Rigged

Book One of the Second American Civil War Series

By

James Rosone & Miranda Watson

Copyright Notice

©2019, James Rosone and Miranda Watson, in conjunction with Front Line Publishing, Inc. Except as provided by the Copyright Act, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

The Thucydides Trap

Prologue

Chapter 1: Beginnings of Mischief

Chapter 2: Electronic Misbehavior

Chapter 3: Election Shenanigans

Chapter 4: Unconventional Warfare

Chapter 5: Social Call

Chapter 6: Election Preparations

Chapter 7: United Nations Mandate

Chapter 8: Chaos

Chapter 9: Trojan Horse

Chapter 10: Dynamic Raid

Chapter 11: Going Postal

Chapter 12: Dominos Falling

Chapter 13: Raider-One, Raider-Two

Chapter 14: Thunderclouds

Chapter 15: Supreme Court

Chapter 16: Race Against Time

Chapter 17: Birth of a New World Order

Chapter 18: Fate of the Republic

Chapter 19: Election Day

Chapter 20: Post-Election Meltdown

Chapter 21: Election Interference

Chapter 22: Power Grab

Chapter 23: Martial Law

Chapter 24: Homecoming

Chapter 25: Negotiation

Chapter 26: Global Interference

Chapter 27: Ultimatum

From the Authors

For the Veterans

Abbreviation Key

The Thucydides Trap

It was the rise of Athens, and the fear that this instilled in Sparta, that made war inevitable.

—Thucydides

According to Graham Allison’s analysis in Foreign Policy (June 9, 2017), over the past 500 years there have been sixteen cases in which a rising power threatened to displace a ruling one, and in twelve of those cases, the result was war[1].

As China continues to gain power economically and militarily, is it only a matter of time before a showdown erupts? Those who live in the United States would like to believe that their nation’s status as a superpower is safe, but is it really?

This book began as an analysis of what could really happen if America fell headfirst into the Thucydides trap. We hope it never becomes a reality.

Prologue

July 2018

Kulm Hotel

St. Moritz, Switzerland

The mountain air was crisp and cool as the sun crept closer to the edge of the Alpine crestline that encompassed the tiny Swiss village of St. Moritz. The scene was picturesque. The peaks were covered in lush greens and dotted with wildflowers. The occasional grazing cows and sheep sauntered along, lazily eating to their heart’s content. Johann, the German Foreign Minister, couldn’t help but feel conflict between the beauty of his surroundings and the severity of the situation at hand.

The sommelier refilled the wineglasses at the table, then asked, “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” As he spoke, he lifted the now-empty bottle of 2014 Gantenbein pinot noir. The six-hundred-euro bottle of wine was Johann Behr’s local favorite when he visited St. Moritz.

“Nein, vielen Dank,” Johann said as he dismissed the man for the time being.

Returning his gaze to the men seated around the table in the private dining room, Johann leaned forward. In a hushed tone, he asked, “What are we going to do about these trade tariffs the Americans continue to impose?”

Johann was incredibly concerned by the sudden changes that had been made; the global trade policies were rocking Europe and Asia. More importantly, they were costing him and his colleagues an immense fortune.

Erik Jahn, the manager of the Norway Sovereign Wealth Fund, shook his head in disgust. “What can we do?” he replied. “We have to adjust to the new normal. At least until a new president is elected.”

Peng An, the CEO of China Investment Corporation, lifted his glass of wine to his lips, taking a few sips as he contemplated the question. He seemed lost in thought as his gaze trailed off toward the sprawling village below the hotel, where the lights were just beginning to twinkle as the sun finished its retreat behind the mountains.

Finally, he placed his half-empty glass down on the table. Looking at his compatriots, he announced, “We have two choices. We either sit back and wait out this American president, or we look to replace him with someone of our choosing that sees the world as we see it.”

Grunting at the implication, Roberto Lamy, the Director-General of the World Trade Organization, retorted, “It’s not that simple, Peng. You don’t just pick who will be the American candidates for president. They have a primary process where they are selected.”

“Roberto is partially right,” Johann acknowledged. “We cannot pick their candidates for them. We can, however, whittle down the options they have to choose from.” He finished off his glass of wine, then waved for the sommelier to come refill his drink.

Peng shook his head in frustration. “This is 1930 all over again—all those protectionist trade policies will cause another Great Depression,” he said.

“More like 1933,” retorted Johann, thinking of the rise of the Nazis in Germany.

Swatting the comment down with a literal shake of his hand, Peng responded, “President Sachs may be a petulant bully, but he’s no Hitler, Johann. Be sensible, won’t you?”

Stinging from the rebuke, Johann replied, “I’m sorry. You’re right. My concern is that his nationalist tendencies are leading the world closer to another great clash. We have to figure out a way to stop him before the economic damage he’s inflicting becomes irreversible.” He turned to look at Roberto. “There must be more the WTO can do,” he pleaded.

Roberto sighed. “Even if a nation brings a claim against the US to the WTO, we have little we can do to make the Americans cooperate. If their president and his political backers are unwilling to honor the WTO rules or judgments, what can we do? It’s not like we have a standing army. Furthermore, the Americans have a twenty-trillion-dollar economy; it’s not like they need to trade with Greece or Italy for their economic survival.” Shaking his head in resignation, he added, “They’re already proving they can survive and grow outside of their current trade arrangements with China, as I’m sure Peng here can attest.”

Peng appeared visibly frustrated, with his nostrils flaring and his face slightly flushed. Up to this point, China had been able to use its considerable economic weight against the US, forcing their companies to hand over intellectual property rights and trade secrets if they wanted to do business in China. However, that practice had abruptly changed when the Sachs administration had begun to impose a series of tough tariffs on products being produced in China and shipped to the US.

Downing the rest of his wine, Peng added, “The time for change is coming soon, gentlemen. We have a little more than two years until their next presidential election. I suggest we use that time wisely.”

“I think it’s time you get in touch with Lance Solomon from Goldman Sachs,” said Erik, directing his comment at Johann. “You know that he knows the American side of this better than we do. We will need his connections to make this work.”

Chapter 1

Beginnings of Mischief

Veles, Macedonia

Wen watched Dafina’s fingers move rapidly across the keyboard of her laptop as she finished compressing the terabytes of data she had just stolen and dumped them onto the secured site he had provided. With her immediate work completed, she turned her attention back to him.

She ran her fingers across his bare chest. “It’s complete. All the information you asked for is there,” she said with a coy smile. “Now pay me the other half of my money.”

“You made sure to leave enough bread crumbs that will lead them back to KHS?” Wen Zhenyu asked. The fingers of his left hand gently walked up her spine.

The feeling of his fingers against the bare skin of her back caused goose bumps to appear on her arms as she seemed to be excited by his touch. Tilting her head slightly, she answered, “Of course. Anyone looking to trace the intrusion will be led right to the Kosova Hacker’s Security. I made it look like I was one of their Albanian hackers. No one will be able to trace it back to me personally.”

Smiling at the response, Wen asked, “Does anyone else know you worked on this project with me?”

His hand now massaged the tops of her shoulders as he moved his other hand over to provide a nice deep tissue massage. She moaned softly as he worked out a kink in her neck.

“No. I didn’t tell anyone I was working on this project. As far as my friends know, I’m still running my fake news website. I might add, that website pays pretty well too,” Dafina asserted. She lifted her chin up, fully relaxing her shoulder muscles.

“Excellent,” Wen replied. He moved his right hand up to her face, and before she even knew what was happening, he snapped her neck, momentarily holding her now-limp body in his arms. He gently laid her down on the bed they had been sitting on and folded her laptop up, placing it in his backpack.

With his work done and his loose ends tied up, it was time for Wen to head back to his office in Skopje and sift through the data she had scooped up for him.

*******

An hour later, Wen walked into his office on the second floor of the Silk Road Bank in central Skopje. His secretary greeted him.

“You have a call from a client that needs to speak with you about a business loan, and your three o’clock with that local businessman is still on,” she announced, handing him a note.

“Thank you,” Wen replied with a smile. Before he closed his door, he leaned back out into the hall and said, “Please make sure I’m not disturbed until my three o’clock meeting shows up.”

Once inside his office, Wen handled the necessary emails to the home office in Baar, Switzerland, just south of Zurich. That would appease his corporate masters. He’d become very adept at completing a large amount of work in a very short amount of time, something that had been drilled into him since his days in the state-run orphanage in his homeland of China.

With the immediate needs of his day job handled, Wen logged on to a World of Warcraft MMO forum and perused the various threads until he found the World’s End Tavern: Roleplay and Fan Fiction Page and clicked on it. Once in, he scrolled through until he found the specific thread he was looking for. He typed in a coded message to his compatriots along with half of the URL to the server where the terabytes of stolen data had been placed.

Wen then opened a new window and found his way to a forum page of the video game World of Tanks. He clicked on a page for off-topic questions and found his desired thread. He dropped the rest of the URL needed to find the server with the data his minders had tasked him with acquiring.

With his cloak-and-dagger work done, he transitioned back to the mundane paperwork associated with his upcoming meeting with a small business owner looking to obtain a loan to purchase a second petrol station. It usually took him a moment to refocus his mind back to the slow grind after the excitement and adrenaline of his passion—spy craft for his only true parent, China.

He read through the reports again. The highway linking Thessaloniki, Greece, to Belgrade, Serbia, was nearly complete, and the amount of truck and other vehicle traffic moving along the E-75 highway through Kumanovo was about to increase substantially. This loan applicant was hoping to capitalize on the increased truck traffic by building a second petrol station along the busy route. Wen reviewed the revenues of the man’s existing petrol station and the estimates of the potential revenues at the second location. He didn’t see a reason why his bank wouldn’t approve the loan. It was a solid business investment.

Chapter 2

Electronic Misbehavior

September 2018

Tampa, Florida

It was a balmy eighty-two degrees and the sun wasn’t even up yet. Seth rounded the corner on his way back to Lagoda Avenue. He’d reached the home stretch of his daily three-mile run. Seeing that he was less than three hundred meters from home, Seth quickened his stride until he was in a full-out sprint for the remainder of his run. His feet pounded heavily on the pavement, especially considering the added eighty pounds of his RUNFast/Max weighted vest.

With his heart pounding like a drum as he ran past his house, he immediately slowed down until he came to a walking pace. He kept walking for another hundred meters before turning around to head back home. Seth then completed his usual series of breathing exercises to regain control of his racing heart and panting breath.

Running with this weighted vest is a real killer, he thought, restraining himself from moaning audibly.

Seth opened his garage door, took the vest off and placed it on a specially designed hanger that could hold its weight, and hung it on a hook he’d drilled into one of the wall studs a month ago, when he’d started running with it. One of the senior NCOs at work had told him that if he wanted a great way to improve his running endurance without increasing his running distance, he should try running with a heavily weighted run vest. It would improve not just his run times, but also his endurance. While he’d found that to be true, Seth also realized that the weight of the vest was already starting to take its toll on his knees and sore back.

He went through the side door into the house and saw his wife, Dana, frying up a skillet of duck bacon and a sort of omelette/hash thing that had eggs, onions, mushrooms and green peppers in it. The aroma was incredible.

Dana raised an eyebrow at her sweaty husband. Then she winked at him as she said, “Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes if you want to grab a quick shower.”

He kissed her on the cheek as she stood next to the stove. She smiled and placed another strip of the specialty bacon on the iron skillet.

As Seth walked back to their bedroom, he heard the kids starting to stir. They were sticking to their normal routines, and this seemed like any other morning in the Mitchell household.

He walked into the bathroom to get a shower. As was his habit, Seth switched on the Fox Business News app on his Galaxy Note and selected the live reporting option. He turned the volume up and placed his phone on the counter next to the shower before hopping into the steaming water. As he lathered up, the monotony of the broadcast suddenly changed as the anchor broke in with a special news announcement.

“Breaking news: Google announces a major privacy breach as more than 110 million Gmail account logins and passwords were compromised. No word on who was responsible for the hack, although Google executives are urging people with a Gmail account to change their passwords.”

I’ll have to look into this more when I get to work, Seth thought. He wondered if the guys in the fusion cell already had a lead on who was involved.

He finished his shower and customary hygiene routine, then got dressed. Looking in the mirror, he gave his uniform a quick once-over. His patches were all in the right places, and no errant threads were present along the seams, which would have required immediate attention. Ever the soldier, it was important to him that his uniform look professional. He never knew who he might end up briefing or speaking with throughout the day.

He walked into the kitchen and heard their precocious eight-year-old ask, “Mom, can you drop us off at school today?”

“What’s wrong with the bus?” inquired Dana as she placed some of the skillet creation on her daughter’s plate. She then placed some on a plate for Seth, along with three pieces of bacon, and passed him a bottle of water mixed with his special concoction of electrolytes to help him recharge quickly from his morning run.

Plopping down next to his daughter, Seth prodded, “Why do you want Mommy to take you to school, Lily?”

She crinkled her face at the question. “I don’t want to ride the bus anymore,” she declared. “The other girls in my class all have their parents drop them off at school, or they have a driver. I want a driver to take me to school, just like them.”

Trying not to laugh at her reply, Seth held up a hand to let his wife know he had this. “Lily, my little princess,” he began, “you have a very special driver that picks you up every day at the bus stop and takes you to school. His name is Mr. Ben. You know Ben. He’s a great guy. You said he even reminds you of Grandpa. What’s wrong with Ben?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Mr. Ben. I just want to be like the other girls in my class that live here. They all have rich parents or drivers that take them to school.” She huffed. She was clearly unhappy that her parents were not seeing how the daily bus ride was impeding her acceptance by the other girls in her class.

Dana broke into the conversation. “Lily, it doesn’t matter what these kids think of how you get to school. It’s just a bus ride. What matters is how well you do in school, not what vehicle you’re dropped off in. What have I told you about money?” she asked.

Lily’s shoulders sank. She let out a deep breath, then pouted a bit as she answered, “Money doesn’t mean happiness. I should be happy with what I have and not desire what others have.”

Patting her on the shoulder, Seth smiled and encouragingly said, “That’s my girl.”

Dana slid past him to get to her own chair, and as she did, she whispered in his ear, “I told you living here was going to spoil the kids.” When they’d first moved to Tampa at the end of the last school year, she had wanted them to live in South Tampa, not the wealthier neighborhood on Davis Island.

“I’m not spoiled,” shot back their daughter, who had overheard her mom’s comment.

“Eat your breakfast. It’s almost time to leave for the bus,” Seth answered, knowing better than to contradict his wife in front of his daughter.

Sulking, Lily hurried as she finished off her eggs and grabbed one of the pieces of bacon. Then she got her stuff ready to head to the bus with her brother.

Once she was out of the kitchen, Seth said, “Come on, Dana. You have to admit this place is so much better than our place back in McLean.” The kind of home they could afford in the D.C. area of Virginia had been much smaller and had a lot fewer bells and whistles. “Besides, your investment advisor said we needed to reinvest the money we made from selling that house back into a new home or we’d get hit with a big capital gains tax at the end of the year.”

Lily reappeared. Seth kissed his daughter’s head before she headed off to the bus stop down at the end of their road. When she had left, Dana resumed their conversation.

“Yeah, but we didn’t have to sink it into buying such a huge and overly expensive place in the middle of Tampa Bay. You know if a hurricane comes through here, we’re in a mandatory evacuation zone. This entire place could be wiped out from a storm surge. Did you think about that, Mr. Hotshot?” she asked coyly.

She flipped on the morning news and put Lily’s plate and glass in the dishwasher after grabbing a few bites of her own breakfast.

“Eh, this place was a steal at the price they had it listed,” Seth insisted. “Besides, what was it you were telling me about in that book you read, Framework for Understanding Poverty? Something about how you needed to place yourself in a different socio-economic circle if you want to move from one social tier to another? Living on Davis Island will do that for us and our kids. I thought you’d be happy that I’m taking what that book says seriously.”

During the last three years, Seth had been stationed in northern Virginia, on loan from the DoD to the Agency. He had been gone almost continuously on short TDY rotations, which had not given him a lot of time with his family. It had really hurt his relationship with his kids since they were still little, and his work had unfortunately been turning him into an absentee father. That was a major reason he’d opted to make this his last tour in the Army and retire.

Dana sighed as she turned to look at her husband. “I know,” she answered, “and I am glad that you’re paying attention to the book I had you read. I really am. I just don’t want our kids to grow up thinking that because we live in a rich neighborhood, we’re somehow rich. We just got lucky when we bought our home in McLean and sold it at the right time.”

Dana’s brother was a realtor in the northern Virginia suburbs and had found them a real fixer-upper in need of a new owner. Seth had been dead set against buying it, since he’d known he wouldn’t have the time to fix it up. But Dana had seen the opportunity to turn the dilapidated property into a real gem and set to work herself. Eighteen months and nearly $60,000 later, they had turned the house into the envy of the neighborhood, and when they’d had to move, they had turned the $540,000 home into a one-million-dollar sale, netting them a solid profit.

During one of Seth’s many TDY deployments, one of the CIA analysts he’d worked with had told him he should invest heavily in several companies that were doing some innovative work in AI. He even got in on an angel investor round with one of the Agency tech guys that had started his own firm after retiring from the Agency. Those investments had ended up making Seth a lot of money in a very short amount of time. The better Seth’s stock portfolio performed, the more secure he felt about his decision to retire from the Army after this last stint was done.

Seth glanced at the news and decided it was time to change the subject. “Did you hear about the Google hack?” he asked.

Dana nodded as she finished off her breakfast. “Yeah. I’m sure this will be a big deal when I get to work. You know we’ve been poaching a lot of their top tech people to work on our artificial intelligence trading platform.”

“You were telling me about that the other day. You’ll have to tell me more about that trading platform one of these days,” he answered.

“Seth, you know I can’t do that,” she shot back with a mischievous grin. Seth surmised that she might be plied into being more forthright later that evening with a bottle of Coup de Foudre cabernet sauvignon, her favorite wine.

“I’ll be sure to grab a bottle of Coup on my way home from work this afternoon, then,” he said with a wink and a nod.

“How come I end up telling you all about the secret programs I work on, and you never share any of yours? I still don’t know half of what you worked on while we were in McLean,” she responded.

Seth sighed. Dana had been a trouper through most of his time in the Army, but the secrecy of his last assignment had really taken a toll on her. She’d never fully known how long he’d be gone, or when he might have to leave. That had really been hard on her, especially while managing their little ones. He was still paying the price for the birthdays and holidays he’d missed in their formative years.

“One of these days, babe, I’ll tell you all about it. For right now, we’ll just have to leave it at that. Speaking of work—I need to get going or I’m going to be late.” Seth grabbed his beret and keys, then gave his wife a short kiss on the lips before adding, “I’ll see you tonight.”

*******

Twenty minutes later, Major Seth Mitchell pulled up to the Bayshore entrance of MacDill Air Force Base. The Air Force security forces airman waved his hand for him to pull forward. Seth quickly handed the senior airman his CAC card, making sure to look up at the young man as he held the card up and compared the face in the picture with Seth’s. The airman snapped a crisp salute and then handed his CAC back to him. Then he motioned for him to enter the base.

Seth placed his CAC back into his lanyard along with his SOCOM security access badge and gave his Chevy Z71 crew cab a bit of gas as he moved along Bayshore Boulevard until he came to the split in the road. He guided the truck to the right onto Tampa Point Boulevard, which would lead him to the next entry control point for US Special Operations Command.

At this time of day, the sun had finally risen enough that it had moved above the enormous phosphate mound that was directly across the bay at the Riverview Mosaic plant. As was usual for this time of the morning, Seth saw small clusters of military members along the rubberized running path that ran the eastern perimeter of the base, participating in their morning individual and group physical training exercises.

When he arrived at the parking garage, Seth found a spot on the second floor. He grabbed the small cooler that contained the healthy lunch his wife had prepared for him and headed off to what he was sure would be a busy day.

When he got to the northeast entrance, he turned his smartphone to silent and locked it in one of the many phone boxes outside the side entrance. No one was allowed to bring a phone or any electronic device into the building, so there were several walls of small metal boxes near the entrance to allow people who worked in the building a safe place to lock up their electronics so they could still access them without having to walk all the way back to their cars.

As soon as he entered the ops center, Seth was flagged down by one of the junior captains. “Good morning, Major Mitchell. The boss said he wanted to see you as soon as you were in.”

Nodding at the warning, Seth replied, “Thanks for the heads-up, Joel. I’ll head over there now.”

First things first, though. I need my caffeine, he thought. He was grateful this ketogenic diet his wife had him trying didn’t mean he had to give up coffee. Sacrificing his morning Red Bull had almost been a deal breaker.

A moment later, Seth had his coffee in hand and made his way over to his boss’s office. He knocked on the door frame, letting Colonel Pete Jennings know he was there. His boss was on the phone but quickly waved him in and pointed to the empty seat opposite his desk.

“Yes, sir. We’ll get it on it right away.…No, sir. We should have something for you hopefully by midafternoon.…Yes, sir. We’ll brief you as soon as we know something.”

Hanging up the phone, Colonel Jennings looked like a man on fire, and it was only 0700 hours. “You still in tight with your former colleagues in McLean?” Jennings asked.

Seth nodded as he took a sip of coffee. “Yeah. I still have some contacts up there, though as you know, most of my contacts are probably no better than our reach back to JSOC,” he replied.

“Hmm…maybe so, but try them anyway,” Jennings said. “This Google hack is apparently a bigger deal than what’s being reported in the media. That was the commander on the phone. He said there’s a COCOM secure video teleconference at 1300 hours to go over the specifics, but he wants to know as much as possible before the SVTC happens.”

“So, a few emails got hacked—this kind of crap’s been going on for years. Why is this any different?” Seth said casually.

Colonel Jennings snorted. “Because it’s not every day the President’s entire cabinet’s secured email system is hacked. The President’s own account was compromised. That’s why.”

Seth’s left eyebrow rose cautiously. He put his coffee cup down on the edge of his boss’s desk. “Yeah, I suppose this is a new turn of events. On the news it sounded like this was limited to Google’s Gmail system. How did the hackers break into the White House’s system? Do we have any clues as to who is responsible for this yet?”

Jennings shook his head. “I’m sure the NSA or Cyber Command has an idea. What the general wants to know is not just who is responsible, but if possible, where they’re located and what potential assets we have nearby.”

Seth nodded and picked his coffee cup back up. “OK, I see what you’re looking for. I’ll make a few calls, see what I might be able to dig up and get back to you shortly.”

Seth headed back to his cubicle along the outer wall of the room. His group, the J2X, was responsible for providing intelligence and communications support to a variety of clandestine operations that SOCOM had running all over the world. Seth’s more exact job description had to do with the cyber and sensitive site exploitation side of things. Given that he had just spent the last three years on loan to the CIA’s Special Activities Division, he had a plethora of experience hunting down hackers and leveraging data to create real-world capture missions. The US government had recently taken a much more hands-on approach to the massive increase in cyber-attacks across the country, and that gave Seth a lot more power.

