the most difficult parts. When the ending prayer was given, commending the lives of these four people into the hands of God, she cried out, literally in pain. It was heart wrenching to Brian and Nicole to watch the grief of this mother and grandmother whom they loved so much.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After every event, no matter how tragic and overwhelming it is, the population eventually moves ahead. People desperately want things to be as they were before. They want structure, order and normalcy. They want the calmness of everyday life. It's simply human nature, even in the most turbulent of times.

  In the weeks following the tragic loss of twenty-five Americans – its two senior leaders, the President's family, a cabinet secretary, the Chief of Staff and the crew of two aircraft – Parkes’s decision to quickly lower the threat level seemed to have been a good, stabilizing move. Americans weren't typically a fearful people. They were optimistic, encouraging and positive. The President had urged the nation to get back to normal, and people were enthusiastically embracing his suggestion.

  To many Washington insiders, it appeared the new President was following his own advice a little too much. He seemed unconcerned about what had happened to the planes, unwilling to commit significant resources to the recovery effort, and convinced nothing was ever going to turn up to solve the mystery of two aircraft that had simply disappeared.

  When the line chief at Andrews went missing, the FBI initiated a search of transportation databases, looking for a hit on his passport and credit cards. They discovered that on the very day Parkes lowered the level to DEFCON 3 and travel restrictions were lifted, he had bought a train ticket from Washington to New York. Descending on Union Station downtown, agents quickly found Lail's SUV parked in the lot, but they learned nothing new.

  In New York he'd paid by credit card to take a cab to Kennedy airport, where he used his credit card and passport to buy a coach seat on Delta's overnight flight to Athens. Up to this point, Lail didn't seem concerned about hiding his whereabouts, but that ended sharply.

  He arrived in Greece at 8:15 a.m. the next morning. He was seen on video walking out of customs with a suitcase, exiting the building and getting into a private car that had been idling at curbside for several minutes. There was no shot of the black Volvo's tag, and the local police initiated what was ultimately an unsuccessful search for the car.

  After that, Jeremy Lail hadn’t used his passport or credit cards again. For the authorities looking for him, the trail ended, but for Master Sergeant Lail, the adventure was just beginning.
>
  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Six men sat in the White House Situation Room, listening to an update from Rodney Stang, head of the CIA's Arab desk. Born in Beirut to parents in the diplomatic corps and fluent in Arabic, Stang was the nation's top intelligence official for the Middle East. This quickly arranged meeting was the most urgent since Chambliss Parkes had become President. There was important news: at last someone was claiming responsibility for the incidents.

  In addition to the President and Stang, there were four others around the table. They were Ken Upton, the head of the National Security Agency; Upton's boss, Secretary of Defense Clark Vernon; CIA Director Donovan Case; and A. J. Minter, the President's Chief of Staff.

  Except for Minter, everyone was a holdover – a person who had been appointed by Harry Harrison – and all the holdovers in the administration knew exactly where they stood. Cham Parkes demanded loyalty, and he was already actively, systematically replacing Harrison's people, indifferent to their competence or value in dealing with the current crisis. Parkes didn't want to hear about how things used to be done or what President Harrison once thought about a particular issue. Everyone in the room knew his turn would come, but for today they were still part of the intelligence team. The President simply hadn't dealt with them yet. They all knew why – with only weeks until the Democratic National Convention, Parkes had been out of town on the campaign trail. Fortunately when the news broke this morning, he happened to have slept in his own bed last night.

  Since the planes disappeared a few weeks ago, intelligence teams in Western countries had intercepted literally tens of thousands of texts, emails and phone calls from the Middle East. Regardless of potential importance, every single transmission emanating from the area was logged and shared among the agencies. There was lots of chatter, but today's news was a surprise.

  Thirty minutes ago the Arab news network Al Jazeera had broadcast a live interview. From a remote outdoor location said to be in Syria, a reporter interviewed the leader of a group claiming responsibility for the destruction of Air Force One and Two. Things had been completely quiet since the disappearances, but now at last the United States government had new information.

  Today's meeting began with a viewing of the newscast on the Situation Room's ninety-inch television. Although this was at least the second time each attendee had seen it, the video gave everyone goose bumps just like repeated viewings of the tragedy of 9/11 had done.

  A young man sat in a chair under a tree with a tent in the background. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt and a black hood covered his head and shoulders. Only his steely, dark eyes were visible. He called himself Tariq the Hawk, the leader of the jihadist organization Falcons of Islam. The man's Arabic words were in the background as a translator spoke tonelessly in English. The man said Falcons of Islam was responsible for planning the destruction of both aircraft, planting bombs on them and murdering the top leaders of the loathsome American government.

  The man brandished an AK-47 toward the camera as his final words, the words that chilled the Western world, were spat out with unmistakable hatred and contempt.