A few hours later, Seth had finished making more than a dozen phone calls from his Rolodex, and he had finally found the information he was looking for. The initial traces of the hack were pointing to an Albanian hacker group that largely operated out of Kosovo, Albania, and Macedonia. While their electronic fingerprints were all over the Gmail hack, the hacker tools used to gain entry into the White House systems had the fingerprints of China. They had narrowed it down to China’s Strategic Support Force, and more specifically the shadowy People’s Liberation Army Unit 61398, their elite cyber-hacking unit, which had previously been identified by both Mandiant and FireEye as one of the leading global perpetrators of cyber-hacking.

Knowing who had carried out the attack was important, but figuring out specifically what the hackers were after was probably even more critical. Thus far, the forensic analysts involved had not been able to successfully weed through the meaningless rabbit trails of information that the hackers had left to obscure their true intentions.

Seth had been given a secured Agency port and access to the terabytes of data the hackers had access to, so he cleared his mind and began to think logically about what the hackers could have been after.

What would be so valuable that the Chinese would be willing to take the political hit this will cause? he wondered. Going after the President and his cabinet members directly was definitely a gutsy move.

*******

Shanghai, China

Zhou Gang, the Head of the Bank of China, looked at the reports on the table in front of him, both impressed that the intelligence service had actually been able to acquire them, and a bit concerned at the lengths they’d taken to get them. While he should have been shocked by their contents, or at least surprised, he had come to expect the unexpected when dealing with the American president.

Jonathan Sachs, the forty-fifth American president, had proven to be an unpredictable and often combustible man to have to deal with. While Zhou respected the man’s tenacity and desire to do what was in the best interest of his own country, often what was in the best interest of America ran counter to China’s own designs for the future. The realization of Greater China was becoming greatly imperiled by this upstart.

Lying before him on the table was an astute economic case being made by several senior Sachs administration officials for why the US government should move forward with labeling China a currency manipulator after the collapse of the most recent round of trade talks. Up until that point, Zhou’s policy of threatening a trade war at the mention of such an action had immediately caused the American presidents to back down. However, he could see from the information before him that President Sachs was not going to be intimidated by that tactic. In fact, he was pushing to call their bluff and create an actual trade war.

Zhou knew that despite his previous declarations of China’s strength and willpower, a trade war would devastate his country’s economy. He also had the sneaking suspicion that if tens of millions of people lost their jobs, the president’s regime would not survive. If he wanted to hold on to the power he had so carefully worked to obtain, Zhou couldn’t allow the growing middle class of his nation to become grossly discontent.

President Sachs may have his faults, but he does seem to have a decent idea of just how tenuous our position is, Zhou thought.

If the Americans were really going to move forward with labeling the People’s Republic of China a currency manipulator and impose even stiffer tariffs on them, then more drastic measures would need to be taken. Zhou vowed to rapidly advance the 2049 plans that had been drafted up. China couldn’t wait thirty-one more years to dethrone America as the dominant superpower. The timeline was going to have to be accelerated.

An aide walked up to Zhou, disturbing his thoughts. The man leaned down and quietly whispered, “Sir, the President should be arriving momentarily.”

Zhou looked up and nodded. He could feel his heart begin to race—Chen was well-known to be hotheaded and volatile. He certainly hadn’t been kind to those who had displeased him in the past. Punishment by Chen usually involved far more than harsh words. The stakes were incredibly high.

Zhou took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. Today, he should be in Chen’s good graces, and he couldn’t allow himself to display any weakness before his leader. He quickly gathered the reports before him into two separate piles: one containing the American president’s communications, and the other the data collected from the cabinet members.

Several security members walked into Zhou’s office and began hastily roving about the room, ensuring it was secured. After a few moments, one of them lifted his hand to his mouth and whispered something to his fellow compatriots. A minute later, the leader of China walked in and headed right for Zhou.

The Head of the Bank of China quickly moved around his desk to greet his leader. The two bowed slightly, as was their custom, and then exchanged a few pleasantries before they sat down to discuss the treasure trove of information they had just acquired.

A beautiful woman walked in, carrying a tray with an ornate porcelain tea set. She quickly fixed them a cup of tea before leaving the pot and tray on the coffee table nearby in case either of them wanted more tea during their meeting.

President Chen eagerly sipped his tea for a moment, breathing deeply as if he were having a spiritual experience. Then he set his teacup down and looked at Zhou with an expression that seemed to pierce his very soul. “China is under an enormous amount of global scrutiny and pressure as a result of this most recent cyber-attack against the White House’s communications system,” he began. “Please tell me you were able to obtain the information you were looking for—this attack had better not have turned up nothing.”

Zhou took a deep breath. If he had been wrong about the American government’s economic intentions, this intrusion would have unnecessarily cost China a lot of political clout. However, his assumptions had not been wrong. If anything, the intelligence before him showed that the situation was much more dire than previously predicted.

Zhou confidently returned his leader’s stare. “Mr. President, I had warned that if we continued to push President Sachs too hard, if we didn’t make some economic concessions, he would use the power of his economy against us. Our hacker team was able to uncover a series of executive orders that Sachs plans to enact after their midterm elections on November sixth—orders that will go into effect almost immediately.”

The President took another sip of the tea before him, almost as if he were absorbing the information along with the hot beverage he was imbibing. “So, what you’re saying is the American president is going to follow through on his threat of a trade war,” Chen said.

Zhou shook his head. “No, Mr. President. He’s not just going to move forward with a trade war. He’s essentially declaring economic war on China,” he declared. “When the American Treasury Department officially labels us a currency manipulator, they’re going to hit all of our exports with a 45 percent tariff. It’s going to effectively cripple our economy.”

“So, what’s our recourse?” Chen asked.

“Sir, I had thought we could get around the tariffs by simply lowering the value of our currency against the dollar, thus negating the effects of the tariff, but from reading the drafted executive orders, it would appear the American Treasury Department has already taken that into effect. Essentially, each time I would lower the value of our currency to counter their move, the Americans would raise the tariff by an equal measure.”

Zhou shook his head in dismay. This was the first time in his life that he was truly at a loss as to what to do next or how to navigate his country’s economy through these turbulent times.

Chen leaned forward in his chair. “Can’t we just ride this trade war out with them?” he asked. “I mean—surely this will hurt the American consumer in the short run. There has to be a way we can leverage that financial pain to our gain, right?”

Zhou shook his head again. “No, Mr. President. If these tariffs go into effect and stay in place for more than six months, we could see a GDP contraction of more than six percent. If that were to happen, it would result in tens of millions of our people being laid off and thousands of our factories and businesses being forced to shut down. If the trade war lasted more than twelve months…it could completely collapse our economy.”

President Chen narrowed his gaze. “It can’t be that bad, Zhou,” he insisted, clearly becoming angrier by the minute. “Surely we could pick up the export slack by increasing our trade with Europe, the Middle East and South America.”

Zhou tilted his head to one side, considering the outcomes. “Yes, we could offset some of this through increased trade with our other trading partners, but none of our partners consume the sheer volume the Americans do,” he finally said. “A twenty-trillion-dollar economy that consumes more than $650 billion in trade with us couldn’t be quickly replaced. To essentially lose access to it would devastate our economy.”

Zhou leaned forward. “The way I see it, Mr. President, we have two options. We can either concede some of these trade positions the Americans are demanding, or we need to make a move that will replace the current American administration or bring the country to its knees.”

“If they do move forward with these tariffs, we must retaliate with our own,” Zhou asserted. “My only concern in doing so is finding other sources we can purchase those products from. For example, we import more than fifteen billion dollars in soybeans; civilian aircraft parts and scrap metals also account for more than twenty billion dollars. These are the areas where we could hit the Americans with tariffs, but while that would hurt them, it would create a shortage in our own markets unless we already have a pipeline to replace those imports.”

President Chen was silent as he thought for a moment.

“The Americans have their midterm elections in little more than a month. What direct actions can we take to shift the political power in their government to one that would be more favorable to our way of thinking?” Chen asked.

Zhou smiled. Up to that point, Chen had been hesitant to interfere in American elections. He’d preferred for Russia and other nations to draw that kind of political heat. However, it seemed that he had finally come around to the bank administrator’s way of thinking.

“I’ve given this some thought, Mr. President. Now that we know what their intentions are postelection, there’s no need to be cautious.” He paused for a second as he collected his thoughts. “First, we target the President’s strongest trade war supporters. We identify what specific manufacturing and agricultural products are coming from their districts and we place targeted tariffs on them. This will directly affect those constituents the most and hopefully they will vote against the Senate or congressional candidates that are supporting the President’s hostile trade agenda.”

Chen nodded at the idea, effectively giving his go-ahead.

“Next, we look to start crashing their stock market as they head toward election day. This will cause the voters to become angry at the party in power and create angst over a continuation of the President’s trade war policies.

“The quickest way for us to cause a short-term stock market crash is to start dumping our Treasury holdings. At the same time, we would devalue our own currency through a series of quantitative measures aimed at reducing the impact of the tariffs and the effects of us dumping the American treasuries.

“Make no mistake, Mr. President. This will hurt China in the short run, but I think we could ride out this type of turmoil easier than we could a protracted trade war with the Americans.”

Chen quickly countered, “And what do we do if the President’s political party remains in power? We’ll have fired the few remaining economic bullets we have, and we still wouldn’t have helped our cause by electing a friendlier government.”

“That is a risk we’d have to take, Mr. President,” Zhou insisted. “In the end, I think the Americans will blink and come to their senses. If they don’t, well, then there’s always trouble we could stir up in North Korea or the South China Sea. We have other levers of influence and power we can pull.”

The two of them sipped their tea as they contemplated their options. During the next couple of hours, a plan was hatched to deal with the current American government until the midterm elections. Following the results, they’d reexamine their options and see what more might need to be done to bring the Americans to heel.

*******

Tampa, Florida

MacDill Air Force Base

US Special Operations Command

The conference room in the SCIF was full that morning. All the department heads were present for this particular brief. Seeing that everyone was already present, the FBI briefer who was slated to lead things off walked to the front of the room.

Clearing her throat before she began, Special Agent Leslie Clancy announced, “What I’m about to tell you is classified top secret and not to be openly discussed outside this room,” she announced.

Everyone nodded.

“The FBI’s Cybercrimes Division was able to link the initial Gmail hack to a relatively small Albanian hacker group called Kosova Hacker’s Security, or KHS. The attack originated out of a small town in Macedonia called Veles, which is just south of the capital city of Skopje. This is also the same small town in Macedonia where the brunt of the fake news articles that caused so much chaos during the 2016 election originated.”

She saw a few looks of concern in the audience but continued on. “The FBI’s legal attaché group in Belgrade was able to coordinate a raid on the home of the hacker we believe was responsible with local law enforcement personnel in Skopje. Unfortunately, when they entered the apartment, they found the hacker deceased. It appears the woman in question had had her neck broken.

“What remains unclear is if this particular hacker was also responsible for the cyber-attack against the White House communications network.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “This is obviously an ongoing interagency investigation, but it’s going to take some time to figure out who else was involved, what all was stolen and for what reason.”

Sitting near the rear of the briefing room, Leslie saw Major Mitchell raise his hand to ask a question. Since Leslie didn’t see any hands raised by any of the generals or senior officers at the table, she nodded for Mitchell to proceed.

“I have a technical question for you,” Seth stated. The colonels and general turned to face him, waiting expectantly for what he’d say.

“You said the initial Gmail hack was carried out by this Albanian hacker group, KHS. I can buy that, but the cyber-attack carried out against the White House network was far more complicated an attack than what KHS could’ve carried out. Specifically, the hacker toolset used to gain entry into the White House system has electronic traces of ATP1, which we know has direct ties to the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Unit 61398. If your office could perhaps share with us specifically what it was the Chinese were looking for in the White House network, we might be able to piece together a better picture of exactly what they’re looking to do with the information they stole.”

Several of the colonels and generals nodded and then focused their attention back on Leslie, who suddenly became very nervous and fumbled in her response, eventually giving what was essentially a nonanswer.

The lone CIA LNO jumped in. “I think this is something we can talk about offline, Major,” he asserted.

Seth nodded, and Leslie breathed a sigh of relief.

*******

Seth knew the CIA LNO, George. The two of them had worked together in the past when he’d been on loan to the Agency. Once everyone else had filtered out of the room, George jokingly poked Seth in the arm.

“You kind of put the poor girl on the spot there with your question,” he said with a grin. He’d obviously enjoyed watching his interagency counterpart squirm a bit.

“I suppose, but the more we’ve been digging into this case, the more it just doesn’t add up,” Seth insisted. “I’ve looked into that Albanian hacker group. They’re small and mostly focus on what’s going on in the Balkans. They were heavily involved in the fake news business during the last election cycle, but it appears all the people involved were just doing it to create clickbait farms that generated a lot of marketing money. Most people in the region tend to earn maybe five hundred dollars a month, and these clickbait farms were earning more than twenty-five hundred a month in advertising revenue. Kind of ingenious when you think about it.”

George nodded. “Let’s head to your office,” he said. Seth’s office space was inside a secured SCIF, so they could continue their sensitive conversation there.

The two of them made their way back. Once they entered the SCIF, George guided the two of them away from the prying ears of the analysts working in the open desk format of the center room.

“Look, Seth, from our perspective, you’re right,” George admitted. “This whole KHS thing appears to be a smokescreen, designed to send us down a few dozen rabbit holes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the login credentials of 110 million people is pretty valuable on the dark web, but it wasn’t the real target of the attack.”

Seth smiled. “I knew it,” he said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “So, fill me in—what was the real target, and can I share this with the boss? The CG’s been all over us for answers on this.”

George pulled a chair next to Seth’s cubicle and sat down. He leaned in close so their conversation couldn’t be overheard. “Look, this is super-classified right now. I’m not even sure how much of this I can tell you.”

Not wanting to put his friend in a bind, Seth thought about that for a moment. “Perhaps I can ask you some questions and you can just tell me if I’m getting warmer,” he offered.

George smiled. “I can neither confirm nor deny what you’re asking,” he said with a wink.

Seth nodded. “From what I can tell, the Gmail hack was just a cover for the Chinese to make their real move on the White House staff accounts. But as to what they were after? Perhaps they wanted to gain more information about our military technology secrets. We all know how the Chinese like to steal our designs.”

Leaning in, George said, “You’re right on one level. The Gmail hack was a smokescreen to distract us, and it would have worked had the NSA not placed some sophisticated tracking codes in the emails sent between the President and his cabinet members. This was done a little over a year ago, when the President was hell-bent on identifying who was leaking confidential emails between him and his staff secretaries to the media. The codes actually helped us track down a couple of midrange government employees who are no longer working for the federal government,” he said with a wry smile of enjoyment at ending the career of a few bureaucrats.

“Seth, what the hackers stole was specific communiqués between the President, his senior trade representatives, the Treasury Secretary and a handful of other senior advisors. The communiqués were all related to the recent trade talks with China and potential repercussions the President was considering if the Chinese do not agree to the new trade terms. It appears they also stole a drafted copy of an executive order the President was considering signing following the coming election. It would formally label the Chinese a currency manipulator and direct the Treasury Department to begin slapping a 45 percent tariff on all Chinese goods coming into the US.”

Seth let out a soft whistle as his mind wrapped itself around the implications of what that would do to the Chinese economy, not to mention the price of common items people bought every day at Walmart and on Amazon. He sighed and shook his head.

“Thanks for filling me in, George,” he remarked. “So, what do we do next? I mean, the election is just a handful of weeks away, and given what you just said, I can’t imagine a scenario where the Chinese don’t try to use this information to impact the results. What can truly be done to counter it?”

George shook his head glumly. “Nothing, really,” he said despondently. “The best we can do is continue to work with the tech companies to help them identify the fake news sites and work to get them shut down, or at least banned from their platforms.”

The two talked for a bit longer, frustrated that neither of their organizations could take a more direct role in stopping this kind of activity. It wasn’t like they could knock on the doors of the individuals in these various countries and kindly ask them to cut it out. Until the groups crossed the line from spreading false information to outright manipulation of physical votes, there wasn’t a recourse that allowed them to get more involved.

*******

Mitrovica, Kosovo

Enar Duka ran down the alley at a breakneck speed, panting as his eyes darted back and forth, looking for a building he could run into.

“Stop. Police!” shouted the officer who was pursuing him.

Enar didn’t turn around to look, but sensing that the man was gaining on him, he increased his pace as he rushed toward the end of the alley. Suddenly, a police cruiser appeared out of nowhere, blocking his exit. Unable to stop his forward momentum, Enar leapt onto the hood of the vehicle, and ran up over the top before jumping down the other side. When he landed on the ground, Enar turned to the left and continued to run, trying his best to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible.

“Stop. Police!” shouted the officer again. His partner threw their vehicle into reverse and raced after Enar, who ducked into a café along the street.

Enar shoved his way past several patrons and burst through the door that led to the kitchen. Ignoring the surprised cooks who began to yell at him, he found the back exit and swiftly ran through it into a back alleyway.

As he continued racing down this narrow road that separated the buildings on either side of the block, Enar felt like his heart was going to explode. He hadn’t run this hard since he’d gotten back from Syria two months ago.

He came around the corner of the alley and turned right, only to be summarily punched in the face. His arms flailed out as he tried to stop himself from falling. When Enar’s body thudded on the ground, the police officer was already on top of him. In one swift movement, the officer had grabbed his left arm and was in the process of twisting him over onto his belly so he could place his handcuffs on him.

In that moment, Enar knew if he was arrested, he might not ever leave whatever hole the Ministry of Internal Affairs would put him in. As the police struggled to flip him over onto his belly, Enar grabbed the SIG Sauer he had in the front pocket of his coat. In one daring move, he kicked the officer hard with the back of his heel, which momentarily caused the officer to loosen his grip on Enar’s other arm. When that happened, he twisted back around, pointing the SIG right at the officer’s head.

He fired the weapon without hesitation, hitting the man squarely in the center of his forehead. Blood splattered on Enar’s face and the front of his jacket as the back of the man’s skull exploded outwards. The officer’s facial expression registered a brief look of surprise before his body fell limp to the right of Enar.

“Don’t move!” shouted the man’s partner as he rounded the corner, his pistol drawn.

Enar sat up and grabbed the body of the now deceased officer to act as a shield. He swiftly fired several shots at the second officer, hitting him with two of the bullets and knocking the man to the ground.

Throwing the corpse off him, Enar stood up and walked over to the wounded officer. The man grasped at his shoulder, but bright red blood continued to squirt through his fingers with each heartbeat. The man looked up at him, appearing to beg for his life before Enar raised his pistol and fired again, this time hitting the man in the head.

Enar surveyed the scene. People were running every which way to get away from the shooting. Very few people were standing around wanting to see what was going on, which suited him just fine.

He ran back into the alleyway and made his way to a friendly mosque on the other side of town. He threw away his jacket, which was covered in blood, and managed to find an old blanket that had been discarded near a dumpster that he could throw over his shirt to help keep him warm as well as conceal his identity for the time being.

When he walked into the mosque, Enar immediately had a sense of peace. This was the one place he felt safe. He removed his shoes and went to the back rooms, where he found the man he was looking for, Luan Rexhepi, teaching a small group of followers. Enar waited just long enough to be respectful to the leader before he got his attention and asked to speak with him privately.

When he explained the situation, and what transpired, Rexhepi calmly responded, “Don’t worry, my brother. The Islamic State of Kosovo will take care of you.”

One of Rexhepi’s students gave Enar some new clothes, and then they moved him out of the city to one of their safe houses. A week later, Enar was told that his brother had vouched for him, and he would embark upon a great mission. The two of them would travel to Germany, where they would await further instructions. In the meantime, they would work at a mosque operated by a friend of Rexhepi, receiving free room and board in exchange.

Enar didn’t care what the mission was. If Rexhepi could get him out of Kosovo and back into the fight for Islam, he was more than willing to do it. The fact that he’d have the opportunity to fight again with his brother was an added bonus.

Chapter 3

Election Shenanigans

November 11, 2018

Tampa, Florida

Davis Island

Seth stood next to his grill, double-checking the four racks of ribs he had been cooking “low and slow” for several hours. His wife, Dana, had invited several of their neighbors over for a Veterans Day cookout, hoping to build on the new relationships they’d formed over the summer and get to know more of the people living near them.

Half a dozen neighbors had RSVPed, and Seth was determined to impress them with his secret recipe for fall-off-the-bone BBQ ribs. The key to getting the meat so tender was to slow cook them in a crock pot in apple juice and then slow cook them some more all lathered up with Sweet Baby Ray’s barbeque sauce. Seth was very excited that his wife wasn’t giving him any grief for slacking off on the keto diet for a day.

As Seth slathered another layer of sauce on the ribs, one of his neighbors, Jeff McGuiness, walked over to sneak a peek at the meat. When Seth had closed the lid, Jeff handed him a fresh beer.

“You look like you could use another refill,” he said good-naturedly.

Seth smiled and accepted the drink. “Thanks. I think the ribs are nearly done, maybe another five minutes to let this last layer of sauce caramelize a bit more.”

“Man, those look good,” said Jeff, practically licking his lips.

“Trust me when I say they taste even better,” Seth said, smiling. “It’s a bit of a family secret.”

Seth popped the top of the bottle of beer and took a swig. “So, Jeff, how’s work going for you?” he asked. He had really taken a liking to Jeff. He and his wife had come over the day after they’d moved in, bringing some brownies as a house-warming gift to welcome them to the neighborhood.

“Oh, you know, the same ole, same ole. Different day, same station. How about you? You’re in the Army—things must be pretty interesting for you,” Jeff replied.

Taking another drink from his beer, Seth answered, “It’s always changin’, Jeff, that’s for sure. But I’m at the headquarters level now, not one of the groups, so the ops tempo is certainly more conducive for the family.” Seth hadn’t really told his new friend a lot about his job other than that he was in the Army and where he worked. It was better that way.

“That’s right, you’re in the Special Forces, aren’t you?” Jeff countered. “How’d you decide that that’s what you wanted to do when you grew up?”

“In a way, I just kind of fell into it,” Seth explained. “I came from a poor family. There was actually a time in my life when my family was homeless, and we lived in a campground. I knew if I wanted to go to college or make something of myself, I’d have to either have to get some academic scholarship, be a great athlete, or find some other way to pay for college. Well, I was doing pretty well in school, and by my senior year I was in all AP classes. Then our school had a career day and I met an Army recruiter. He told me about the GI Bill and how I could get vocational training in the Army and then use my GI Bill to pay for college when my enlistment was up.”

Reaching into the cooler nearby, Seth pulled another beer out and handed it to Jeff. At this point, his other neighbor, Albert, had heard part of the story and come over to join them.

“I hadn’t really thought about joining the Army before that,” Seth continued. “No one in my family had ever been a part of the military. Shoot, my dad was one of those flower-power hippies that burned his draft card during the Vietnam war, so it wasn’t like my parents had ever told me about that career path.”

“So, why’d you join, then, if you were already in AP classes and probably on the road to getting a scholarship?” inquired Albert as he pulled another beer out of the cooler for himself.

Sighing as he remembered back to his high school years, Seth responded, “You know, my dad was a real jerk during my high school years. He had a decent job and made a living wage by then. He was a union pipefitter, working on various construction projects, but he was also a bit of a drunk. He wasn’t physical with us kids, but he was nasty to be around when he drank, which was unfortunately most of the time when he wasn’t working. I guess at the time the recruiter talked to me, I just wanted out of the house, and while I probably could have gotten some scholarships to pay for school, the Army was a sure bet. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the Army was offering a ten-thousand-dollar signing bonus in addition to the GI Bill at the time either.”

Jeff laughed at the comment. “Yeah, I think if a recruiter told my seventeen-year-old self I could get ten grand to sign up for the Army plus free college, I probably would have joined as well.”

Albert laughed and shook his head. “I think my dad would’ve found some way to null and void my enlistment papers. He was adamant that I’d go into law just like the rest of the family.”

“It looks like going into law worked out pretty well for you, Al,” Jeff said with a chuckle. “I saw that new boat you bought,” he added with a wink. He took another sip from his beer, then asked Seth, “So that’s how you ended up in Special Forces?”

Seth sported a crooked smile. “Not exactly. When I joined the Army, it was 1997. At that time, we weren’t at war and there wasn’t a lot going on in the world. The job the recruiter had told me about that would earn me the most college credits, had the largest signing bonus and sounded the coolest to me as a seventeen-year-old was a job called ‘human intelligence collector,’ which is basically an interrogator. They also had a shortage of Chinese linguists, so they sent me to the military’s language school in Monterey, California, to learn Mandarin. At the time, my recruiter said I’d probably just interview Chinese defectors and asylum seekers—an easy job that would allow me to take college courses at night.”

Seth shook his head in amusement at his own naivety back then. “That recruiter knew exactly what to tell me to get me to sign up. He knew all I wanted was to get a college degree and money to get away from my folks, and this job offered exactly that.”

“Sounds like the recruiter was pretty good. Would’ve made a great lawyer,” added Albert with a laugh.

“Yeah, he probably would have,” Seth answered, smiling. “In either case, once I finished language school, that’s exactly what they had me doing. They sent me to Japan, where I largely worked debriefing Chinese asylum seekers and defectors. The recruiter wasn’t totally wrong—that position did give me an opportunity to take college classes on base. Between my military schools and previous AP classes I had taken, I was quickly able to earn a bachelor’s degree in Asian studies.”

He took a sip of beer, his mood suddenly somber. “Then 9/11 happened and everything changed. I went to officer candidate school and then went on to join Special Forces, only this time I was an officer instead of enlisted,” he said.

Before Seth could say anything more, his wife wandered over to the grill. “You guys almost done with those ribs yet? Everyone’s getting hungry,” Dana said with a wink. A few of the other wives sauntered up with their husbands.

Seth shook himself from dark memories and his countenance changed. “They sure are,” he said with a smile. “Let me pull them off the grill and you can bring them in the house to cut up.” He started loading the glistening specimens of meat onto the nearby tray. The crowd that had gathered was almost visibly salivating at the sight of such delicious grub.

The kids were slowly roused out of the pool as the moms got them plates with hot dogs, cheeseburgers and other trimmings. The dads collected at the table near the grill with their plates of ribs, potato salad, coleslaw and other fixin’s. The ladies opted to sit inside, where they continued their own conversation.

After finishing off a couple of ribs, Seth turned to Albert. “So, you’re a lawyer. What kind of law do you practice?” he asked.

Using a baby wipe to clean his hands, Albert responded, “Contract law. Pretty boring stuff, really, but it pays well. My dad is getting closer to retirement, so he’s looking to have us kids take over the family firm. Both my sister and brother actually practice law as well. Each of us has taken over a specific specialty in the firm, so we can largely handle most cases that could be brought to us.”

“Wow, that sounds pretty neat to have a family-run business like that,” Seth replied. He envied Albert’s story, having a close-knit family that he could work with. So much of what Seth did these days was classified—he couldn’t even talk about what it was he did with his wife, which was frustrating to say the least.

Albert nodded as he finished a healthy sampling of the coleslaw. “It can be,” he responded. “I’m fortunate in that all of us siblings actually like each other, except during election years. Then we argue and fight like we did when we were little.”

Everyone snickered.

“So which sibling is the one that leads that charge?” asked Jeff mischievously before he took a bite of his baked beans.

“My sister, of course,” Albert answered. “You’ve met her, Jeff, I think. Gabi. During each election cycle, she works as a volunteer for the Florida Democratic Party. Man, is she piping-mad about the President blasting the election results, saying the Chinese had intentionally interfered in the election to help his opponents.” Albert put his fork down and grabbed for the last rib on his plate.

A few of the guys laughed before Jeff responded, “It’s not like he’s wrong. I mean, the Chinese couldn’t have been more obvious if they tried. They applied tariffs to nearly every business in forty-some congressional districts, all held by Republicans. I mean, if you’re going to interfere in an election, at least try and be subtle about it.”

The guys nodded, and then the conversation casually shifted back away from politics. The rest of the evening went well, and they managed to avoid any major clashes. At the end, the guys all asked Seth for his secret to making those fall-off-the-bone ribs.

*******

Washington, D.C.

Department of Homeland Security

Patricia Hogan (Patty to her friends) rubbed her temples as she took a seat at her desk, getting settled in to tackle the day’s new challenges. She’d been the Director of Homeland Security since the start of the Sachs administration, and while she loved her job, it was a real challenge. Trying to manage the more than 240,000 employees and dozens of agencies underneath her umbrella was an intense job. She thrived on it, though. Patty also reveled in the fact that she was only the second woman to have held the position; it thrilled her that, despite all the challenges of serving in the Sachs administration, she was excelling.

She turned her mind back to the task at hand, shuffling through the paperwork on her desk, trying to prioritize what to work on first. It was now twelve days after the 2018 midterm elections, and her department was still trying to unravel exactly what had happened. Dozens of complaints had been filed to and by the Federal Election Commission about the sheer volume of misinformation, fake news, voter fraud allegations and cyber-attacks—not to mention the outright barrage of super PAC money with clear foreign ties benefiting both political parties. Each side demanded answers.

Another folder on her desk dealt with the caravan of asylum seekers from Central America that was rapidly approaching the border. Then there was the full-blown trade war with China.

It’s been a rough week and a half, she realized. She took an Excedrin Migraine, trying to get ahead of things before the stress caused yet another headache.

She checked her schedule. It was 0800 hours, but her day would soon devolve into meetings that were scheduled almost back-to-back. She’d have to use her time wisely. She smiled as she remembered that one of her meetings today was about the blockchain voting pilot program, iVote, that had taken place during the most recent election in West Virginia. She was hopeful this could have a major impact on securing future elections.

Patty rubbed her temples and collected her thoughts, mentally organizing her day. She hit the intercom button on the desk phone. “Jill, can you have some coffee brought in?” she asked. “Also, please tell Riku I want to talk with him before our ten o’clock gets here, will you?”

A few minutes later, her secretary popped in with a fresh pot of the extra-caffeinated Death Wish brand coffee, which she placed on a table near the corner of her office. “Riku said he’d be over momentarily,” she announced before heading back to her desk in the anteroom.

Patty smiled as she took a sip of her piping-hot brain juice. I just don’t know what I’d do without Jill, she thought. Not only was her secretary an exceptional gatekeeper, but she played a pivotal role in keeping her on schedule and on track with her many deadlines.

After only a minute, Riku Tanaka knocked on the door frame of her office.

“You needed me, boss?” he asked.

Riku Tanaka was a first-generation Japanese American from the San Francisco Bay area, and by all accounts, he was a boy wonder. When Patricia had become the DHS Secretary, she’d done the unthinkable in Washington and picked someone from outside the Beltway to become her lead technologist. Her overarching goal had been to do her best to modernize the agency and bring it into the twenty-first century. The organization had become a bloated bureaucracy that was running on outdated technology; this had made DHS inefficient, costly, and critically vulnerable to hacking. In order to streamline the organization and fix the critical vulnerabilities, she’d brought in someone who hadn’t become ingrained in the lifestyle of Washington red tape.

Riku had been a Chief Technology Officer at a major Silicon Valley firm, with little to no political experience. When Patty had brought him on, she’d charged with him with one overarching mission—modernize the agency with the newest, most secure technology available, and help her make the agency more efficient and responsive to the needs of the country. At the deputy director level, Riku actually had the authority needed to force change across the organization.

She waved him into her office, and the two of them took seats in the armchairs over to the side of the room. She offered him some coffee, but he just chuckled and said, “No, thanks. That stuff’s got a bit too much kick for me.”

She smiled. “OK, Riku,” she said with a laugh. “Hey, before we have our meeting with the Crossmatch folks, I wanted to get your thoughts on the West Virginia iVote program. How do you think it went?”

He pulled a folder out of the leather messenger bag that he always carried around and handed her a printout. “It went great,” he said, smiling. “Actually, better than great. The vendor provided each of the overseas service members a ring code that essentially acted as their unique voter ID and allowed them to securely cast their vote through the iVote app on their mobile device.”

“iVote—I like the ring of that,” Patty said. “But I think you’re going to need to explain this ring code thing to me again. How does it verify the person using it is actually a legal, authorized voter?” she asked, placing the handout on the table between them.

“Sure thing, boss,” Riku said with a nod. Patty was grateful that he was one of those rare individuals who was technologically brilliant and yet able to communicate complicated information in layman’s terms. “Basically, the individual submits their address and basic biographical information to the voter registration office. Once the individual is verified as an eligible voter, they’re given an access code to use on the iVote application. The voter then inputs that access code, which allows them to create their unique identifier. Using their smartphone, their thumbprint is captured on the device. That biometric is then embedded with the ring code, and when the voter makes their selections on the ballot, that biometric and code is then added into the blockchain sequence and transmitted back to the voting office.” Riku pulled out some other documents that had some pictures of the process on them as he walked her through the technical aspects of how the system worked.

Patty fiddled with the bun in her hair. “This sounds promising,” she said. “My only concern is how safe it is. Can it be manipulated?”

“Well, I’m by no means a blockchain expert, but from what I gather, when the ring code is inserted into the chain, it is thoroughly embedded and encrypted. Meaning if anyone tries to change that particular code in the chain, it’ll show up as having been tampered with. Honestly, I think the more challenging part of implementing this program is going to come from the voter registration office. The voter rolls have to be up-to-date and verified. I’m more than a little worried about that particular piece of the puzzle being the area where we may see attempts at voter fraud,” Riku replied. He uncapped his water bottle and took a couple of gulps.

Furrowing her brow, Patty asked, “What do you mean? How could voter fraud take place in that part of the process?”

“Pretty easily, actually. If the voter rolls are in an online database, then they can be hacked. Also, if someone was able to breach the system, they could simply go in and change the voter rolls by dropping people from them or listing them as ineligible voters. By the time a voter realizes they’re listed as ineligible or their name has been dropped from the rolls, it could be too late to have it appealed or looked into before they needed to cast their vote, and we both know that provisional ballots are often thrown out.”

She shook her head in dismay. Hackers will be the death of this country, she bemoaned to herself.

“OK, Riku. I’d like you to write up a risk assessment concerning the voter rolls so we can present it at our meeting later. I want to close that loophole.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Riku said. He stood and left to get back to business.

As he walked out, Patty smiled to herself. She knew she’d bucked the system when she’d hired Riku, but she didn’t care. He often thought about angles many others ignored. She didn’t care about his political leanings as long as he stayed in his lane, and so far, he was genuinely doing a great job modernizing the Department of Homeland Security.

Chapter 4

Unconventional Warfare

January 2019

Dalian, China

Dalian Shipbuilding Industry Company

Vice Admiral Hu Zhanshu stood silently on the bridge of the massive freighter, mesmerized as hundreds of workers swarmed over the center of the ship. The entire cargo hold had been removed and was being retrofitted with a series of vertical launch system pods. Once the conversion was complete, the cargo hold would carry fifteen VLS pods, each pod containing ten cruise missiles.

The shipyard manager broke his trance. “It was difficult enclosing the construction cranes and the ship, but I believe we’ve sufficiently shielded our activities from the prying eyes of satellites and the casual observers outside the shipyard,” he explained.

Hu nodded. He had to admit, it was a clever idea to cover the ships being converted to mobile missile platforms. It did, however, limit the number of ships they could retrofit at one time. With the current schedule, they’d only have twelve of the ships ready when the time came.

“What are we doing about the troop compartments?” Hu asked.

“Those are on schedule as well,” said the shipyard manager. “Right now, we’re converting shipping containers to act as bulk housing units for the soldiers. They aren’t going to be the most comfortable living conditions, but they’ll get our soldiers transported across the Pacific.”

Hu rubbed his neck, deep in thought. Several of the older military commanders had died recently. A few of the deaths had been deemed heart attacks, and one had been found with a pile of empty bottles of Baijiu all around him, reeking of alcohol. One of Vice Admiral Hu’s personal friends had been found hanging from a staircase by a noose—Hu was certain that his “suicide” had not been by choice. Someone was consolidating power. Hu hoped that what he was working on would be sufficient to keep him out of the crosshairs of whoever was culling the herd.

*******

Washington, D.C.

Harry S. Truman Building

Secretary of State Haley Kagel shook her head in frustration as she read the latest cable from her ambassador at the UN, which explained that they were still going to move forward with their permanent UN peacekeeping force.

Well, good luck funding it, because we sure aren’t, she thought.

Gary Hammil, her Assistant Secretary of State for International Organization Affairs, poked his head into her office. “I see you’re reading the cable from New York,” he commented. He showed himself in and took a seat in the chair across from her desk.

She frowned. “What are your thoughts on it, Gary?”

He sighed. “I see the merits in such a resolution. I also know the optics of it won’t sit well in America and a lot of other countries. The conspiracy folks are going to go nuts with it, and so will a handful of folks in Congress, I suspect.”

Haley bit her lower lip. “The President isn’t going to support it,” she asserted. “He already sees the UN as a parasitic leech just sucking us dry of money while bashing us and our allies at every turn.”

Gary snickered. “The UN is what you make it. You know and I know that if you put more money in, you get more say in how it’s run.”

“If that was the case, the UN would be doing our bidding instead of insulting us at every turn,” Haley insisted. “We already contribute 15 percent of the UN budget.”

“And that’s down from the 22 percent we used to contribute,” Gary countered. “Nations like China, India, Saudi Arabia, Germany and France have all stepped in to fill that financial void.”

“You sound like you want this new peacekeeping force,” Haley retorted.

Gary held up his hands up in mock surrender. “Whoa, that’s a big allegation to make,” he replied with a big grin on his face. “All I’m saying is there have been a lot of problems with the peacekeeping force in the past. If creating a standing army and establishing rules, training and procedures will help make them more efficient and let them handle peacekeeping operations better in the future, maybe the US won’t have to get involved nearly as much.”

Haley sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. It could work. I seriously doubt the President is going to authorize any US forces to participate in it, though. Once this official treaty with North Korea gets signed, he wants to do a rapid drawdown of forces over there and bring them back home.”

Gary nodded. “If the President is really able to secure this deal with North Korea, he should get the Nobel Peace Prize for it. But yeah, it makes sense to pull those troops back to the States.” He leaned forward. “Honestly, my bigger concern is the series of base closures in Europe and the Middle East he’s recommending to the Pentagon. We saw what happened when we pulled out of Iraq in 2011. If we pull out entirely from Europe and the Middle East, we’ll leave a power vacuum that others will fill.”

“I’ve been cautioning him on that. I’ve gotten him to agree not to close Ramstein and to leave at least two of our facilities open in the UK. The rest of the German bases, though, are going to the BRAC on this next defense spending bill.” Whenever a base went to the base realignment and closure board, it was very likely to get closed down. Then the powers that be would determine where those units would be relocated.

“What about our bases in Italy and Spain? He’s not recommending we close them, is he?”

Haley crossed her arms. “He’s wanting to keep the Italian bases in Sicily, but he is going to close the other ones. As to Spain—yes, Rota will stay, though he’s moving to sign a new deal with the UK to set up some new facilities in Gibraltar…so that could complicate things in Spain if he does.”

“What the heck is he wanting to put in Gibraltar?” Gary asked, left eyebrow crookedly raised.

“I was told it was going to be some sort of NSA facility and a repositioning of the SEAL teams that are currently stationed in Germany. They’re also going to move more of the support functions from Naples to Gibraltar,” Haley explained.

“He’s really going to upset the apple cart in Europe, isn’t he?”

“Eh, it’s been a long time coming, though,” she said with a wry smile. “I mean, he’s not cutting ties with NATO, just shifting forces around. It does look like we’re going to expand our footprint in Poland and Romania, if that makes you feel better.”

Gary tilted his head to the left. “OK, well, that’s outside my purview,” he said with a chuckle. “So, back to this UN force—from what I’ve been told, they’re planning on hosting their first joint training exercise in October of 2020 to flesh out the details of how the force will work. In a way, they want to essentially create two combat brigades: one that will be in a training, dwell-rest time, and one that will be deployed to various hot spots around the world. They’re actually modeling it on how our force structure and the Canadian force structure work.”

Crinkling her brow, Haley asked, “Where is this new army going to be based out of, and where are they going to host this exercise? I didn’t see those details in the cable from New York.”

“OK, before you bite my head off, I’m just the messenger,” Gary said, putting his right hand over his heart. “Canada has offered their military facilities to be used by this new UN force, and the exercise is slated to take place in Ontario and Vancouver.”

Haley’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What?” she managed to gasp. “Don’t they know how this’ll affect NATO and our various joint facilities? We can’t have Chinese—or worse, Russian—peacekeepers roaming around on Canadian facilities that are also tied into our own early-warning system.”

“Hey, I’m just bringing you the facts,” Gary insisted. “It’s that new Canadian PM. He’s a real globalist.”

“Petulant boy king,” Haley retorted. “He talks a big globalist game because he knows he doesn’t have to implement half of that crap, because Sachs keeps him from doing it.”

Gary sighed. “My suggestion, Madam Secretary, is that you convince the President to at least contribute a token military element to be a part of this new UN force, even if they’re just planners or something. This way we can keep tabs on their activity and have some observers report back to us on what they’re seeing. It’s better than being frozen out of it entirely.”

Haley nodded. She had to agree with the logic.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to get the President and the Secretary of Defense to see the same thing, she thought.

*******

Washington, D.C.

US Supreme Court Building

Anna Cho poured coffee for Chief Justice Mark Lighthouse, who graciously smiled and accepted the piping-hot java. “Thank you, Anna. I must say, I love this new brand of coffee you’ve found. What is the name of it again?”

She smiled. “It’s that Hawaiian Kona coffee—you know, the one Justice Keaton was raving about. She asked me to order some for you guys—something about how it would make you more agreeable with her positions,” she replied with a wink. Then she moved to fill the next justice’s cup.

Justice Lighthouse nodded. “Ah, yes. Barbara is quite the coffee connoisseur, isn’t she?” he said as if suddenly remembering a key detail. “It’s not my Jamaican Blue, but it’s pretty darn close,” he replied.

He lifted the coffee to his lips and took in a deep breath of the aromatic blend before taking his first sip. “Mmm. That might actually be better than my Jamaican blend,” he admitted quietly.

“Of course, it’s better than Jamaican Blue,” retorted Justice Barbara Keaton. “This stuff is grown in the soil of volcanic ash, giving it deep nutrients and minerals from within the bowels of the earth.”

Her comment elicited a few laughs from the other justices as they prepared themselves to hunker down in their deliberation room to hash over a decision on a particularly thorny case they’d heard at the start of their fall session.

“If you could, Anna, close the door on your way out. We’ll page you if we need another pot brought in,” Chief Justice Lighthouse said as he raised his coffee mug toward her in a sort of cheers motion.

He turned back to face his colleagues. “Well, I suppose we should get back to it,” he announced.

*******

Returning to the kitchen, Anna went ahead and prepared another pot of coffee, knowing all too well that they would be ringing her for a refill within another thirty minutes. The justices were, if nothing else, predictable in what they liked to eat and drink when in deliberation.

While Anna was getting the coffee ready, her cell phone buzzed, letting her know she had received a message. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw the image of her and her parents when they’d visited Beijing a couple of years ago. She smiled but felt a twinge of sadness. While her parents had immigrated to America when she was just a young child, many of her relatives still lived in China. She wished she could visit them more often.

“Are you still going to Niagara next month?” asked one of her coworkers.

She nodded.

“I still can’t get over the fact that you’re going to Canada in the winter, on purpose,” he said jokingly.

“I know, my boyfriend wasn’t so easily convinced, but the photography opportunities for me will just be unbelievable,” Anna explained. “Just wait until I come back with amazing shots of frozen swirling ice sculptures.” She was really looking forward to having this adventure and spending time alone with her boyfriend, too.

“I still think you’re crazy,” her coworker retorted with a chuckle.

*******

Two weeks later, Anna and her boyfriend were enjoying themselves at the Casino Niagara after a full day of touring the falls and snapping endless photos. The cold temperatures had created beautiful formations of ice that looked like they had been designed by glass blowers. The light refracted off different parts of the structures, releasing beautiful blues and greens. At times, it was like walking through a castle of ice crystals made by Jack Frost himself. It was truly beautiful.

When Anna had taken enough pictures to feel like she had made the trip worthwhile, she suggested to her boyfriend that they check out the all-you-can-eat buffet at the casino in town and have some fun gambling at some of the tables. Throughout the evening, the two of them tried their luck at blackjack, craps, and a few slot machines.

Anna had just hit the bonus games at one slot machine, and she felt a rush as the bright colored lights flashed on the screen. She’d been down until then, and she felt the adrenaline course through her as she suddenly hoped to win big.

Suddenly, a man sat down next to her. Without looking at her, he placed a small L’Oréal lipstick tube on a ledge right between their two machines. Anna saw it and gave the man a slight nod of acknowledgment just as he got up and left. Then she opened her clutch like she was looking for something, and without a second thought, she reached down and grabbed the lipstick tube and quickly placed it inside. She waited until the machine stopped tabulating her wins and then she cashed out her money on the slot machine and moved over to a nearby bar.

Getting the bartender’s attention, she ordered a martini. While the bartender was fixing her drink, another man walked up to her, a drink already in his hand.

“When the time comes, all you have to do is pour it into their drinks, and it’ll do the rest,” he said casually, quietly, and without making eye contact.

“How will I know when I’m supposed to do it?” she asked.

“Someone will reach out to you. For right now, find a safe and discreet place to hide it. When you’re told to act, you’ll have forty-eight hours to follow through.” With that, the man stood up straight and walked over to the craps table he had passed up just a few moments earlier.