  "What has happened is only the beginning. Listen to my words, people of America. Your women and your children are going to die. For as long as even one of us still lives, our purpose is to exterminate every one of you. Today, yes, today, we are already in your cities, your towns and your villages. But you do not know us, and you cannot recognize us. You no longer need to fear people who look like Muslims – people who look like I do. Our brothers in your country look like you and act like you, because they are you. The Falcons of Islam is not just Arabs. It is also American citizens – men, women and children who will gladly die for jihad against the Great Satan. The next strike, like the last one, will be when you do not expect it. Your foolish President has lowered your country's threat level to DEFCON 5. Thanks be to Allah for his stupidity. Now it is even easier for us to wipe your bloated, capitalistic nation off the map. And it shall happen soon, Allah willing. Sleep well tonight, America, for we will be awake, watching. Allahu Akbar."

  Stang had listened to the interview first in English, then in Arabic. He confirmed the translation was accurate, adding that Tariq's words were cold, calculating and without any hint of emotion. He said that the Falcons of Islam was an offshoot of the notorious al-Nusra Front or al-Qaeda in Syria, and Western intelligence agencies knew almost nothing about the group or Tariq the Hawk.

  He passed out a briefing packet on the Nusra Front and its leader Abu Mohammad Al-Joulani. The newscast might indeed have come from Syria, Stang explained, because the headquarters of the Nusra Front was in Edlib in the northwestern sector of the country. Recon satellites were being redirected to the twenty-five-hundred-square-mile area of Edlib Governorate in hopes something helpful might turn up.

  As the briefing continued, those in the room reflected over the past few weeks. Cham Parkes hadn't been President when the planes disappeared. He'd had almost no input about the situation since then, because there had been nothing new. The only two actions he took were decisions every person present today thought were wrong. Two days after the tragedies, long before anyone could speculate on exactly what had happened, Parkes lowered the readiness level to DEFCON 3. It was far too early for such a decision, and it should have never been made without consulting his advisors. But the pros on his team kept their opinions to themselves. It was better to keep your job and work to hold things together than to infuriate the President.

  But then the crazy bastard had done it again. Only days later he'd announced it was time to give Americans back their comfort zone. Again without consulting a single advisor, he had lowered the level to DEFCON 5, the bottom of the scale. That time one man had had enough. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, a dedicated career officer who had served four Presidents -– two from each party – told Parkes he was wrong.

  That was two weeks ago. Today there was a new Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  They were thirty minutes into today's briefing, and it appeared to Director Case that Parkes was no longer interested in it. His eyes flitted around the room, his brief note taking at the beginning had long since stopped, and he glanced at his watch every few minutes. It reminded Case of the White Rabbit who was late for a very important date. Only at the end of the newscast, when the terrorist called him foolish and stupid, had the President perked up.

  It surprised no one when Parkes muttered, "Jackass. We'll slaughter every one of you A-rab bastards." He pronounced the word Arab with two syllables and a long A. He wasn't the first leader to mispronounce words, of course. President Bush couldn't say the word nuclear. But Bush could laugh at himself. This was different. When Parkes did it, no one dared laugh even though the word sounded like it came from a redneck holding a beer in one hand and a rifle in the other.

  If the shoe fits . . . Case thought, his mind turning back to the men around the table as Defense Secretary Vernon said, "Mr. President, I suggest we raise the threat level back up to DEFCON 3. As long as there's a possibility they really have sleeper agents . . ."

  "Are you kidding?" Parkes interrupted, shouting at the career Army veteran who had held his position under both Harrison and his predecessor John Chapman. "Are you out of your mind? We're not going to let these assholes push us around. It's business as usual around here, gentlemen. I made the decision to go to DEFCON 5. We’re safe as hell. We’re in America, for God’s sake. Who in this room’s afraid of a bunch of A-rabs making idle threats?"

  Hoping Parkes meant the question rhetorically, Secretary Vernon asked, "So sir, what are you suggesting we do?"

  "Nothing! That's exactly what we're going to do. Are you scared of this guy sitting in the desert a million miles from nowhere? I can't believe I'm the only one in this room out of all you professionals" – he spat that word sarcastically – "who knows that little shit is lying. They couldn't have pulled off an operation like this. A bunch of ragged people in some third-world country figu
red out how to bomb Air Force One and Two? Somebody did, but it damned sure wasn't these amateurs. Seriously? You seriously believe this guy? I can't believe it." As an aside he muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "And these are supposed to be the advisors I depend on?"

  He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and said, "I should replace every single one of you men" – he said the word with disdain – "in this room right now. It'll come soon, I promise, but for now you're going to listen to me, and you're going to do what I tell you, because I'm the goddamned commander-in-chief. You may not like it and I'm happy if you resign now and get the hell out of this room. We're going to do nothing. Nothing. We're going to sit tight and act like grown-ups. We're not going to let these ragheads push around the greatest country in the world."

  He stood up, shoved his chair back so hard it slammed into the wall, and stormed out of the room. Minter meekly gathered his things and followed like a cowering dog.

  Stunned, the others sat without speaking. The same thought was going through the minds of every one of them. They should resign. They should get out now. But no one would, because each loved his country and was dedicated to preserving liberty. Despite the fact that this President seemed hell-bent on destroying what the founding fathers had created, they would do everything in their power to hold it together for as long as they could. It might not be long, they feared; either they'd be replaced soon or there wouldn't be a country left to run.

  Everyone sat lost in thought until Case cleared his throat and said, "Well, I suppose this meeting is over." They walked out in silence, each considering the inherent danger of the President's opinions.