“Here you go, ma’am. That’ll be eight dollars,” the bartender said as he handed her the martini, oblivious to the conversation she’d just had.

Smiling, Anna pulled a ten out from her clutch and handed it to him. “Thank you so much. Please, keep the change.”

She grabbed her drink and went to go join her boyfriend, who was somehow killing it at the blackjack tables. Then again, he was a bit of savant when it came to numbers. Maybe that was why she’d latched onto him. He was a brilliant programmer at the NSA, though she had yet to determine exactly what he did there.

The rest of their trip went by uneventfully, though she believed her boyfriend was starting to develop a real attachment to her.

A few more months and I’ll have him spilling his guts to me on what he does at work, she thought mischievously.

*******

New York, New York

United Nations Headquarters

Johann Behr was elated. Not only was he the new Secretary-General of the UN, but in his first six months, he’d managed to get a resolution for a new permanent UN peacekeeping force passed. Albeit the Americans vetoed his first attempt, but he eventually got it passed in the general assembly and put it into effect. The Prime Minister of Canada, Felix Gagnon, had even volunteered Canada to host the newly created force and offered their military bases and facilities to help train and mentor it. Things couldn’t be going better for Johann. Now, he just needed to rally the rest of his supporters to identify who could replace Sachs and steer the American government back into the UN fold.

A knock at the door brought him back to the current moment. Looking up, he saw an old familiar face and waved for his friend to come in.

“Lance, it’s good to see you again,” Johann said. He moved around his desk to shake hands with Lance Solomon, the new head of Goldman Sachs.

Johann and Lance had been friends for decades. While Johann was not a member of the secretive Skull and Bones Society like Lance was, he knew his friend represented not just the super wealthy and powerful within America, but also the secret organization itself. When Lance called for an appointment, Johann knew better than to make the man wait.

“Johann, it’s good to see you as well, my friend,” Lance said warmly. “I’m so glad you are taking charge here at the UN. We’ve needed a strong man in this position for some time.”

Smiling at the compliment, Johann replied, “I agree. I’m just glad we were able to make it finally happen.”

“Now that this resolution to create a permanent peacekeeping force is in place, it’s time we moved forward with some of the other pieces to this grand strategy, don’t you think?” Lance asked cryptically.

“I agree,” Johann responded. He walked back around his desk and pulled a small electronic device out of a drawer, showing it briefly to Lance before he switched it on and placed it on the coffee table. “I want to make sure this conversation stays private, so I’ve brought out the trusty electronic jamming device,” Johann explained. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

Lance nodded but didn’t say anything. He actually looked a bit calmer with the device running.

Johann cleared his throat. “I believe we now have a field of candidates starting to form to replace President Sachs. Do you have a particular person in mind?” he asked, waiting to see who Skull and Bones would be backing.

“We do,” Lance said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He’s actually one of your strongest supporters in the US Senate.”

“Marshall Tate?”

“Yes. He’s been selected by the Society to be our next president,” Lance said matter-of-factly.

Johann’s forehead scrunched up a bit. “I would’ve thought you guys would have backed the woman senator from California or the governor of New York.”

“Marshall’s a Skull and Bones, the others are not. It’s time we put one of our own back into the office again. We need to get the world’s trade policies back on track. This current ‘America Alone’ policy is wreaking havoc on things, and it has to be corrected.”

“You know, some of the others had a different candidate in mind, Lance,” Johann said.

Smiling, Lance responded, “I’m sure the others do have a different name in mind. But the others don’t understand American politics like we do. They also don’t know which candidate will be able to obtain the popular support needed to pull this off. Marshall isn’t just a member of Skull and Bones; he’s also been a mayor of a working-class city and a congressman of a working-class district before he became a senator. He’ll resonate with the type of voter we’re going to need to win over if our Chinese friends fail on their end.”

Johann bristled a bit. “Peng will not fail,” he insisted. “I have it on good authority that his network is already in place, and he’s already identified exactly how they’re going to tilt things in favor of whoever the nominee is.”

“Peng’s people had better not get caught. If they do, it could jeopardize everything,” Lance stated in an icy tone that indicated he might hold Johann responsible if things went south.

“He won’t get caught. We’ve already found our patsies,” Johann declared with confidence.

Now it was Lance’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “Do tell,” he said coyly.

Johann shook his head as he smiled. “The less you know, Lance, the less you can be held culpable for.”

Lance nodded and winked.

“What are your plans if things don’t work out with this UN peacekeeping force or we meet a greater level of resistance than we planned for?” asked Johann in a nervous tone. This was his biggest concern with the plan; he knew that despite political support and a formal request for assistance, his peacekeeping force would be viewed as invaders and meet heavy resistance from a very well-armed populace.

Waving the concern off, Lance responded, “We have that planned for. We’ll be bringing in private military contractors from other parts of the world when and if they are needed. We’ve already been talking with a few of the major PMCs about what-if scenarios. Funds are being set aside, so when the time comes, the money will be ready. You just need to focus on getting as large of a contingent on Canadian soil as possible. See if Peng can convince his masters in Beijing to pony up a larger force.”

Johann nodded and jotted down a quick note. “Agreed,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I’m still concerned about the US military. What if they side with Sachs when the time comes? How do we deal with that?”

“Let us deal with that end of things,” Lance insisted. “We have contingency plans in place for that as well.”

The two of them talked for a bit longer, going over some additional details before Lance Solomon left to head back to his own office at Goldman’s just down the street. They would be working together a lot over the next year, so Lance planned on being close to the UN headquarters for a while.

Chapter 5

Social Call

Washington, D.C.

Georgetown

Patricia Hogan’s Residence

Sipping on a glass of fine scotch, Patricia Hogan looked over at Riku and asked, “You’re certain this blockchain voting is secure? It’ll work?”

After the successful 2018 pilot of iVote in West Virginia, many of the state’s governors had agreed to offer their constituents the opportunity to use this system during the nation’s primaries. Depending on the program’s success, it could then be used in the general election later in the year. It was initially thought that many people would be opposed to iVote; however, once it had been announced that primary voters would have the option to try it, an overwhelming number of people had signed on to it.

“It’s secure, Director,” Riku replied. He took a sip on his own stiff drink.

“Please—call me Patricia or Patty when we’re not in the office,” she replied. She looked over toward the dining room. It looked like the caterers were nearly done with their preparations for tonight’s dinner. Patty had invited most of her senior staff over for a private holiday party at her Georgetown home.

“Sorry, I guess it’s just force of habit,” Riku replied. “It’s really nice of you to host this year’s Christmas dinner at your home. It’s beautiful.”

Patty’s husband, William, walked over to her and kissed her on her forehead. “If she didn’t host it here, I’d never get a chance to see her,” he said good-naturedly as he took a seat on the couch next to her.

Riku chuckled at the comment. “Yeah, I think that’s why I’m still single. I didn’t think I’d like public service when I left Silicon Valley to take this position, but I must say, it’s really neat to be in a position where I can help to make government more responsive to the people by integrating new technologies. The virtual form system we’ve been developing for all the agencies alone has increased response times to consumers and sped up numerous request processes. I’ll admit, though, I did think I’d have a bit more time to date once I left the corporate rat race—man, was I wrong. These government jobs can be just as all-consuming.” Riku seemed a bit glum. The holidays were always a lonely time when you didn’t have someone to share them with.

“That, my friend, is why you only stay in the senior ranks of public service for a period of time and then get out,” Patty replied.

“How do you know how long to stay in, though? There always seems to be so much to do. Once you finish one project, another one pops up and then another and another. It seems like you could literally stay in this job forever and never fully accomplish anything. Plus, you never know if you’re going to be allowed to stay in your position past the next election.”

Leaning forward, William looked Riku in the eyes. “It’s simple, Riku. You set goals. You go into the position with a set of objectives you want to achieve and a timeframe you want to accomplish them in. Once you’ve completed that mission, you either get out or you establish another set of goals. If you don’t do that, then the job will consume you, and one day you’ll find yourself fifty years old, alone and miserable.”

“That’s a rather depressing way to describe it, William,” Patty said as she lightheartedly jabbed her husband in the ribs. “This is a holiday party, and you’re going to break this poor man’s spirit.”

Riku laughed at the banter. “When you took this job, Patty, what did you want to accomplish? What needs to happen for you to feel like you can move on satisfied?”

Sighing, Patty looked down at her now-empty glass of scotch before replying. “For me, it’s about border security. I’ll be able to leave this job satisfied once I know I’ve made a difference. Judging by the progress we’ve made on the border wall, I think I’ll feel comfortable about leaving at the end of Sachs’s first term.”

Riku smiled. “So, you’re really a border wall person?” he asked. “I kind of thought you were just going along with what the President wanted, you know, picking and choosing your battles.” He still held a lot of the liberal ideals he’d been raised with in California, and he’d made no secret about the fact that he thought a barrier was a colossal waste of money.

She shook her head. “No, I’ve always been a proponent of it. My sister’s husband was killed by a drunk driver eight years ago. The man that killed him was an illegal immigrant who had been deported three times. I can’t help but think that if we had a system or process in place that would have kept him out of the country, my brother-in-law might still be alive. So, for me, it’s personal.”

She chuckled. “I mean, look around Georgetown, Riku—we’re surrounded by the rich and influential people who run this country. Nearly all of them have walls around their homes. Why can’t the less fortunate, the working poor of our country also be protected from those who have entered our country illegally?”

“Yeah, but don’t you think we need these immigrants to do the jobs average Americans won’t do? How do you square that stance with the realities of what’s needed just to sustain our society?”

Patty’s husband grabbed her empty glass and headed to the wet bar. “I’ll get everyone some refills before this conversation gets too deep,” he said. William left to give them a few minutes to chat and to check on some of the other guests. Many of them were still either on their way or starting to arrive.

“You bring up a very good point, Riku. As you know, that’s also a major issue our department has been working on with Congress. This past budget finally worked to address some of that by raising the number of unskilled visas to one million annually and also streamlining the process for those who want to apply for citizenship. We have a skills gap; no one is disputing that. But we can’t flood the market with millions of unskilled workers, especially when they don’t speak our common language. It’s not fair to our own unskilled workers or those who have done the right thing and waited in line. It’s a balancing act, but I think this last bill that passed a few months ago has finally righted that ship, if you will.”

Riku reached up to accept his refilled glass from William. “I think you may be right, but time will tell. We’ve kind of cut ourselves short by limiting the number of H-1B visas. The tech and medical sectors are dying for more skilled labor and can’t seem to find it.”

Waving the concern off with her hand, Patty replied, “That’s a problem those organizations should be addressing directly with the universities and technical colleges. Importing cheap, specialized labor only fattens their wallets at the expense of our own citizens. Why pay an American software engineer a $140,000-a-year salary when you can import one from India or China through the H-1B visa program and pay him half that? It just improves corporate profits.”

“Right now, these companies don’t have to invest in their retirement programs, and they can downsize and ship them back to their country when they’re done with them. No, I think if the medical community and tech giants have a shortage, they should be working with community organizers and local educators to make sure college graduates and workers have the needed skills.”

Snorting at her reply, Riku retorted, “You’re kind of a socialist in that regard, aren’t you?”

“I suppose,” she said, not liking the use of that word in reference to her own political beliefs. “I guess I’m just tired of Wall Street and the tech giants dictating policy that only enriches themselves at the expense of our citizens and the government.”

Changing subjects, Riku asked, “So, what did you think of the debates last night? Did any one particular person stand out to you?”

She sighed at the direct mention of politics. “To be honest, I didn’t watch it and I haven’t really seen any clips. Perhaps I should be paying more attention, but let’s be frank—if any of them win the election, neither of us will be in their administration.”

Riku chuckled at the nonresponse. “I suppose you’re right,” he responded. “Maybe I was naïve in thinking that I might be able to ride this position no matter who wins the next election.”

“No, not completely,” she said, walking back her earlier comment. “You have an important position implementing the upgrades in Homeland’s technology, especially with the new blockchain voting. But you’re also in a politically appointed position, and everyone who’s in those slots tends to get the axe when the opposition party takes over. That’s not to say you definitely won’t be able to stay, but the trend has been to bring in their own people.”

The rest of the evening progressed over several courses of food and a white elephant gift exchange, which proved to be rather comical. It was a nice break from their all-consuming jobs and a chance to unwind socially with each other.

Chapter 6

Election Preparations

September 2020

Seattle, Washington

University of Washington

The campaign grind was really starting to ramp up now that the nominating conventions were done. It was now a sprint to Tuesday, November 3, and the presidential election. With the first debate less than a week away, Senator Marshall Tate had largely secluded himself with his debate prep team in his hometown of Cleveland, Ohio, to get ready for what was sure to be a raucous debate with President Sachs.

However, despite the prep, his senior advisor had insisted that he hold a campaign rally at the University of Washington in Seattle. The rally, of course, was a cover to allow him to meet with a small cabal of his financial and political backers.

*******

“This way, Senator,” said his aide as he held the exit door open to the stairwell. The two of them walked down the flight of stairs with his Secret Service detail, which guided him down the poorly lit passageway that led to the basement of the building. Once at the bottom, one of the agents held the door open as they entered a dark hallway. Another agent stood opposite them, guarding a door to a small room.

“OK, enough of the cloak-and-dagger crap,” Marshall said. “Why can’t we have lights on, anyway? This is ridiculous.”

“We’re trying not to attract attention, sir,” the Secret Service agent replied, “and several of the people in the room have asked for discretion as well.”

This had better be good, Senator Tate thought. I’m supposed to be preparing to debate this buffoon, not holding a campaign rally in a reliably safe blue state.

When the agent held the door opened for him, Marshall was immediately surprised by the sight of the folks who were waiting to see him. It was not who he had expected.

“Welcome. Mr. President,” said Roberto Lamy, the current Director-General of the World Trade Organization.

“Yes, welcome, Mr. President. We have a lot to discuss,” said Peng An, the head of the China Investment Corporation. He motioned for the senator to take a seat at the lone empty chair.

Still a bit stunned by the people he recognized sitting in the small circle, Senator Tate walked gingerly to the empty seat and sat down, unsure of what was about to happen until he saw Lance Solomon.

At that moment, he knew exactly what was going on. Despite him and Lance both being Skull and Bones members, he hadn’t had much contact with his Society brother. Their paths had crossed a few times, but Senator Tate mostly knew of Lance from the few times he’d attended events at Goldman Sachs with his wife.

I always heard of backroom deals being cut by powerful men, but I never thought I’d be involved in them, Marshall thought.

Erik Jahn, the manager of the Norway Sovereign Wealth Fund, held his hand up to forestall any questions. “Mr. President, we asked to hold this intimate gathering to discuss with you your future.”

Senator Tate lifted his chin up slightly as he felt his ego simultaneously being puffed up and bruised. This group of men thought they could discuss my future…as if I need their help, he thought.

“I think I’ve done pretty well for myself up to this point,” he said with a tepid smile, careful not to offend those who appeared to be his secret benefactors. “And I’m not President…yet.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Erik replied. “But that is only a formality we must deal with until November third. On November fourth, you will be President-Elect, and the world will be drastically different.”

“Why exactly am I here at this meeting?” asked Senator Tate. “My poll numbers are strong, and the current president’s unfavorable numbers continue to rise.”

“Relax, Marshall. You know why you’re here. This is your first official meeting as President-Elect,” replied Lance reassuringly.

Smiling, Marshall let out a soft sigh and nodded for them to continue.

Leaning forward, Roberto simply said, “You know what makes the world go around? It’s trade. Commerce. Money. That’s what makes the world run, Senator, and America is a big part of that. However, the last four years have been an utter disaster for global trade. The world’s largest trading partners now find themselves locked in a deadly trade war that has spilled over into Europe and the rest of Asia. I don’t need to tell you how severely this has riled the world’s financial markets. It has also led to the rise in dozens of ultranationalist governments both in Asia and Europe. This is 1938 all over again and something has to be done to stop it.”

“I agree with you, Roberto. But until I win the election, and that’s still a big if, I’m powerless to change the government’s current stances on these issues. Even as a senator in the minority party, we’ve been unable to stop the current administration. But I can assure you that if I’m elected, I will be reversing these trade tariffs and will work to restore the world’s trading markets,” Senator Tate said as he sought to appease these powerful men.

It suddenly occurred to him that Vancouver was hosting the World Economic Forum, which would explain why all these men were in the same place at the same time. It also suddenly clicked why his campaign staff had insisted on holding a rally in Seattle, a mere few hours away by car.

“We need more than that, Senator,” Peng insisted. “You cannot lose. No, let me rephrase that. We,” he said, waving his hand around the circle, “cannot let you lose. There are certain things that are going to happen to ensure you win. We need you to go along with them. We need you not to fight them,” he said cryptically.

Senator Tate’s face crinkled. “What do you mean certain things are being done to ensure I win? The administration moved forward with the iVote system—you know, the blockchain voting app. My advisors tell me this is the most secure way to vote. It’s virtually foolproof.”

Shaking his head, Erik remarked, “Nothing’s foolproof.”

“What do you mean by that? Can the system really be hacked?” Marshall asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it can’t be hacked,” said Johann Behr. “But Erik is not talking about that. Not everyone can or will use the new electronic voting app. That’s our angle. That’s how we are going to ensure you win.”

Erik held up his hand. “It’s best if you don’t ask a lot of questions, Senator. We just want you to be aware that powerful forces are at work to ensure that you prevail in November. Nothing is being left to chance.”

Marshall shook his head. He wanted to win, and he believed he could and would win. But what these men were talking about…was treasonous. It was cheating, and it demeaned the very office he sought to obtain.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea…,” he finally said cautiously. “I think I can win on my own. If you get caught, or word ever got out that the election wasn’t fair, that a foreign power directly changed votes, it would delegitimize the election and my presidency. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.”

Standing up, Peng exclaimed, “Forget the risks! There will be war if Sachs remains President. He has to go. Your elections are a joke. Less than 50 percent of your population even votes, which means the US and the rest of the world is left with whoever receives the votes of 26 percent of Americans. Enough is enough! When the election is over, and you are President, those who voted for you will obviously accept you as President and those who didn’t vote for you…they can be dealt with later.”

“Peng, please calm yourself. Sit back down. Let’s keep this civil,” Erik said, trying to play peacemaker. Turning back to Senator Tate, he added, “This is serious, Senator. There are more than seven billion people in the world. We can’t allow the global economy to be dictated to by Sachs and his small group of supporters. When you win, you will have our full support and backing. We’ll assist you in any way possible to make sure your transition is successful and your administration succeeds.”

“If there are problems with people accepting you as President—or worse, let’s say Sachs doesn’t want to relinquish power—then I need you to request the UN send in a peacekeeping force to assist you in a peaceful transition of American democracy,” Johann said. “You’ll have the backing of the UN and the majority of the world’s major economic players. You’ll assume control of America and right this economic ship.”

Marshall just sat silently for a moment, stunned. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then again, as much as it disgusted him to think of what these men might do to influence the election, he couldn’t fathom another four years of the Sachs administration either.

Perhaps they’re right, he finally decided. Maybe extreme measures need to be taken to right the world order.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Here he’d gone to Washington to fight this exact type of cronyism, and yet, there he was, in a dark room with powerful men who wanted to reclaim the puppet strings. Only this time, he’d be the puppet they would be controlling.

Chapter 7

United Nations Mandate

October 12, 2020

Tampa, Florida

US Special Operations Command

Newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel Seth Mitchell was still getting adjusted to his new position. Following his recent promotion, Seth had been moved over to the commander’s office and was now working on a collection of special projects for the general.

In June, General Liam Royal had taken over command of US Special Operations Command. He had previously been the US Army Special Operations Commander at Fort Bragg and had a long history of working in a number of other classified programs within Special Forces, so he was well known and well liked. When he’d learned that Seth had previously been posted to the CIA and worked in the D.C. area, he had immediately looked to leverage him and his skill set.

Sitting on the Gulfstream as they headed to another last-minute meeting at the Pentagon, Seth thought this might be a good time to ask the boss a question about something that was bugging him. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what are your thoughts on the new UN leader?”

Looking up at Seth, his reading glasses halfway down his nose, General Royal replied, “Alexander the Great once said, ‘I do not fear an army of lions led by a sheep, I fear an army of sheep led by a lion.’ Behr is a lion, and the UN is an army of sheep. I think he’s dangerous.”

“They say Sachs is a nationalist—if that’s the case, then what is Behr? The man wants to create a large standing UN army to go around the world to ‘impose’ peace on various warring factions. I mean, what gives him the right to choose sides and dictate the internal workings of a nation?” Shaking his head in disgust, General Royal added, “I don’t trust him. As the German foreign minister, he was dead set against President Sachs’s trade stances and did everything he could to undermine the US in Europe.”

Seth snickered at the bluntness of the general’s assessment. “So, he’s not on your Christmas card list, then?”

The general just gave him a disapproving look.

“I take it you’ve had some personal dealings with him in the past?” asked Seth. He wondered why his boss had such an obvious disdain for the new UN Secretary-General.

“When I was stationed in Germany, he caused us a lot of problems. I just never really cared for him. He’s a bit of a German nationalist and seems to believe that if everyone would just be and act more German, the world would be a better place. I also don’t like how Germany has economically enslaved Greece, Spain, and many of the other poorer nations. As the foreign minister, he’s been heavily involved in that since the 2010 economic crisis. However, this new idea of a free-standing UN army is something I’m just not comfortable with.”

“Who’s going to foot the bill for this new force, and who’s going to provide the soldiers? That’s what I’d like to know,” Seth added.

A minute later, the steward came over and told them they were going to start their descent to Reagan International, which abruptly ended their conversation as they got themselves ready for the landing.

Two hours later, Seth found himself sitting against the back wall with a notepad and pen, ready to take copious notes for his boss along with two other junior captains who were the true scribes to their little party. Also in the room was the Secretary of Defense, along with the service chiefs of the other branches. To round out the meeting were the agency reps from the various intelligence agencies, who’d provide a quick brief before the meeting returned back to the full-time military soldiers, or “green suiters.”

Clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention, Secretary of Defense Charles “Chuck” McElroy started the meeting. “OK, everyone, let’s cut the chatter. We have a lot to discuss today. First, let’s turn our attention over to the DIA. John, what do you guys have for us?”

Standing up, the Defense Intelligence Agency rep surveyed the room before he spoke. “The DIA has picked up increased chatter on a number of extremist forums we regularly monitor. While some of the threats have been vague, we are seeing an increase in excited activity about some possible attacks we believe are potentially underway or are going to be timed to cause chaos and general fear in the lead-up to the election. We’ll send out an alert as we start to narrow down what the targets may be, and possible timelines of when the attacks may take place.”

The DIA rep quickly changed to another slide, highlighting China and Russia. “Intelligence shows an increase in military preparedness taking place within both China and Russia. Normally this would not be seen as a big deal; however, there are no joint military exercises or other military exercises planned by either nation until the spring of 2021. We’re still working our sources to try and figure out why both nations’ militaries appear to be ramping up their readiness. In addition to the increase in troop training, we’re seeing an increased stockpile of spare parts, munitions and fuel—reaching some of the highest levels since we first started monitoring these types of military action precursors. Again, we’ll send out a flash report if we identify anything suspicious or out of the ordinary as we identify it. That concludes the DIA’s brief.”

Great—short and sweet, with little substance, thought Seth. He shook his head at what constituted a brief.

“US Cyber Command, you’re up next,” Secretary of Defense McElroy announced.

The next speaker, a short, rotund man with Coke bottle glasses and disheveled hair, stood up. “Ah, yes, well. In the last several weeks, we’ve seen a substantial increase in the number of cyber-attacks against the nation’s election systems. Most of the cyber-attacks appear to be aimed at the various state voter registration databases. We’re also seeing attacks being directed at the iVote app vendor, which is of course responsible for running the blockchain voting system. While none of these attacks have been successful in penetrating the systems, the sheer volume of attacks being directed at them is cause for alarm. It’s abundantly clear that numerous foreign actors are attempting to interfere, or at least influence the outcome of our upcoming election, especially on social media.”

Before the man could go any further, the SecDef interrupted, “What’s being done to stop these attacks? Do we know who’s perpetrating them?”

“Um, yes,” the man said, wringing his hands nervously. “The attack signatures correlate directly to a series of known Russian and Chinese hacker groups. As to what we’re doing to stop them—well, the NSA has taken it upon themselves to launch a series of direct counterattacks against the groups and organizations behind them. In one instance, a series of hackers were found to be operating out of Cyprus. In that particular case, those four individuals, who had been working out of a rented office space, were summarily arrested by the local police at the behest of the FBI. Those hackers are now in the process of being extradited to the US, where I suspect the Department of Justice will probably be filing charges against them.”

The man smiled. “Another group was carrying out attacks from a location in Hong Kong. However, their computers were fried by a malicious code.”

McElroy nodded and appeared happy to hear that something was actually being done against those who were attacking the nation through the internet.

The CyberCom guy awkwardly concluded, “That completes our organization’s current hot topics.” Then the man sat down, clearly relieved to be done with his brief. Seth reflected that the poor guy looked like he was more comfortable behind a computer in a dark basement than briefing the Secretary of Defense and other military leaders.

Next came a tall, good-looking Hispanic man from the Department of Homeland Security. Seth thought the man was better suited to be a GQ model than a Homeland briefer.

“We’re officially a week away from early voting in most of the country. While we have seen an increase in the number of cyber-attacks against the vendor responsible for the blockchain voting app, there have been no breaches of the system. There have also been no breaches of the voter rolls being managed by the individual states or the replicant copy being held by Homeland.

“Another area of concern is polling security. Due to the increased chatter on a cluster of extremist chat boards, we’ve established eighty-two regional support teams of investigators, technicians and federal agents to assist local law enforcement at locations deemed likely terrorist targets.

“We’re also monitoring the entrance of known foreign intelligence operatives into the country. What is of particular concern is a recent spike in Chinese, Russian, and surprisingly, German intelligence operatives entering the US. In the past week, we’ve seen more intelligence operatives from these three countries crossing our borders than we’d previously detected in the past two years. This has, of course, been handed over to the FBI’s counterintelligence group, who is actively monitoring what these individuals are doing and who they are meeting with. That concludes our brief.”

The man immediately sought to sit down and seemed to disappear before he could be asked any questions. Sadly, like most of the folks in the room, Seth knew he was just a briefer and wasn’t going to be able to provide much more depth than what he’d already provided. It usually meant folks like Seth were stuck formulating follow-up questions to send to their individual points of contact for further clarification.

Seeing no further questions, the SecDef dismissed the interagency briefers, which just left the military commanders in the room. Now that it was just them, he shook his head and slammed his hands down on the lectern. “We know everyone and their brother is gunning for us in this election. The administration has made some serious enemies these past four years, and everyone wants their pound of flesh, especially the Chinese.”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “As of right now, we’ve been given no orders or direction by the administration in the case of foreign interference. While there may not be a military solution the administration can hand down to us yet, I can assure you CyberCom and the NSA are kicking the hell out of the hacker groups that are causing us some problems. I’ve been fully authorized to allow CyberCom to go on the offensive against these organizations and groups.”

The SecDef leaned forward on his hands. “What the briefers left out was the half dozen cyber-attacks we launched last week against the People’s Liberation Army and the Russian GRU. I firmly believe the Russian and Chinese mobilization of troops is in direct response to our electronic meatgrinder we just put them through. They’re pissed, and they’re going to look for ways to hit back. I want you guys to make sure your commands are ready for whatever they may throw our way.”

Turning to look at his European commander, McElroy continued, “I especially want you guys to keep an eye on what that kraut UN leader is doing. I don’t like this idea of a UN standing army that is answerable only to him. I really don’t like the idea that Germany and France have already agreed to place their national armies largely under UN control should they ever be needed. I also want you to keep an eye on what the Russians are up to. Make sure our Polish and Romanian allies are kept in the loop too. If things kick off with Russia, chances are they’ll be the only allies we’ll be able to count on for help.”

Shifting his gaze, the SecDef now looked at General Royal. “I want your snake eaters ready to deploy at a moment’s notice wherever they are needed. I’ve been told by the administration that if there’s a terrorist attack or massive civil unrest up to, or following the election, JSOC may be asked to provide ‘advisory support’ to local law enforcement. As we get closer to the election, keep your guys on a short leash.”

The meeting lasted another thirty minutes as the senior military leaders discussed a few contingency plans. Should things heat up in Eastern Europe or Asia, either prior to or shortly after the election, they already had protocols in place.

Secretary of Defense McElroy concluded the meeting with one final thought. “It’s during these periods of possible transfer of government power between the two political parties that America finds itself in its most vulnerable position. If the party in power loses, then the last thing we want to do is cause or rush into a military conflict that might tie the hands of the incoming administration. Unfortunately, America’s enemies know this and often try to use that transition period as a time to cause chaos. We have to make sure that our enemies know we’re ready for them, so they don’t try to get frisky.”

With the meeting done, Seth found himself and their two junior captains quickly following the boss to their waiting vehicle that would take them back to Reagan for the two-hour flight back to Tampa. It had been a short trip, but an enlightening one.

The flight went by quickly, with the captains typing up their notes and drafting up follow-up questions that would be sent to the various interagency groups. When they returned to MacDill, they’d have their hands full tracking everything down for the command brief that would be held the following day.

*******

The next morning, Seth walked over to the interagency bullpen in the operations center and quickly found Special Agent Leslie Clancy’s cubicle. Her office space was a corner cubicle, completely adorned with Ole Miss paraphernalia, including a decorative rebel gnome. As Seth approached her cube, he knocked on the edge of the half-wall, announcing his presence.

Leslie swiveled around on her chair to face him, a perplexed look on her face. “Oh, hey, Colonel Mitchell. How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m good, Leslie. You can just call me Seth,” he replied. He pulled up one of the empty chairs that was close to her cubicle and took a seat.

“Sorry, force of habit when I work with you military types,” she said, cheeks ever so slightly flushed. “What can I do for you, Seth?”

“Well, first, what has you so perplexed?” he asked. “You looked like you were trying to figure something out when I walked up.”

“We just received a flash message from Homeland before you came over. They think there’s going to be a terrorist attack on the first day of early voting in Mississippi.”

“Really? Do they have an idea on where or who may be involved?” Seth asked, genuinely concerned.

Leslie shook her head. “No, not yet. I mean, no, they’re not sure where in Mississippi it might happen, but they’re pretty certain ISIS is behind it.” She paused for a second as she turned around and reached for some papers. Finding what she was looking for, she turned around and handed Seth a paper with two mugshots on it. “These two guys were apprehended last night at the Canadian border. They were caught trying to cross at Highgate, Vermont.”

Raising an eyebrow, Seth quickly read the background on the first guy. He had previously been encountered by US forces in Iraq in 2009, when he was apprehended during a targeted raid on a terrorist safe house. He’d spent four years in prison before he was broken out of a Taji prison facility in 2013. Since then, he’d been a suspected ISIS leader in northern Iraq and Syria. His capture at the US border would raise a lot of security concerns.

“Any idea on who this other guy is that’s traveling with him?” Seth asked as he looked over what little info they had on him so far.

Shaking her head, Leslie responded, “Not yet. Neither of them is talking, either. Then again, we’ve only had them in custody for nine hours, so it’s still early.”

Hmm…maybe the boss could get JSOC involved in the questioning process, Seth thought.

“Are you able to make a copy of this for me? I’d like to show this to the general and get his take on it.”

A grin broke across Leslie’s face. “You want to see if he’ll get some of your folks from Bragg involved, don’t you? Well, don’t. This whole case is about to get blown up in the media. The FBI Director is going to make an announcement around noon about this apprehension. They want to highlight the administration’s efforts to ensure election security and further justify Sachs’s efforts in moving forward with the border wall funding outside of Congress.”

Seth’s forehead scrunched up. “Really?” he asked. “So, the administration is moving forward with the new border entrance fee to fund the wall?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows if he’s serious?”

After running into roadblock after roadblock from both the Senate and the House, the President had grown frustrated over the continued delays. Sachs had announced in a press conference that he would fund the border wall by imposing a one-hundred-dollar one-time border entrance fee on all persons entering the United States, or two hundred and fifty dollars per family. With nearly seventy-five million visitors traveling to the US annually, the new fee would raise more than $7.5 billion a year, which would be spent directly on building the border wall and have it completed before the end of his second term. While the plan was openly mocked in the media and decried by nearly every tourism group in the country, it had proven to be an incredible rallying cry for his base going into the home stretch of the election.

“Oh man, I can just see the administration milking this for all it’s worth,” Seth replied. “Well, still, I think the boss would like to see as much info as you have on these guys.”

Seth stood up.

“Hey, what was your question, by the way?” Leslie asked.

“Never mind. Your information is more pressing right now,” he said and walked over to the printers. A few seconds later, Leslie hit print, and Seth had what he needed and went back to his office space.

Chapter 8

Chaos

October 24, 2020

Hamilton, Ohio

Hamilton Lane Library

It was thirteen days until the hotly contested presidential election was finally over, and it couldn’t come soon enough for Terresa Ipson. The near-constant barrage of political ads on the radio, TV and social media was driving her absolutely nuts. Fortunately for Terresa, after she got done casting her vote that morning in the early voting polls, she was boarding a plane to go spend the next two weeks in Spain on a work trip.

As a certified public accountant working for KPMG, she traveled a lot. She had to admit, though, this next trip was one she was certainly looking forward to. She couldn’t wait to try the many different tapas restaurants along Calle Ponzano and finish it all off with a churro and hot chocolate.

Now if this line would just hurry up and move, she thought. I have to finish voting so I can get back home and finish packing.

She was catching the red-eye out of the Columbus airport to Madrid. She wanted to have a full day on the new time zone before they started the new project. From what she’d already seen, her work there was going to be a real challenge. A struggling leather manufacturer was looking to be bought out by an Italian firm, and Terresa’s team of CPAs was assigned to do some of the accounting prep prior to a formal agreement to purchase the firm.

“Lots of people in line today, isn’t there?” remarked a woman who was waiting nearby with her young son.

“Can’t we go yet, Mom?” begged the boy, who couldn’t have been more than five years old.

Noticing the woman and her son for the first time, Terresa replied, “There sure is.” Looking down at the boy, who must’ve been bored out of his mind, she added, “You showin’ him the ropes?”

Smiling at her young son, the woman said, “Yeah, figured I’d show him how the grown-ups pick our leaders. We stand in line, pencil in a name on a ballot and then hope for the best.”

“That’s sweet. I remember my dad used to take me to the polls when he would vote. He used to tell us it was our ‘civic duty,’” she said using air quotes. “I suppose he’s right. I’ll just be glad I don’t have to see any more political ads after today.”

“You know there’s still thirteen more days until the election is over with,” said the woman with a sigh. She was obviously tired of it all, too.

“Yeah, but I’m leaving for Spain tonight, which is why I’m voting now. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be eating my way through every restaurant I can before I need to buy new pants, blissfully ignorant of what’s going on back here. At least for a few weeks,” Terresa said jokingly.

While the two of them were talking and slowly moving forward, Terresa could see through the windowed entryway that a Chevy Malibu had pulled up near the door and abruptly stopped. Two men got out of the vehicle wearing khaki tactical pants, denim shirts and sunglasses. They each wore a single-point sling around their neck and shoulder with a short-barreled AR-15 attached to it. Before anyone could react, the first man raised his rifle up to his shoulder and proceeded to open fire on the crowd.

The little boy screamed and suddenly wet his pants. Terresa let out a frightened whimper before the part of her brain that longed for survival took over. She quickly grabbed the woman and her son and pulled them down under a table that was close to a couch.

They heard multiple gunshots in rapid succession. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.

The woman gently held her hand over her son’s mouth to keep him from screaming again and drawing the attacker in their direction.

From their hiding spot, they could see people running in all directions, looking for anything at all to hide behind. The attacker advanced toward the entrance to the polling stations, shooting voters in the back as they ran away from him.

He turned around and started to fire rounds to sweep up any bystanders who might have escaped his bullets so far.

Oh my God, thought Terresa, this is really how I’m going to die.

Before the attacker pointed his weapon in her direction, his body suddenly vibrated violently, and he slumped to the ground. A man who must have had a concealed weapon on him exited the polling area and put one more round into the attacker’s head for good measure.

The armed citizen turned his handgun toward the second attacker, but a barrage of bullets slammed into him, knocking him to the ground with multiple injuries.

Terresa could hear the attacker shouting something and moving closer to the mysterious hero, when suddenly, police sirens blared, and she heard screeching tires not far away.

The gunman turned his attention toward the more imminent threat, firing in the direction of the entrance, where he must have spotted cops. In that brief instant of distraction, the wounded man used the last remnants of his strength to raise his pistol up. He fired his weapon several times at the attacker, hitting him in the back. Then his strength failed him, and his arm dropped back down.

Terresa’s Catholic upbringing shot back to her, and she immediately made the sign of the cross, praying for the hero who had just saved her life.

Several police officers came in. One shouted, “Attacker one dead, weapon removed!”

Another echoed, “Attacker two down, weapon removed.”

They started to examine the man who’d shot the first gunman, and Terresa bolted out of her hiding spot. “He was one of us,” she declared. “He saved our lives today.” The officer quickly checked for a pulse, but after a moment, he just looked back at Terresa and shook his head.

In the span of sixty seconds, the two gunmen had managed to kill fourteen people and had wounded another nine. The administration’s fears of a terrorist attack on a polling station had unfortunately come true.

*******

Chandler, Arizona

Chandler Sunset Library

George Zeeks nervously checked his watch as he waited for the next person in line to move forward into the library. He’d made the mistake of thinking he could swing by the library and vote early and then grab a pizza on the way home for his wife. She’d been feeling under the weather, and rather than having her prepare dinner for their four girls, he thought he’d surprise everyone by bringing dinner. The only problem was, he now found himself stuck waiting in a crowd.

Ugh, when I showed up, it didn’t look like there was much of a line, he thought.

Once he’d parked his truck, he’d pulled his smartphone out and placed an order at their favorite local pizza joint before he walked toward the building. Unfortunately, by the time he’d meandered over to the entrance, a few dozen people had shown up and gotten in line ahead of him.

Crap, I just wanted to cast my vote and get back home. Maybe I should’ve tried that iVote app, he bemoaned.

“Excuse me, ma’am, you can go inside now,” said an elderly poll worker, who held the door of the library open for a woman who appeared to be oblivious to the fact that the line had moved.

Seeing the woman not move right away, a man behind her grumbled something, which caused the poll worker to shoot him a very stern look. He immediately quieted down. Then, the woman at the door looked up and suddenly lurched forward, shoving the poll worker to the ground as she ran her over in an attempt to get inside the library. Just as George and a couple of other people began to move toward the elderly woman to check on her and see what the heck that lady in line had been thinking, a massive blast wave enveloped everyone. A brief flash of flames was quickly followed by a barrage of shrapnel. An overpressure of air blew out their eardrums as tungsten ball bearings shredded their flesh.

Lying on the ground, in shock, George observed small pieces of paper, presumably from books and magazines, slowly drifting back down to earth. Some of them were on fire, the embers quickly burning away whatever words had been written on them. Looking down at his body, George suddenly realized his left arm was missing, and parts of his intestines had spilled out of his body. As he saw the spurts of blood squirt out of the stump that used to be his left arm, he laid his head back down on the sidewalk and watched the papers falling.

As the words disappeared before his eyes, he realized that this bomb was doing the same thing to his life—erasing what was left of it. He felt no pain. As he thought about his daughters and his wife, a single tear rolled down his cheek, and then he took his last breath.

*******

Tampa, Florida

Davis Island

Despite it being nearly November, it was still a balmy eighty-four degrees outside, hotter if you were in the direct sun. For Seth, this was one of those rare weekends he wasn’t having to travel with the boss, and he was determined to enjoy the time alone with his family. No cell phones, no emails, just the six of them secluded in their backyard, grilling some burgers and hanging out in the pool. Lying on a floaty, Seth closed his eyes and turned his head away from the direction of the sun, letting out a deep breath as he just let his body relax.

Suddenly, a massive plume of water erupted and covered his body. Seth looked up, shocked, to realize that his son, Eric, had just landed a cannonball jump right next to him. The wave of water nearly flipped him over as he flailed his arms and legs out to stabilize himself on the floaty. A roar of laughter could be heard from his daughter, Lily, and his wife, amused at his attempt not to fall off the floaty.

“Got you, Dad!” yelled Eric as he popped his head above the water.

Wiping the water from his face, Seth looked at his son with a smile quickly spreading across his face. “You sure did. That was a huge wave. We got to stop feeding you all those burgers and steaks, I think,” he replied. Everyone giggled.

His daughter joined in, landing a cannonball right next to him and knocking him clean off the floaty he’d been lying on with a huge splash. They spent the next five minutes throwing water at each other, having fun and goofing off in the pool, before his wife, Dana, walked out onto the patio, holding his cell phone in her hands.

“Hey, I thought we agreed no cell phones today,” she said, frowning.

Still treading water in the deep end of the pool, Seth looked up at his wife with a quizzical look on his face. “I did,” he said. “That’s why I left it on vibrate in our bedroom.”

“Well, I was changing into my swimsuit, and the stupid thing kept buzzing and buzzing,” she explained. “You should answer it and tell them you’re not on duty until Monday morning. This was supposed to be our weekend with no work, remember?”

Sighing, Seth swam over to the side of the pool and proceeded to pull himself out of the water. He walked over to his wife, who he couldn’t help but notice was looking exceptionally hot in her swimsuit these days, and reached for the phone.

He quickly looked at the screen and saw six missed calls and several new text messages. He also saw several news alerts. His pulled down the notifications first.

23 people shot, 14 killed at early voting poll in Ohio

Apparent suicide bomber kills 17 people, wounds 11 at polling station in Chandler, Arizona

5 people shot, 1 killed at Democratic campaign office in South Carolina

Car bomb kills 13 people, injures 19 at polling station in Arlington, Virginia

“Holy crap. What the hell is going on?” Seth mumbled.

He listened to the first voicemail, a message from command letting them know they were being placed on alert. The second message stated that they were instituting a full recall, and he had two hours to report back to base.

Seth looked at his watch and saw he had roughly twenty minutes before he’d bust that two-hour report time.

Crap, I have to get ready, he thought.

Looking back up at Dana, he hurriedly explained, “There’s a recall. I have to get dressed and head back to the base. There were several terrorist attacks.”

Seth didn’t wait for her reaction. Instead, he quickly moved past her to head back into the house and throw his uniform on. As he walked, he hit the callback button to speak to his office.

His wife followed behind him. “Oh my God!” Dana gasped. She had picked up her own phone and was thumbing through the news alerts.

She quickly walked over to the nightstand, grabbed the TV controller and turned it on. The screen lit up while Seth was throwing on a fresh pair of Tommy Johns and his ACU trousers.

The images that flashed on the screen were horrific. Torn and bloody bodies from the terrorist attacks were splashed across the news as several talking heads dissected what had happened.

Seth saw the concern written on his wife’s face, and he knew he needed to reassure her. He hated to leave her and the kids at a time like this; they’d be scared and concerned. But he also knew he had a job to do, and that meant he had to head to the base.

“Hey. It’ll be OK, all right?” he said as he put his arms around her shoulders reassuringly. “These attacks weren’t nearby. We’re safe, OK?”

She nodded her head and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Just stay safe and call me when you can,” Dana said. “Let us know when you’ll be back or if you’re going to be gone for a little while.”

Nodding, Seth sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. He held her tight for a moment before he bent his head down and kissed the top of her head. “It’ll be OK. Just order pizza or something and stay in for the weekend. This place is safe,” he said.

She looked at him with tears welling up in her eyes. “I know you need to leave like the super soldier that you are…but I don’t feel safe,” she said. “That attack in Arlington—it was at the library that we used to take the kids to. I know that library. We may know some of the people who were killed…”

Biting his lower lip, Seth just nodded. He knew a lot of people in that area too. “I know. If I find out who was injured before they release it in the media and it’s someone we know, I’ll call you, OK? I do need to get going. I’m really sorry, babe.”

She nodded and let go of him. “Just call me if you’re not coming home tonight or going to be late, OK? The kids will want to know where you are.”

“Will do,” he responded. He started walking toward the corner of the closet that held his go bag with a few days’ worth of clothes in case the boss sent him somewhere. As he picked it up, he turned back to Dana and said, “I love you.”

At that time of day on a Saturday, there was almost no traffic, so it only took him fifteen minutes to drive the short distance to the base, find a parking spot and start walking into the building. As he approached the turnstiles, Seth saw that a line had already formed as soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen were rushing to return to duty. It took a few minutes to shuffle through that gaggle and officially get inside the building.

As soon as he entered, he quickly noticed it was a madhouse. The military police who guarded the facility were wearing full combat loads, sporting body armor and M4s.

The threat level for the base must have been bumped up to Delta, he thought.

He made his way past the security checkpoint and headed to the boss’s office. As he entered the commander’s little section, Seth saw his two junior captains, along with the rest of the staff, already present.

“Sorry I’m late. Had the phone on vibrate while I was out in the pool with the kids,” he offered quietly to a few of them.

“Eh, no worries, sir,” Captain Tulips said. “It’s not like anyone could have predicted today’s events. Let me get you up to speed on what’s going on. The general is still heading back to the base. He was apparently out on a charter fishing boat with some friends when the alert went out. The Coast Guard sent a helicopter to fetch him.” The captain guided him toward a small table on the side of their workspaces.

Shaking his head at what was going on, Seth asked, “Is the deputy commander here? Does he know what’s happening?”

Captain Tulips nodded. “Yes. He’s down in the Situation Room right now. Homeland and the NSA called an emergency meeting maybe twenty minutes ago. Colonel Budds is in the meeting with him. He said he’d brief you and the others on what he learns when he gets back.”

Seth sighed in relief. “Good. At least we’ll be able to get the CG up to speed when he arrives. I’m kicking myself for having left my phone on vibrate. My wife was insistent about us having a ‘family day’ today.”

“No worries, sir. You’re here now, so let me fill you in. A few minutes after the first attack happened, the Pentagon sent out a flash message, moving all the bases to Threat Condition Charlie. When the subsequent car bomb and suicide bomb went off, the boss called in and said to issue a full recall for the command. I think the Wing commander on the base and CENTCOM did the same once we made the call, just to be sure. Roughly ten minutes later, the Pentagon sent out a flash message raising the threat condition level to Delta for all CONUS facilities. It’s good you got on base when you did, because it’s going to be a pain in the butt to get on right now.”

“Man, what the hell is going on? Do we even know yet?” Seth asked, trying not to get distracted by the news reports being splashed across the TVs mounted on the walls in the office.

“At first it looked like an isolated incident. Then a second attack materialized, then a third. Then we got reports of a suicide bomber hitting one, and then a car bomb hit another. I think what scared the Pentagon was that several people filmed the attacks and the immediate aftermath. Those videos were uploaded to Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and YouTube, all with different captions.”

Captain Tulips showed Seth a couple of the videos. “If you look at this one, for instance, this is one where two gunmen opened fire on the people at the voting station. In one upload, the caption reads, ‘Antifa Members Open Fire on Early Voters in Conservative-Leaning Districts.’ You can see just how fiery the comment thread is here. Conservatives were outraged that liberals would resort to violence to keep President Sachs from winning, and many of the liberal comments, while not at all happy about the attacks, claim that the conservative party is truly the party of violence and hate.”

Seth was appalled by what he saw and the implications of what it all meant. His immediate reaction was that Antifa had finally crossed the line, but then he remembered Tulips said multiple versions of the same video with different captions were popping up.

Tulips handed him a tablet. “This is the same shooting incident, only the caption reads, ‘Black Lives Matter Thugs Kill White Voters in Conservative-Voting District.’ It’s the same incident, sir, but completely different messages aimed at different audiences, targeting the specific newsfeeds people are following.”

Captain Tulips directed his attention back to the desktop screen. “Look at this,” he said. “This is the car bomb attack. You can see the beat-up pickup truck with a rebel flag on it, pulling up to the library where everyone was in line to vote. The driver parks the truck, then hops into another vehicle and speeds away. The truck then blows up less than sixty seconds later. Now, look at the caption of the video: ‘KKK Member Blows up Car Bomb at Polling Station in Predominantly Black Neighborhood.’ Then the next window shows the exact same attack, but this time the caption reads, ‘Antigovernment III Percent Group Detonates Car Bomb at Early Voting Center in Democratic Stronghold.’ Again, same attack, different caption. These were targeted to different demographics, newsfeeds, and social media groups.”

Waving his hand at the TV, Tulips decried, “Even the mainstream media is falling for it. CNN ran with the video that this was an attack by the III Percent group against Democrats, while Fox News ran with the Antifa attack against conservatives. You don’t even want to see how fast this is spreading across Twitter, Facebook, and the other social media platforms, sir. It’s crazy.” Tulips shook his head in dismay.

Sitting back in his chair, Seth was stunned. Then he was angry. He couldn’t believe something like this was happening inside his country. They were less than three weeks away from the general election.

Turning back to face Captain Tulips, Seth said, “We need to find out who’s orchestrating this. Let me know when the boss arrives. I need to make some calls.” Then he got up and quickly headed to his desk. He needed to get on his JWICS terminal and get in touch with some folks back at Langley. He had a hunch, and he needed their help in tracking it down.

It took Seth several tries, but he eventually got through to the man he was looking for. “Trevor, it’s Seth Mitchell down at SOCOM. I need to talk,” he told his friend.

“Seth, this is a really bad time. Can we talk in a couple of days?” asked Trevor. He was clearly dealing with a crisis on his own side of the line.

“This is important, Trevor,” Seth insisted. “We’re reviewing the various videos and the different captions of the terrorist attacks. I need to know if you guys have been able to determine where the servers are that these videos are being shared from, and if they’re being shotgunned out by a host of bots.”

There was a pause on the other end. Seth almost asked if the line had been disconnected when his friend spoke up. “We’re still verifying those points, Seth. Is this a secure line?”

Pulling the phone away for a second, Seth saw the yellow tape on it and moved the receiver back to the side of his face. “Yeah, I called you from the JWICS phone,” he replied. “What are you guys seeing so far? The boss is on his way here shortly, and I need to have something to tell him.”

There was another short pause. “It’s bad, Seth. The videos were initially uploaded to the social media platforms here in the US on our networks, but once they were online, they were shared to several server farms in China, Russia, Eastern Europe and the Balkans. From there, literally tens of thousands of bots began sharing them across nearly every group and social media feed in the US. In less than five minutes, the various versions of the videos had been shared more than one million times. In thirty minutes, that number had climbed to thirty-two million. Now they’re spreading across the globe. The news media in Russia is reporting one version, while the BBC in London is reporting a completely different version with the same video. It’s complete chaos, Seth.”

Pausing for just a moment, Seth wasn’t even sure what to say or ask. His worst fear was confirmed. Someone had orchestrated a complex attack on the country and then weaponized the outcome of the attack to play to the worst fears of each echo chamber in America. The social engineering of the attacks would now spread like an unchecked virus across the country, only further fanning the flames of division and hatred.

“Is there any way to shut it down? Can we stop it?” Seth asked. “We need to get the correct information about these attacks out to the people. Also, do we have any idea who the attackers are? Maybe we can trace them back to whoever financed or supported them.” His mind continued to race.

“I don’t know, Seth. We’d have to completely shut down the internet or social media to do that,” said Trevor, clearly exasperated. “I just don’t know. We have a call with some folks from the NSA. If anyone can squash this, it’d be them, but it’ll take clearance from the White House, and they won’t have very long to make that decision. It may already be too late even for the NSA to intercede. Look, I’m sorry, Seth. I’ve got to go.” And just like that, the line went dead, and Seth found himself looking at the handset, wondering what the hell was going on.

We are clearly under attack by a foreign power or group, but who? he wondered.

Seth got up and headed over to the operations center. He knew the boss would head there first once he arrived, plus he wanted to share with them what his CIA friend had just told him. Maybe his piece of the puzzle might help to paint a better picture of what was going on.

When he walked into the ops center, Seth saw that the room was filled with military members, government contractors, and civilian employees, all manning the various computer terminals. It was controlled chaos in the nerve center as they began to filter through the various information feeds and tried to organize what they were seeing.

After sighting in on the person he needed to speak with, Seth made his way over to Chief Warrant Officer 5 Clarence Moore. “Chief Moore, I need to talk to you,” he said.

Is it just me, or did his hair gray a bit more since the last time I saw him? Seth asked himself.

Chief Moore was the senior intelligence man in the ops center. With thirty-six years of service in the military intelligence field, he had a plethora of information to offer. He held up a hand to forestall Seth’s question. “Hang on there, sir. I need to sort through this first. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Seth nodded and moved out of the way to the side of the room, so he could sort through something with a few of his NCOs and junior officers. A minute later, he walked up to Seth. “OK, sir. What do you have for me?”

Seth explained to him what his CIA contact had told him about, including where the servers and bots were located that were responsible for spreading this enormous disinformation campaign currently being waged across the country.

Chief Moore soaked in the information, then nodded, adding, “This is good, Sir. It adds to what we’re already seeing.” Before he could say anything further, General Royal entered the room and immediately walked up to the front, so he could face everyone.

For the most part, everyone stopped what they were doing when they saw the CG walk in and head for the center of the room.

General Royal cleared his throat. “Listen up, everyone. I just got off the phone with the SecDef. He said he just spoke with the President, Homeland, and the National Security Advisor. According to the CIA and NSA, there are a series of domestic attacks currently underway, timed to coincide with the election. Accordingly, the SecDef has raised the threat con to Delta and placed the military on a state of alert. All leave is canceled, and a full recall is being initiated as we speak.”

A soft murmur could be heard in the room as the colleagues shared nervous glances with each other. Seth thought he saw anger burning in some of their eyes that someone would have the audacity to launch such an attack against their country.

“We’re four hours into these attacks, so information on who all is involved or responsible is still sketchy at best. But rest assured, as soon as we identify who is behind this, they’re going to feel the full weight of the United States military, and it’ll start with us and this command. Grab your Red Bulls, people, and strap in, because it’s about to get real hairy fast.”

With his impromptu speech done, the boss made his way over to his side office he used when he wanted to stay near the action of the ops center. The colonel who normally worked out of the office made space for him, moving over to the empty desk space set aside just for this purpose.

Seth made a beeline for his boss. General Royal saw him approaching and waved him into the office. “You look like you’re dying to spit something out, Mitchell. What is it?” asked Royal.

Seth nodded. “Yes, sir. Have you been brought up to speed on the videos of the attacks and the different captions being used and circulated?”

The general nodded. “Yes. It was brought up during the telecon I just got off of. The NSA thinks they have some leads on who’s behind the social media part of the attack, but we’re still working to identify the attackers. What do you have?” he asked, obviously aware that Seth had probably reached out to his CIA contacts.

Seth brought the general up to speed on what they had uncovered up to this point. Chief Moore, who had joined the conversation midway through, added in what his analysts had as well. The informal group discussed the intelligence they had up to this point. Unfortunately, until they could identify who the individual attackers were and where they had come from, tracing the origins of the attack back to a specific group or organization was going to be challenging.

*******

Three hours later, Special Agent Leslie Clancy walked into the operations center and made a beeline for the temporary room where General Royal was working. As she approached the general, Leslie didn’t wait for an invitation to speak. She blurted out, “We have an ID on three of the terrorists—the ones that carried out the attack in Ohio and the lone suicide bomber in Arizona.”

The general had been in the middle of a conversation with a few of his senior officers when she walked in. Normally, he would have been aggravated by such an intrusion, but he pointed to the chair one of his colonels was sitting in, and the man quickly got up to make room for her to join them.

“OK, Leslie. Tell us what you have,” he said.

Sitting down, Leslie could see all eyes were on her. The men before her were looking for targets—people to go and kill. What she had to tell them would point them in the direction of who and where. It was an odd sense of power that washed over her in that moment. She brushed it off and pulled out a few pictures from a folder she was holding.

“Sir, these are the two attackers that shot up that polling station in Ohio. They’re brothers. Their names are Enar and Farouk Duka, ages twenty-four and twenty-seven. They traveled to the US roughly four months ago from Munich, Germany, using German passports. We’re currently trying to figure out how they were able to acquire those travel documents when they were clearly from Kosovo and had previously fought in Syria.

“We also IDed the female suicide bomber. Her name was Leonita Bajrami, age twenty-six. She’s from Struga, Macedonia, which is an Albanian enclave and trouble spot there. She arrived in the US roughly four months ago, just like the Ohio attackers. We’re still working on the IDs of the remaining assailants. I was told we may have more information in the next few hours, especially regarding the two individuals who placed the car bomb near the polling station in Georgia.”

General Royal turned to his J2 or intelligence chief. “I have to admit, I didn’t see this coming,” he said. “Do we have any idea what terrorist groups are operating out of those areas, Eddie?”

Brigadier General Eddie Pike leaned in. “Well, the region has always been a bit of a hotbed of Islamic extremism. It’s also right smack in the middle of the routes foreign fighters have been using to move between Europe and the Middle East and vice versa. Nearly all the Islamic extremist groups there have fallen in line with the Islamic State. As a matter of fact, in August of 2014, the Kosovo police had arrested some forty individuals for having fought in Syria. It’s estimated that close to three hundred Kosovars have traveled and fought with ISIS in Syria and Iraq. I’ll bet when the FBI and CIA look further into these individuals, we’ll probably find out they have ties to Syria.”

After thinking silently for a moment, General Royal turned to his J3 or operations chief. “What assets do we have in that area, Dekker?” he asked.

Major General Ed Dekker sported a smirk. “Third Battalion from 10th Group is currently on rotation in Constanta, Romania, and Drawsko Pomorskie, Poland. You want me to send them an alert for deployment to the Balkans?” he asked. “We could tell them to make plans for Camp Bondsteel in Kosovo; that’ll give us a base to operate from in the Balkans.”

“See which company can deploy to Bondsteel fastest and get them headed there,” General Royal directed. “Send a message over to the defense attaché’s office in Pristina and let ’em know what we’ve found so far and that we’re tasking an SF company to head to Bondsteel. I want to give the SecDef and the President some options. I have a feeling that if two of the attack groups originated from that region, chances are the others will as well.

“Oh, and, Ed, send an alert to JSOC. Tell them to spin up the unit and get them ready to go. If the President gives the go for operations in the Balkans, I want Delta on the move for follow-up missions. Make sure the 160th SOAR is also en route—they can support 10th Group for the time being.”

The group immediately dispersed and went to work getting things ready for what would almost surely turn into an authorization to launch a strike against whoever had perpetrated these dastardly attacks.

*******

Forty minutes later, Chief Moore walked up to Seth, a couple of his senior NCOs tagging along just behind. “Sir, if the boss gets the go-ahead for things in the Balkans, I want to send a team to Bondsteel. We’re going to need to boost our on-the-ground intelligence assets, and we’ll need some human intelligence collectors on standby as we start to snatch up some prisoners. Would you back me when I make the pitch?” he asked.

Seth looked at the eager faces before him. Everyone was looking for some payback, a chance to be at the pointy end of the spear. He nodded. “Yeah, I agree, Chief,” he said. “Good thinking. I’ll back you on it. I have a feeling whatever happens, it’s going to happen quick. The election is only thirteen days away.”

“You know you could try and come as well, sir,” Chief Moore offered. “You’ve served on the teams and you’ve got an intelligence background. We could use an officer who’s a shooter and intel weenie,” he added with a wry grin.

Snorting at the thought, Seth answered, “You’re reading my mind, Chief, but my wife would kill me if I left for an undetermined time. She’s still not over my last stint with the Agency. During the three years we lived in Virginia, I was probably home for all of five months. She’s pretty insistent on me reconnecting with my kids.” Seth couldn’t hide his disappointment. He was clearly torn between his duties to his country and his duty to his family.

Moore placed a hand on his shoulder. “I understand, sir. We’ve all been there. This isn’t exactly an easy job we’re in. It’s a lot of sacrifice that others just won’t ever understand. But moments like this one are also why we joined. I have a feeling we’re going to need your analytical mind on this one. You’ve got some past experiences we may need as well.”

“You’re alluding to my questioning experience in Yemen, aren’t you?” Seth asked.

Chief Moore nodded but said nothing.

“You know that’s highly classified, not to mention it nearly got me kicked out of the Army.”

“Yeah, but you’re still here. And more importantly, it worked,” Moore responded.

Seth reluctantly shook his head. “If we go to Kosovo, I’ll make a call and see if that option is still available. If it is, we’ll consider using it if the time comes. But it’s not going to be considered for just anyone. It has to be worth the risk,” Seth added.

Just then, Seth saw that General Royal had finished the SVTC he had been on with the President and his senior staff and started walking in that direction. Chief Moore apparently had seen the same thing and moved along swiftly beside him.

When they approached the boss, General Royal held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to ask—the President green-lit our deployment to Kosovo. As soon as the NSA and CIA identify the safe houses and those who were involved in this attack or supported it, we’ll start carrying out raids.”

He turned to Moore. “Chief, I want you to assemble and lead an analytical team on the ground at Bondsteel. Identify who and what you’ll need and get those assets airborne now. The Air Force is going to have a C-40 Clipper arrive here in two hours. Once it’s fueled and ready to go, you guys are to head straight for Kosovo.”

Next, he looked at Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell. “Seth, you’re going with them,” he ordered. “The Agency is sending a special interrogation team to Bondsteel. You’ve worked with them in the past, so I want you to stick to them like white on rice when the time comes. I’m not about to allow us to be frozen out of whatever the Agency uncovers. You know these guys—you have a rapport with them. More importantly, they trust you. Keep me in the loop on whatever you guys discover out there. We’ve got thirteen days until the election. It’s going to be pure chaos and craziness until it’s finally over, and God only knows how many more attacks they have planned.”

Seth nodded in acceptance. “I understand, sir. We’ll get these guys.”

With that said, Chief Moore and Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell split up to head back to their individual workspaces to make sure they had everything they’d need, grab their go bags and then make sure the people they were bringing with them were ready as well.

Seth took a minute to walk outside and found the locker where he had locked up his cell phone earlier. He quickly withdrew the key and turned his phone on. As he waited for the system to reboot, he tried to run through in his mind what he was going to tell his wife. He couldn’t tell her much, but she needed to know he wouldn’t be coming home tonight and most likely not for the next several weeks.

Looking down at his screen, he saw that his phone had been inundated with news alerts, missed text messages from friends and family, and several voicemails. Putting all that aside, he hit the speed dial to his wife’s phone. It rang twice before a familiar voice picked up.

“Seth? Are you OK?” she asked.

“Hey, darling. Yes, I’m OK. Are you and the kids all right?” he asked, concerned. He had left rather abruptly five hours ago. He was sure they probably had questions. The kids were probably scared by his quick departure in combination with everything that was going on.

“We’re doing OK. The kids want to know when you’re coming home,” she said.

He sighed. “That’s what I’m calling about. I can’t tell you much—you know how security is. What I can say is I’m going to be gone for a little bit. Before you ask, I don’t know exactly how long, and I can’t tell you where.”

He paused for a second to let his words sink in. He knew Dana would have questions. “Are you going to be in danger? Are there more terrorist attacks? Are we safe?” she asked in rapid succession.

Seth pulled the phone away from his head, letting his hand fall down to his leg. He wanted so badly to tell her what he knew, to confide in her. But he knew he couldn’t. At least not over the phone. Lifting the phone back to his ear, he explained, “You guys should be safe. Don’t travel far from home, though. Stay close to the house and make sure you carry that Sig I bought you everywhere you go, OK?”

He heard her sigh. “OK. I can keep the pistol with me, but you didn’t answer my questions about the attacks or if you’ll be safe,” she said, fear evident in her voice.

She never missed a beat, he thought, realizing that there were some downsides to marrying a woman so intelligent.

“I can’t say if the terrorist attacks are done or not,” he answered. “As to being sent into harm’s way… I’m in Special Forces. We’re tip of the spear. Just know that I’m doing everything I can to protect you guys and our country, OK?”

There was a short pause, and then she angrily retorted, “Damn you guys and your operational security. I hate being kept in the dark, never knowing what you’re doing or if you’ll be safe.” He heard another sigh. “I’ll tell the kids you had to do some work and will be gone for a little while. If you can, you need to figure out a good time to call and talk with them. They deserve to hear from you when you have a chance to talk.”

He nodded. “You’re right, Dana. When I get to where I’m going, I’ll do my best to find a time when I can at least talk to them for more than five minutes.” Seth paused for a moment as he tried to steel himself, wiping a tear away. “I have to get going, darling. I love you. I love the kids, and I’ll do my best to call again when I get a chance, OK?”

“OK, tough guy,” she said, obviously trying to buck up like a good soldier herself. “You hang in there, and don’t be a hero. Just come home when this is all done. I love you…my Captain America,” she said. Then she ended the call.

Wiping away another tear, Seth turned his phone off and placed it back in the phone box. He’d retrieve it again before they headed to the airfield to catch their ride.

Twenty minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell, Chief Moore and about two dozen others all stood outside the headquarters’ main entrance as they waited for the vehicles that would drive them over to the airfield and the waiting aircraft.

Three Air Force vans pulled up to the group of soldiers, who quickly piled in. After a short ride, they pulled up near the plane. Seth saw a K loader lifting a couple pallets of gear onto the C-40. When the vans pulled up to the staircase truck, the soldiers all piled out of the vans and proceeded to head up the stairs into the plane.

Seth suddenly realized he was the senior ranking officer of the group of two dozen soldiers loading into the plane. For some reason, it hadn’t clicked with him until that moment that no other colonel or lieutenant colonels were part of the team being sent to Kosovo. The closest officer in rank that was coming with them was an Army major, and Seth knew he was on loan as a technical expert from Delta. It made sense that he was coming with them; he was probably linking up with his team from Bragg.

The soldiers Chief Moore had tagged to come with them ranged from communications experts, cybersecurity, and IT subject matter experts to a handful of linguists who specialized in the languages they’d be dealing with once on the ground. Seth was glad someone had remembered they’d need some linguists.

Seth quickly settled into one of the leather captain’s chairs. He put aside all the swirling thoughts he was having about what he’d learned from his Agency friend. For the next few hours, his focus would be on trying to catch some sleep. Their overnight flight would take them to RAF Lakenheath in the UK to refuel before continuing on to Kosovo. If he was going to be sharp when he arrived, he had to catch some z’s.

Four hours into their flight, Chief Moore gently shook him awake and pointed toward the fresh cup of coffee sitting on the table nearby. “Time to get up, sir. We just got an intel dump from headquarters—lots of new information.”

After yawning and doing a deep stretch, Seth felt like a new man despite only having gotten less than three hours of sleep. His mind had been so tired that once he’d closed his eyes, he’d quickly fallen into a state of deep sleep.

Looking down at the coffee, Seth reached for it and quickly lifted it to his lips, drawing in as much of the hot caffeine-laden liquid as possible in one go. After a couple of large gulps, he stood up and stretched again, this time pulling and stretching out the kinks in his back. His spine popped and cracked more than usual.

I’m getting too old for this crap, he thought.

Seth walked over to the part of the plane that had a conference table set up and half a dozen soldiers sitting or standing around it. Looking further down the aircraft, he saw the rest of the soldiers all sacked out in their chairs, doing their best to grab some sleep before they made their first landing in the UK.

“Good morning, sir. Welcome back to the land of the living,” Master Sergeant Nance said happily.

“You’re entirely too cheerful, Sergeant,” Seth replied with a wry smile.

“Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell, this came in twenty minutes ago. We’re chewing through the information, but Chief said we should wake you up and get you up to speed.” He pointed to the documents. “The FBI finally IDed the other attackers, and they managed to capture one of them.”

Seth took a seat in one of the chairs and then grabbed the papers. He quickly scanned them over, looking for the pertinent pieces of information first.

Suspect One, identified as Ismail Gashi, age 32. Originally from Srbica, Kosovo. Traveled to the United States on a German passport 62 days ago. Was wounded in shoot-out with police, received non-life-threatening wounds. Is currently being questioned by FBI.

Suspect Two, identified as Jamaal Rexhepi, age 29. Originally from Mitrovica, Kosovo. Traveled to the United States on a German passport 41 days ago. Was killed during shoot-out with police.

Looking up at Master Sergeant Nance, Seth remarked, “I guess it’s a good call that we’re already on our way to Kosovo. It appears these attackers all originated out of this area. Do we have any additional information on any other attacks or other individuals yet?”

Shaking his head, Nance responded, “Not yet, sir. Hopefully, the FBI will be able to get the one guy we do have in custody to start talking. Until he does, there isn’t much more we have to go on just yet.”

Chief Moore added, “We’re still trying to figure out why these guys were traveling on German passports and, more importantly, how they got them.”

“Hopefully, someone from State is working that angle,” said Seth. “How much longer until we land at Lakenheath?” he asked. He wanted to get a sense of how much longer it’d be until they got to Kosovo. From RAF Lakenheath, it was still another six hours and twenty minutes to the Pristina International Airport.

One of the Air Force guys in their group replied, “We’re twenty minutes away from landing. The pilot should be coming on soon to tell us more.”

The remainder of the flight went by without incident, and they landed at the joint US-UK base to refuel and quickly got back on their way. By the time they landed in Pristina, a much bigger picture of what had been going on was starting to develop.

Through a temporary suspension of a few laws and an executive order, the Sachs administration had turned the National Security Agency completely loose to track down exactly who was propagating this information warfare campaign against America. Within minutes of being unleashed, the NSA had begun using their extensive power to squash as many sources, bots, and servers that were propagating the various videos of the terrorist attack as possible. One second, the videos were being shared across Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube—the next, they were simply erased.

The NSA was quickly purging the internet both domestically and internationally of the incidents to prevent them from being further propagated and used as a divisive tool to tear the country apart. Like a thief in the night, the NSA was deleting the videos and actively tracking down where the bots were originating from that were being used to push the clips.

What was quickly becoming evident in their quest was the number of hot spots starting to pop up throughout the Balkans, Belarus, Ukraine, Russia, China and, surprisingly, Germany. As the locations were narrowed down, a list of targets was quickly being generated. Home addresses of where the IP addresses originating from, along with any tangible link to who owned the home, such as who the electric bill was registered to, and who else might be staying at that home, were being compiled into electronic dossiers and sent to the Special Forces and CIA teams that were quickly descending upon the sleepy little backwater facility of Camp Bondsteel, Kosovo.

When the C-40 touched down at Pristina International Airport at 0700 hours, a group of Kosovo officials, including the Minister of Internal Affairs and the head of the Kosovo Police and Security Force, along with the US ambassador and the defense attaché, were there waiting for them.

As he stood at the top of the staircase that led out of the airplane, Seth looked around. He saw a string of six C-17 Globemaster cargo planes offloading a half dozen black suburban SUVs, and a dozen or so other armored personnel carriers. There were already a few dozen US soldiers scrambling over the various pieces of equipment and cordoning off the far end of the airfield for military use.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Seth extended his hand to the officials who were waiting to meet them.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell. I’m Ambassador Gary Goodman. This is Minister of Interior Ramush Ahmeti, and this is Pal Gashi, the Head of the Security Service. Essentially, all paramilitary and intelligence functions fall under Pal. This is General Ivan Lluka, head of the Kosovo Police and Border Police. I understand you’ve flown directly here from MacDill Air Force Base. I know you probably have a lot on your plate right now, but I would like to know if you could take a few minutes to meet with us and perhaps bring us up to speed on what’s going on. As you can see, a lot has suddenly happened in this sleepy little country, and it has caught everyone off guard.”

Seth didn’t have time to deal with this. He’d just been given a series of potential targets, and he needed to get eyes up on those marks so they could start to identify the individuals involved and then get the go order to start making arrests. However, seeing the sense of urgency in the ambassador’s countenance and the nervous looks by the other locals, he also knew if he didn’t take a few minutes to brief them on what was going on, things could end up getting bumpy. While the US did operate a base in Kosovo, it still needed their help.

He nodded. “You’re right, Ambassador. You guys should be brought up to speed. I’m not sure how much big State Department has told you, or what US European Command has shared with you, but I can give you some background on what I’ve learned. I’m sure someone more senior than me will be arriving soon to take charge of all this,” Seth said as he waved his hand around. “How far away is the embassy from here?”

The ambassador looked visibly relieved. “It’s not far, maybe fifteen minutes by vehicle. We can drive there. I’ll phone ahead to have the SCIF made available. Do you mind if you drive in the vehicle with me while we head to the embassy?” he asked nervously.

“Yeah, that should be fine,” Seth responded. “Let me just issue a few orders to the rest of my party so they can get the ball rolling on some things.” Then he turned around to find Chief Moore before the ambassador or anyone else could say anything further.

As soon as he spotted Moore, Seth made a beeline for him. He was yelling at a few soldiers when he walked up. “Hey, go find out if those Suburbans that are being offloaded are ours, or what their status is,” he ordered. They’d been told a half dozen up-armored Suburbans were being flown in to support them, with a few dozen more on the way. Since they were going to be operating in a nonpermissive environment, they couldn’t exactly run around in military combat vehicles.

Seth waved his arm to grab Moore’s attention. “Chief, I’m going to head over to the embassy for a short bit to talk with the ambassador and bring the locals up to speed. I’ll be on my government phone should you need to reach me. In the meantime, I need you to get things up and running as quickly as possible in Bondsteel. If these vehicles are ours, get them moved to the base and start handing out assignments to 10th Group. I’m going to see if I can’t get us a few local national security folks assigned to help us. They can probably provide us with a better lay of the land and help guide our guys better than we could on our own.”

“Copy that, sir,” Moore responded. “Just make sure the ambassador and the locals know the President has authorized our mission and given JSOC supremacy. We’re here to go after the guys that just attacked us.” He had a look of concern on his face.

Seth sighed. Everyone knew that when the politicians got involved in a military mission, they tended to screw it up. No one wanted to mess this one up—not if they had a chance of nabbing the masterminds of the attack on their homeland. This wasn’t quite 9/11, but it was still a coordinated violent attack on American soil, and for once, they knew where to find those who’d orchestrated it.

“Roger that, Chief. I’ll be in touch,” Seth replied. He pointed to Master Sergeant Nance. “I’m taking Nance with me. I may need him.” Chief Moore nodded, and when Nance gave him a pleading look, he just shrugged. Nance was obviously not too happy about being told he needed to tag along to go meet with the locals.

He wants to start working on the target packages, Seth surmised, holding back a chuckle. It made sense, since that was how he felt too.

After they’d walked back up to the ambassador and his crew, Seth and Nance climbed into the vehicles and began their trek to the embassy. Once they were alone in the vehicle, just the ambassador, his regional security officer or RSO, Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell and Master Sergeant Nance, the ambassador tore into them.

“Colonel, what the hell is going on? We’re seeing all kinds of horrific stuff going on back in the States, and then I’m getting called by the Secretary of State telling me things are about to completely hit the fan here in the Balkans. An entire company of Special Forces soldiers just arrived out of nowhere, and the CIA Station Chief tells me he has close to two dozen Agency assets inbound. What is happening here?”

Oh man, we’re going to have to get the CIA deconflicted with us or we could end up tripping over each other, Seth thought to himself.

He took a deep breath before he spoke, being mindful that they were in a car and not a SCIF. “It’s about the terrorist attacks,” he replied. “What you’re seeing on the news and social media is fake. I mean, the attacks themselves were real; they did kill people. But the captions identifying the attacks are part of a massive disinformation campaign to turn the country against itself.”

Seth explained in broad terms about the multiple captions attributed to the attacks and how they were being propagated to specific audience groups on social media. The ambassador just shook his head in shock and then dismay at what was happening.

“So, the III Percent group didn’t detonate a car bomb at a polling station in a Democratic stronghold?”

Seth shook his head. “No, sir. They didn’t. Neither did Antifa, Black Lives Matter, the KKK or any other alt-right or alt-left group. It was all straight-up terrorist attacks, disguised to look like domestic turmoil.”

The ambassador brought his hand up to his mouth. He looked visibly shaken. “And Kosovo? What does Kosovo have to do with any of this?” he asked.

“It’s not just Kosovo, sir. It’s the entire region. We just happen to have a base we can operate out of here. The people who perpetrated this attack, a number of them are from Kosovo—one of them is from Macedonia, another from Serbia, another from Albania. But the kicker to all of this is that the bots and servers propagating the misinformation are almost exclusively coming from Kosovo and Macedonia. There are others in Eastern Europe and Russia, but those are being handled by another team.”

The color washed out of the ambassador’s face. “What are you guys here to do? What exactly is going to happen?”

“The President has authorized military action against those who perpetrated this attack, which will be made public information very soon. We’ll look to coordinate with the locals, but we’re moving unilaterally, if necessary, to go after the targets. We’ve got a solid bead on them right now, and we’re not going to let them get away,” Seth explained.

Seth watched the road signs go by in silence for a moment. The RSO was bringing them along Highway M9 toward the R7 interchange, just like he was supposed to. Seth turned his attention back to the ambassador. He could see the wheels turning in Ambassador Goodman’s mind—he was clearly searching to figure out where he fit into all this. Seth knew he needed to turn this guy into an ally, or he’d be an impediment to him getting anything done here.

“Sir, if I may, I could really use your help with the locals,” Seth explained. “I’m going to need some serious political cover that can only come from you. I’m also going to need to know if they can assign some of their best police or security people to us to help with locating our targets and assisting with the takedowns when the time comes.”

The ambassador just nodded. His demeanor started to change as he realized the opportunity Seth was giving him. “OK, Colonel. I can be the point man for all things political. Just let me know what you need, and I’ll do my best to make it happen. Do you want me to loop in the ambassador over in Macedonia?”

Seth shook his head. “Not yet. If you can, find out from headquarters how they want to loop in the other ambassadors. Chief Moore is going to get the other senior defense officers in the other countries brought up to speed on what’s going on. They’re all being told in no uncertain terms that they are not to interfere with our orders or operations. They’re in a support function for the time being.”

Before the ambassador could respond, what appeared to be a small beat-up vehicle parked on the side of the road exploded as soon as the lead vehicle carrying the Minister of Internal Affairs and the other Kosovar officers passed by it. Seth put his arm up to shield his eyes from the blaze of glory and suddenly realized that he was weightless. He forced his arm away and saw that the vehicle was rolling over sideways. The feeling of zero gravity quickly disappeared as he was slapped against the ambassador and then the door. The vehicle rolled two more times before coming to a stop upside down.

When their vehicle eventually came to a halt, Seth desperately tried to shake off the effects of the blast. He was still strapped into his seat, dangling. He looked over and saw the ambassador hanging from his own seat belt, lifeless. Looking to the front, he saw Nance struggling as well. The RSO who had been driving the vehicle was also in bad shape.

While he was still trying to figure out exactly what had happened, Seth started to hear some voices. Worried that whoever had just bombed them might be coming over to finish the job, he managed to pull his utility knife out from his belt and cut himself free of his seat belt. He then reached up to the front of the vehicle and looked for the RSO’s sidearm. “Shhh,” he said, his index finger held to his lips. “I think whoever just blew us up is heading over here to finish us off. I need your gun.”

The RSO, barely conscious at this point, nodded and handed him his sidearm, a Sig Sauer P226. With the pistol in hand, Seth kicked his door hard. The noise must have drawn the attention of whoever was out there, because someone suddenly shouted something in Albanian. Seth kicked the door one more time, harder, and was rewarded with it opening just enough for him to be able to slide his body out of the car.

As soon Seth got himself free of the vehicle, he spotted an individual maybe fifteen meters away, carrying an AK-47. The man had the rifle at the low ready. When he saw Seth emerge from the vehicle, he quickly raised the rifle to fire. Seth dove behind the vehicle just as several bullets slammed into the SUV.

Moving quickly to the right side of the vehicle, Seth brought the pistol up as he rounded the corner. He spotted another man with an AK-47 aimed at the left front section of the vehicle, covering his friend. Seth moved like lightning with the pistol extended and fired three quick shots into the man’s chest. Before the other attacker could react, Seth had already rounded the front of the vehicle and fired two rounds to the chest and one to the head of the man who’d tried to shoot him.

Seth immediately dropped to a knee and did a quick 360 of his surroundings, looking for any additional threats. When he didn’t see any, he moved to the attackers and grabbed their weapons. Then he brought them back to the vehicle and began to work on getting Sergeant Nance out. It took him a minute, but he freed Nance and gave him one of the rifles. “If you spot anyone else with a weapon heading toward us, shoot ’em. I’m going to call back to Chief Moore at the airport and tell them we were just ambushed.”

Nance just nodded. He looked to have a broken arm, an injury on his leg and a severe gash on his forehead, which made him look like he was in much worse shape than he really was.

Reaching into his pocket, Seth found his government-issued smartphone. He dialed Chief Moore’s number. His hand was shaking as he held the phone, waiting for it to connect. It rang three times before he heard the familiar voice on the other end.

“Calling already, sir? We’re just about to head out,” Moore said jovially.

“Cut the crap, Chief,” said Seth. “We just got ambushed on the way to the capital. It looks like Nance is hurt bad. I think the RSO might still be alive, but the ambassador looks to be dead. So is the Minister of Internal Affairs and the other officials who were traveling with him.”

“Oh my God. Are you OK, sir?” Moore asked. “Let me rally up the guys and we’ll be over there in a minute.”

“That’s fine, Chief, but send a message to Bondsteel that we’ve been ambushed. Tell the base commander, or the 10th Group guys, to send a QRF to our location. We need to secure the site and get an SSE team here to start collecting evidence. I want to track down who the hell built this IED.”

A few minutes went by before Seth heard the wailing of police cars and a fire truck. Several police officers arrived on scene and approached him cautiously. Seth placed the pistol down on the ground and waved for them to come over and help him. Fortunately, a couple of the police officers spoke English, and he was quickly able to relay what had happened. When a second fire truck showed up, a column of four blacked-out up-armored Suburbans arrived as well. A dozen soldiers got out and moved over to check on him.

One of the soldiers was a medic and immediately checked on Master Sergeant Nance and the RSO. The ambassador was unfortunately dead. A couple of ambulances finally arrived, and the local paramedics came over to assist the lone Army medic. They agreed that Nance and the RSO needed to be evacuated to the local hospital in Pristina. A couple of folks helped to get them loaded onto a stretcher and brought over to the ambulances. Chief Moore made sure a couple of soldiers followed the ambulance in one of the Suburbans to make sure Nance was OK.

Around that time, they heard the familiar whomp, whomp sound of helicopter blades. Looking in the distance, they spotted a pair of Blackhawk helicopters heading toward them, the smoke plumes obviously giving away their position. Both the helicopters landed in a nearby field and unloaded a dozen heavily armed Special Forces soldiers. Two of them carried some large packs, which Seth assumed to be their sensitive site exploitation kits.

He walked up to one of the soldiers, who rendered a quick salute. “Sir, I’m Captain Justin Nicholson, ODA 0311. What the hell happened here?” he asked.

Seth took a few minutes to explain to him what had transpired on their short ride from the airport, while several of the SF soldiers combed the area around the car bomb for blast fragments. The local national firemen nearly had the flames of the two vehicles put out. Once they were done eliminating the fire threat, the soldiers would climb over the vehicle where the bomb had been placed and look for more clues.

They were hot on the hunt to find the triggering device, any possible fragments that might lead them to what kind of bomb it was, how it was triggered, and more importantly, the trace elements left over from the explosion that would help them identify how the bomb was constructed and what it was made of. Once they knew those details, they’d be able to track down the components used and then identify the bomber. If there was one thing the FBI’s Terrorist Explosive Device Analytical Center, or TEDAC, was good at, it was analyzing a bomb and tracking down who had built it. The SF sensitive site exploitation team would get whatever evidence they found sent back to TEDAC for analysis until one of their own forward-deployed labs was eventually flown in.

Seeing that there wasn’t much more Seth could do, he pulled his smartphone out and placed a call to SOCOM. He needed to relay what had happened. This whole operation was turning into an epic disaster, and he’d been in Kosovo for less than two hours. He was going to need some more help, and some higher-ranking officers than himself to help handle the politics of it all. If these terrorists were able to identify their arrival and quickly mobilize an IED attack like this, then chances were they were dealing with a much larger terrorist group in the area than they had first thought.

It took a few minutes for Seth to get patched through to the ops center back at headquarters, but once he was finally able to speak with General Dekker, he quickly brought him up to speed. While Seth had no problems taking charge, he was just a lieutenant colonel, far too low on the officer totem pole to be able to take charge of a situation like this. After spending five minutes on the phone with the general, Seth was told to head to Bondsteel and start executing their capture orders. General Dekker would speak with the CG about getting some more top cover sent to Kosovo to help take charge.

With nothing more to do on scene, Seth ordered Chief Moore to get his teams back in their vehicles and head to Bondsteel. They needed to get things ready to move on their targets. He then went to find the ODA commander, Captain Justin Nicholson, and relay the same orders. Seth opted to hop in the Blackhawk for the ride to Bondsteel. He needed to get there quick, and the helicopter was the fastest way to do that.

*******

The first two hours back at Bondsteel were a blur of activity. From the moment Seth touched down, he was inundated with questions from the base commander, the government of Kosovo, the 10th Group commander and the 3rd Battalion commander.

Trying to not get overwhelmed, Seth told Chief Moore to have one of his guys put together a short down-and-dirty brief of what had happened Stateside, what they knew, and what their current orders were now. He also asked the embassy if they could request that Kosovo’s Prime Minister come out to Bondsteel along with the deputy chief of mission from the embassy so they could be given the same brief. They were going to need the Prime Minister’s help, and getting him on their side now was critical if they were going to start carrying out targeted raids across his country and using Bondsteel as the base of operations for further raids in the region.

The next ninety minutes went by quickly. A wave of V-22 Ospreys arrived with additional troops from Romania. They’d had to complete a couple of midair refuelings to make the long trip, but they’d provide additional capability for the teams of Special Forces and JSOC soldiers showing up.

A few hours after the attack on Seth’s convoy, roughly ninety soldiers from JSOC arrived, along with a brigadier general who’d now assume command of US forces in Kosovo. When the general arrived at the command post on Bondsteel, he’d quickly found Seth and walked up to him.

“Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell, it’s good to see you again,” he said with his hand outstretched. “Congrats on the promotion, Seth.”

Brigadier General William Lancaster had worked with Seth before. General Lancaster had actually been Seth’s battalion commander when he was a newly minted captain assigned to 1st Special Forces Group.

Smiling at the sight of a familiar face, Seth answered, “It’s good to see you too, sir. I’m glad they already had you en route. It’s been a disaster since I first arrived.”

“I can see that. How are you doing? Are you physically OK?”

“I’m a bit stiff and sore—I won’t lie. But I got off lucky compared to the others,” Seth replied. His back and neck were really starting to hurt. He knew he needed to get that taken care of soon, but he hadn’t had the time to see one of the docs yet.

“I heard you had to kill two of the attackers. How are you holding up?” asked Lancaster, concern on his face.

Seth sighed and looked at the maps being put up on the wall. He hadn’t really thought about it. He had just acted on instinct and training. “I’ll be fine. They were terrorists bent on killing me and Master Sergeant Nance. They had also just blown up the Minister of Internal Affairs and killed the ambassador, so it’s not like these were some young kids placing an IED on the side of a road in Iraq or Afghanistan.”

General Lancaster nodded. A good soldier knew that each man dealt with the killing of another in their own personal way. He didn’t press Seth on it any further.

“OK, then let’s move on,” said Lancaster. “I heard you have the Prime Minister on his way. That’s a good call. We had wanted to have the ambassador get him up to speed on what’s going on, but obviously, that’s not going to happen. From what I understand, the government is in a panic over the death of the minister, the head of police and the security service. They are really unsure of what’s going on. When I talked with the Bondsteel commander, he told me they were receiving reports of several police stations being attacked in northern Kosovo along the Serbian border area.

“The defense attaché in Macedonia just sent a message to the Pentagon, telling them the Macedonian police were just involved in several large shoot-outs with Albanian separatists in three different towns. He was relaying a request from the Macedonian army and police, requesting them to advise and assist them in how to deal with the uprisings.”

Seth ran his fingers through his hair. Things were happening so fast, spinning out of control before they could even get themselves sorted. They needed to get on the offensive soon and seize the initiative back.

“Did you relay to the attaché to stand down and stand by for help from us? We’ve been given a series of targets to hit in Macedonia, and it’d be easier to do with the locals working with us as advisors rather than the other way around.” He hoped the locals hadn’t already screwed up their operation before it had a chance to get going.

Lancaster nodded. “I did. I told the colonel there to tell the Macedonians to stand down and wait, that we had a lot of Special Forces arriving in Kosovo who would assist them. They eagerly accepted his recommendation to wait but asked that we make sure we include them in whatever it is we’re planning.”

“That sounds fair enough,” Seth responded. “If you don’t mind, sir, when the PM gets here, I think it might be best if you do the brief. I’d like to find out what the Agency folks know at this point and make sure none of the Special Activities Division teams that are showing up are going to step on our toes. Too many cooks in the kitchen is going to cause some problems.”

“SAD teams are already in country?” Lancaster asked, concern and frustration written on his face.

“Before the ambassador was killed, he told me the station chief made him aware that a number of Agency assets had just arrived in country. He was concerned about what they were doing and what all these Special Forces soldiers would be doing in Kosovo. It’s a tiny country.”

Shaking his head, General Lancaster responded, “Yes. Find out what the hell they’re doing and tell them to stand down. They can support our activities, but they’re not to carry out any raids. I brought a squadron from Delta with me and I have DEVGRU en route to Poland to go after additional targets. I don’t need these guys gumming up the situation.”

Seth nodded at that. He then set off to go find the CIA group and find out what they were up to.

Chapter 9

Trojan Horse

October 25, 2020

Raleigh, North Carolina

Whispering Pines Gracious Retirement Living

Julie Parsons switched on the heater in her mail truck as she headed down the road toward her last stop of the day. She hated her job. It was the last thing she’d ever thought she’d be doing when she grew up, being a letter carrier. She despised every second of it.

Julie had gone to an expensive private Christian university in Oklahoma, obtaining a master’s degree in theology. She had enjoyed poring over the Scriptures, and her goal had been to one day become a missionary overseas. Sadly, that hadn’t worked out. Instead, she’d found herself saddled with more student loans than she could ever possibly pay off on a missionary’s stipend.

Like many who earn degrees that afford minimal job opportunities, she’d done the only thing she could to survive and moved back in with her parents, even though her stepdad was a jerk. That was eight years ago. She’d already spent eight years slugging it out in a dead-end postal job that offered to help her pay off her student loans. What a miserable exchange, years of tedious work to pay off a theological degree that couldn’t even help her land a better job than driving a mail truck around Raleigh in all types of weather. The hours were long; the pay was not that great considering her large student loan payments were more than a mortgage. The only reason she’d stuck it out was the benefits, retirement pension, and the fact that once she finished serving her time, she would finally be free from the bondage of debt.

Each day she drove to work, she felt like she was putting in another day in debtors’ prison, and at the end of each day, she was one day closer to being free. Then, four months ago while she was wallowing in her sorrows at a Beef ‘O’ Brady’s over a Reuben sandwich and some sweet potato fries, a man had struck up a conversation with her. They’d talked about anything and everyone for the next couple of hours before the man had to leave, but he’d promised to return in a couple of days to meet her there again.

Julie didn’t know what to think of her new friend. He was charming, funny, had a good job in the city, and for some unknown reason, he seemed interested in her. She felt excited for the first time in years, like she might actually have found someone who shared some of the same interests she did. The next two days went by quickly—she couldn’t wait for Thursday to come so she could return to Beef ‘O’ Brady’s and see if her mystery man did in fact come again to meet with her.

When Thursday arrived, she had butterflies swirling around in her stomach all day at work. The excitement was building until finally the end of the day arrived. She hurried home to change and put on her best outfit. Stopping before she walked out the door, she thought better of it and put on some perfume and touched up her makeup before she rushed out.

When she opened the door to her favorite sports bar, Julie spotted her mystery man right away. True to his word, he was there…waiting for her. He smiled at her with his perfectly straight pearly white teeth. He had cute little dimples on each cheek, and his deep brown puppy dog eyes were so inviting.

She learned that her new friend, Mike Wang, was a bank executive at Wells Fargo. From her perspective, he appeared to be pretty successful judging by the clothes he wore and his well-groomed appearance. She imagined that his haircuts probably cost more than three of hers.

They conversed throughout the evening and he just seemed to lap up everything she said. She was shocked to find him nodding and asking questions, affirming everything she told him. To her amazement, he asked her out on a date for Saturday. He said he wanted to take her out to a concert in town and then dinner. Julie was elated. She hadn’t been out on a date in more than a year. She truly felt like she might have found her Prince Charming.

For the next four months, they talked and went out several times a week as they built up a bond of friendship and romantic interest. Then one day, they had a conversation that nearly ended their relationship.

Mike gently touched her cheek, and she held his hand there as they looked in each other’s eyes for a moment. “Babe, I just feel so bad about how things in your life have turned out,” he began. “I mean, you have such a heart for people and wanting to help them, and that university took advantage of you. They had to know that after six years at their school, you would owe so much money that you’d never be able to live the dream that you went there for.”

“I think about that sometimes,” she admitted. “It does seem really wrong how they sucker people in. That school really does try to promote the whole ‘reaping and sowing’ principle. They essentially convince you that if you sow good into the world, that God will see that and you will reap a benefit. Like somehow, a miracle will happen, and your loans will just not be an issue.”

“It just doesn’t happen like that, though,” he said. “They honestly lied to you to get your money. It just feels so wrong, like deeply morally wrong.”

“I know,” she admitted. “That’s why I don’t go to any of those ‘name it and claim it’ churches anymore. I almost left the faith entirely because I felt like God had abandoned me when I didn’t get the miracle I’d believed in, but I’ve just come to see things differently now.”

“I wish I could just wipe out your loans for you,” he said. “Business is going well, but unfortunately, not quite that well yet.”

“I wouldn’t expect that from you,” Julie responded. “I mean, you’re already paying for almost all of our dates, which is really nice. I can’t tell you how good it feels to just have a nice dinner and not worry about the tab every once in a while.”

“I wish I could do more, though,” Mike told her, sadness in his voice. “I mean, I hate to see you stuck in that house with that grumpy, lazy dolt of a stepdad. I honestly don’t know how your mom stays with him.”

“I ask myself the same question all the time,” she replied, “but I know that she just believes divorce is utterly wrong for any reason other than infidelity, which is the one sin he has somehow failed to commit, or at least he’s never been caught.”

He sighed. “Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I know someone who might be able to help you with your situation. I have this friend, and he has a side business—he’s willing to pay mail carriers fifty dollars per absentee or mail-in ballot they hand over.”

Julie bristled. “Mike—tampering with the mail is a serious offense. It can land you serious jail time.” She crossed her arms defensively.

He calmly replied, “Yeah, I get that. But it is kind of crazy to think about. I mean, how many absentee or mail-in ballots do you deliver in a cycle?” Mike smoothly added, “That’s just a lot of money…”

He changed the subject, and she eventually brushed it off as some sort of wishful thinking. But then, on a different date, he brought it up again.

This time, she actually thought about the question and found herself answering him. “I guess I probably deliver around five or six thousand of these ballots, maybe more,” she explained. “I mean, my route includes two large retirement communities, and older people tend to vote by mail so they can avoid standing in the long lines on election day.”

“Wow, babe…” Mike said. He grabbed her hand and stroked it gently, looking into her eyes. “Just think about it for a second, OK? If you withheld five thousand ballots, that would be $250,000—six thousand ballots would be $300,000. You could not only be free from your student loans, you could actually buy your own house and get away from under the thumb of your stepfather.”

As she sat there thinking about the awful man that made her beautiful, loving mother miserable every day, and by extension made her miserable every day, she felt herself falling under Mike’s spell. In just one day, she could erase years of wretchedness and spite and finally be free.

“I don’t know, Mike. It does sound like a nice fantasy, honestly. But how do I keep from getting caught?” she asked.

Mike smiled that million-dollar smile of his. “Well, if you were going to do this, you’d deliver the ballots on your route like normal. You wouldn’t attract attention that way, since no one would be calling asking where their missing ballot is. But when it came time to do a mail pick up, you’d put aside any ballots you found and send a text to this contact I have. He’d set up a meet along your route so you wouldn’t be late heading back to the processing center and tick off that ridiculous ogre of a boss you have. When you make the exchange, he’d pay you cash based on how many you collected that day. No paper trail, and nothing to tie it back to you.”

“I don’t know…I’ll have to think about it,” she found herself saying.

Julie didn’t actually spend much time considering the reality of the scenario until the first day of early voting, when she picked up twenty-two absentee ballots from one of the retirement centers. She suddenly felt incredibly nervous. Her heart raced, her palms became sweaty. She was so terrified, in fact, that she didn’t text the man Mike had told her to.

When she got home, Julie felt so conflicted about it that she puked her guts out. She thought about how wrong it was, the fact that she had nearly broken the law and could have gone to jail. Then she realized Mike’s friend would have paid her $1,100 cash. No taxes, just plain old-fashioned hard cash. In all reality, no one would have been the wiser. No one would have known what she’d done. It wasn’t as if each letter was electronically received by her and then matched at the receiving center to make sure she didn’t lose anything.

She shook her head. She stared at the pile of bills on her desk. Her most recent student loan statement showed she still had a balance of $77,212, after paying on the debt for over eight years. That was after the loan forgiveness that the post office offered. Julie looked up at the wall. As she stared at the poster that had been put on her wall with Sticky Tack, she realized that she was still living like a teenager in her parents’ home, even though she was now thirty-two years old.

What if I just hand over enough ballots to cover what I still owe? she thought. Then I could quit this miserable job and find something better…

*******

It was 2:30 p.m. when Julie Parsons finished her daily mail pickup at the Whispering Pines Retirement Community. After collecting the bins of outgoing mail and dropping off the bin of inbound mail, she sat in her truck and briefly sorted through what needed to go where before she headed back to the central mail processing center.

As she separated the general letters and packages, she spotted some of the absentee ballots in the pile of outbound mail she’d picked up. Curiosity got a hold of her, and she decided to count them. It turned out she had a lot of them in today’s batch—a total of fifty-three. Pulling out her smartphone, she did a quick calculation.

Holy cow, that’s $2,650, she thought.

She stared at the number on the calculator. A few seconds later, she flipped over to her text messages and found the number Mike had given her. Without thinking, she texted the number with the code word Mike had given her and the number of ballots she had.

She immediately shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Just as she was about to lose her nerve and return to the processing center to finish her day’s work, she received a response.

The text message was an address, which was conveniently located on her route back. The impulsive side of her won over, and she entered the location into her Google Maps app and started to head there.

When she arrived, she received another text that told her to come around to the back of the shopping center and wait. Nervously, Julie drove around to the back, doing her best to make it look normal, like she did this all the time.

A minute later, a man came out of the back of the Jersey Mike’s sub shop and headed toward her. He gently rapped on the window to get her attention.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “You Julie?” he asked.

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“I was told to give you this envelope and to pick something up from you. Do you have the package for me?” he asked. The guy seemed nervous. Julie figured he had to be no more than twenty years old, probably a student at the local college nearby.

Julie’s heart skipped a beat. For a brief second, she didn’t know what he was talking about—she didn’t have a package. Then it dawned on her, he must have meant the group of ballots. She had bundled them all together with a rubber band. She reached down and handed them to him, and the young kid handed her an envelope. Julie looked inside, and sure enough, there was a wad of cash, mostly twenties and a few hundred-dollar bills.

The young man quickly turned around and headed back into the Jersey Mike’s sub shop, and Julie sped off back to the mail processing center.

That evening as Julie looked at the money spread out on her bed, she made the conscious decision that right or wrong, she was going keep doing what she’d done that day. If she had to deny some old farts their votes to get her student loans paid off, then so be it.

It’s not like they count absentee ballots anyways, so who cares? she told herself.

*******

Mike Wang was busier than a gopher on a golf course. The election was in full swing with early voting happening in earnest. Surprisingly, a lot of voters were moving to the iVote blockchain voting app the government had announced last year. Mike figured most people would wait another cycle or two before moving headlong into it, but he was wrong, at least about the younger voters, those under the age of thirty-five. The voters above forty definitely tended to trust the electronic system less, and the elderly voters relied heavily on the absentee ballot system.

Standing in front of the map of Wake County, which encompassed Raleigh, Mike felt reasonably confident that this plan would work. He was a bit apprehensive when his mark, Julie, got cold feet the first few days of early voting and didn’t text his contacts that she had ballots for him, but she came around. Fortunately, his other marks didn’t have the same moral dilemma she seemed to have initially suffered and were much quicker to seize on the free money he was offering. His only challenge now was ensuring his other team was able to discreetly open the mail-ins, identify who they’d voted for, and either reseal the ones who’d voted the way they needed them to or eliminate the ballot so it wouldn’t count against them. If they had to destroy a ballot, it was imperative that not a single tiny little scrap of paper was left to draw any sort of suspicion.

If Mike did his job right, come election night, Wake County would see a massive increase in the number of people who voted for their candidate, and a precipitous drop-off in the number of people who voted against them. They only needed this operation to be successful in a couple of counties in the state, and it should tip the balance in the right direction.

Shaking his head, Mike did have to marvel at how they had come up with this plan. By running up the score in districts that already leaned heavily their way, it wouldn’t draw suspicion when they helped ensure the other party’s vote count in that same district evaporated. If they could make the divide large enough in a couple of large districts, they could swing the outcome of the entire state, and thus the election.

Chapter 10

Dynamic Raid

October 26, 2020

Kosovo

Brigadier General William Lancaster and Lieutenant Colonel Seth Mitchell watched the video feed coming in from the MQ-9A Reaper drone as it loitered 10,000 feet above the small village of Srbica, which was situated fifty-two kilometers away from their current position.

The camera zoomed in, providing them a good overwatch of the mosque and the two houses they were observing nearby. On a different monitor was another video feed being transmitted to them by a pair of intelligence assets hidden nearby. Another team was set up in a house several hundred meters away with a set of parabolic microphones aimed at the two houses they were monitoring and the mosque. It was only a matter of time until the person they were after showed up, and then the capture team would be sent in.

A few hundred meters away from the room where they were watching all the feeds was a pair of Blackhawk helicopters with a Delta Force team ready to roll, the helicopter blades rotating slowly as the engine idled in anticipation of a quick launch order. Further down the flight line were two Ospreys on standby with two ODA teams on alert should the initial capture team run into heavy resistance and call for help. The ODA teams weren’t happy about being sidelined in place of Delta, but they had been overridden by the JSOC commander.

“There!” shouted one of the soldiers excitedly as he pointed at a Mercedes-Benz that was approaching their observation zone.

Turning to look at the soldier, General Lancaster asked, “Are you sure? Do we have confirmation that he’s in the car?”

Nodding his head, the soldier removed one of his earphones. He had been listening in on the information being provided to him from the NSA. “Yes. NSA has given a 97 percent voice match to the target. He’s actively using his phone in the car. That’s how they confirmed it’s him.”

Standing now, the general walked over to the young man. “I want to know who he’s talking to, and I want the location of the caller on the other end,” he demanded.

The soldier nodded and passed the order over the headset to the NSA operators on the other end. The analyst back at Fort Meade would set to work tracking down the person on the other end.

“Should we launch the capture team?” asked the Delta Force squadron leader, a lieutenant colonel who had accompanied his troops to Kosovo.

Shaking his head, Lancaster replied, “No. Not yet. I want to know who Rexhepi is talking to first. Pipe the conversation through to us as soon as we have it.” The general took up station next to the soldier who was coordinating things with the NSA.

A second later, the soldier hit a few keys on his keyboard, and they heard the conversation being played out over the computer speakers:

Voice A: You need to go to ground. The Americans will be all over you.

Voice B: No, there is still too much to do. I can’t just disappear. Not yet.

Voice A: You don’t understand, they captured one of your team members. If he hasn’t given you up yet, he will soon.

Voice B: No, they didn’t. I read in the news reports, they were all killed in a police shoot-out during their missions.

Voice A: That’s what they wanted us to think. My source says one of them is still alive and being interrogated. He’s not dead. They lied.

Voice B: Crap…are you sure?

Voice A: Yes. Go to plan B and disappear. The monies have been moved and are ready for your other team.

Voice B: Fine, I’ll head to the alternate site and disappear. How will I get in touch with you again?

Voice A: You won’t. We’ll reach out to you when we need your services again. Just make sure your other team executes their next attack. When they do, then I’ll transmit the final wire transfer.

Click.

They all turned their attention to the video feed. The Mercedes was now parked in front of one of the houses they had under surveillance. When the man got out of the backseat, one of the other observation teams used their telescopic lens to zoom in and snap a number of images of his face and the faces of the other two men who were traveling with him. In seconds, those images were transmitted to the US to be run through their sophisticated facial recognition software. They wanted to get a confirmation on his facial image in addition to his voice before they executed the raid.

A second later, one of the captains who had been coordinating that part of the operation with their back-end support nodded to the general. “It’s a match. That’s Rexhepi. The other two men are his bodyguards.”

With both voice and visual confirmation of the target, General Lancaster nodded to the JSOC colonel. “Get your boys in the air, and go fetch me Rexhepi,” he ordered. “Tell the interrogation team to stand by. We should have him in custody and ready for questioning within the next sixty minutes.”

With the green light given, a flurry of activity started as the whole mission moved forward. The sound of helicopter blades picked up in speed, the noise reverberating through the walls of the building. It was now a matter of waiting until the capture team arrived on station and executed the snatch-and-grab.

“It’s incredible to watch, isn’t it?” the general overheard Seth ask the newly appointed Director of the Kosovo Police and the new Head of the Security Service. The two men had been observing the controlled chaos with a look of bewilderment.

A special exception had been made to allow these two men to observe the mission. The Sachs administration desperately needed to keep the Kosovo government on their side so they could continue to execute these capture missions inside Kosovo and, soon, in the surrounding countries. The US didn’t have a lot of allies in Western Europe these days, so keeping the Kosovars on their side was important. The easiest way to do that was to make them a fully vested partner. The Sachs administration would essentially eradicate the Islamic extremist problem inside Kosovo, and in exchange, the government would turn a blind eye to the fact that many of these individuals being captured or killed were their own citizens.

The police director remarked, “It’s like watching something out of a James Bond movie. I still can’t believe you were able to listen in on Rexhepi’s phone conversation like that.”

The new security service chief snickered. “To think the Serbs actually thought they could stand up to America two decades ago during the war. If they knew half of the capabilities you guys had before the start of the war, I think they would have walked away from Kosovo and we wouldn’t have suffered the ethnic cleansing we did.” He shook his head.

Seth nodded. “The tricky part is coming up next. The actual grab is probably the riskiest part of the mission.”

For the next fifteen minutes, they watched and waited as the Blackhawks sped toward the house. In short order, the choppers came into view of the drone, which had zoomed back out to provide them with a much wider view of the surrounding area.

As the sound of the rotating blades drew near, some of the men guarding the house came outside to check on things. A couple of the intelligence assets on the ground saw what was going on and sent a quick message to the men in the helicopters, letting them know of the potential threats. Neither of the guards appeared to be armed, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have quick access to a weapon. Suddenly, one of the men pointed at the approaching choppers. They would obviously recognize that these were not Kosovo police helicopters but American military helicopters instead.

The two men ran inside the building. The Blackhawks raced to get into position to offload the capture team. The first helicopter flew a quick pass over the two houses near the mosque before banking hard to the left and pulling up hard on the nose to bleed off speed. As the first chopper leveled off, the second helicopter got to within twenty-five meters of the two houses and hovered over the street in front of the buildings.

A pair of ropes were thrown out of the door, men rapidly sliding down them to get on the ground. Once the figures were on the ground, they moved with lightning speed as the other helicopter dropped its own ropes on the roof of the targeted building.

Four soldiers descended from the other helicopter onto the roof. From their vantage point in the observation deck, General Lancaster and the other observers could watch the footage from the body cameras as the Delta Forces men quickly moved to breach the top of the building and gain entry. The other eight soldiers on the ground moved rapidly to the front of the building. Four soldiers broke off from the group and headed toward the rear of the two houses.

Suddenly, two men emerged from the front of the house, weapons in their hands. Before either of them could even raise their weapons to fire at the SF soldiers, the operators fired a quick series of shots, taking them both out. Seconds later, the four soldiers charging the front of the house positioned themselves next to the front structure. Two of the soldiers began throwing flash-bangs into the first-floor rooms. Then one of the other soldiers breached the front door, and the group rushed inside.

The Delta operators moved rapidly, clearing each room, either killing the individuals they encountered or throwing them to the ground and rapidly zip-tying them. The second group of operators that busted through the back of the house quickly cleared their portion of the house while the other four who landed on the roof worked their way down the three-story structure until they had the entire house secured.

One of the operators radioed in. “Rexhepi’s in custody. We have one of his bodyguards in custody and three others killed in action. We’ll get the biometrics on the KIAs and send them back to you shortly. We’re going to conduct a quick grab of any SSE we can find and get out of here. How copy?” asked the team leader.

General Lancaster turned and headed toward the Kosovo police and security service chiefs. “Sirs, we just grabbed the primary target. We know the neighboring house and the mosque are also part of this group. Can we have your permission to search those two buildings before the team needs to return and before the locals living in the village have a chance to react to what just happened?”

The two Kosovars looked at each other and just shrugged. “I don’t think it’d be a problem, but I’d do it quickly. It won’t take long for the people who support Rexhepi to figure out what just went down.”

The general turned to the squadron commander. “Tell your guys to hit the other two locations and look for any potential SSE that might be helpful. They know what to look for. Tell ’em they have ten mikes to see what they can find and get the hell out of there.”

The lieutenant colonel nodded and picked up the radio handset. He relayed the order, and the group collectively watched as the operators moved rapidly to the other two buildings. The twelve-man team broke into two teams of five while two of the soldiers stayed with Rexhepi and his bodyguard, who were both laying hog-tied on the ground in a field between the mosque and the two houses. Several large black trash bags of goodies also lay on the ground next to them, the contents of the house that had been identified as having potential intelligence value.

*******

With the immediate target apprehended, Seth walked over to the captain coordinating things with their back-end support. “Does the NSA have a fix on who Rexhepi was talking to yet?” he asked.

The captain turned to Seth and nodded. “They do. It’s a cell phone. They’re still tracking down who it is. The person may be in the known voice recognition database, but even if he isn’t, we got a location. The call originated in Skopje, Macedonia. Here’s the location.” The captain pulled up a map of the city.

The lines in Seth’s forehead deepened as he squinted. “Is it me, or does that look like a bank?” he asked.

Looking at the image, the captain responded. “You’re right. Huh…yeah, it’s the Silk Road Bank of Macedonia.”

Seth waved General Lancaster over. “Sir, I think you need to look at this,” he said.

“What do you guys have?” asked Lancaster.

“The person Rexhepi was talking to,” Seth responded. “The NSA tracked the cell phone down to someone in this building, the Silk Road Bank of Macedonia. Whoever else is involved in this conspiracy clearly works at the bank, sir, or is inside doing some business there. How do you want us to handle this? Do we send the ODA team we have on standby after them and scoop up the other person involved with Rexhepi?”

General Lancaster lifted his head up and looked at the back wall for a moment, clearly considering his options. Seth was glad he didn’t have to be the one to make the call on this. The potential political fallout from ordering this type of operation at a bank was definitely a consideration. Then again, if they didn’t do it now and he somehow slipped away, they might never know who else was involved in this dastardly attack on their country.

After a pause, Lancaster ordered, “Get the drone headed that way. I want real-time surveillance on that bank. See if the NSA can keep a lock on that phone. If someone starts to leave that bank and the phone is on them, tell the NSA to keep tracking its movement.”

Turning to look at his JSOC commander, the general continued, “Tell your boys to pack up what they have and get back to base. Order the ODA team to spin up and get in the air and start heading to Skopje. I’m going to place a quick call to the defense attaché’s office in Skopje and let them know what we’ve found and what we’re planning on doing.”

Seth found the defense attaché phone number for the general. He hit dial and handed the phone over to Lancaster, who immediately grabbed it and waited for the senior defense official in Macedonia to pick up.

Seth knew that the colonel over there had been briefed on what was going on in Kosovo and knew ahead of time that operations might spill over into Macedonia. He had already briefed the Macedonian officials on the possibility, and they had been all too eager to let the Americans handle their Islamic extremist problem for them. Truthfully, there was no love lost between the Macedonian government and their minority ethnic Albanian population.

When the colonel in Macedonia picked up, General Lancaster relayed what had transpired with Rexhepi and how the person he was talking to was currently in Skopje. He told him an ODA team was on its way to Skopje and once it looked like they could reasonably execute the grab, they would.

When the general got off the phone, he told Seth, “The colonel asked to be able to loop in his counterparts at the Ministry of Defense and to let the ambassador there know about the operation. They’d probably like to avoid some big shooting incident with US forces in the capital city. Macedonia is friendly to America, but they are trying to become a part of the EU, and the optics of that wouldn’t go over the best with the Europeans.”

The next twenty minutes went by in a blur as phone calls between Bondsteel, SOCOM HQ in Tampa, the Pentagon, and the embassy in Skopje took place as the decision to send the ODA team in was weighed against the public perception and the possible reaction of such a raid. While all of this was happening, the captain who was monitoring the situation with the NSA interrupted everyone.

“Sir, the NSA says the phone is moving,” he announced.

All eyes then looked at the drone feed. The Reaper had finally come on station a few thousand feet above the city and had zoomed in on the Silk Road Bank of Macedonia. They watched a man leave the bank and head toward a row of parked cars nearby.

“Is that the man?” demanded the general as they watched the lone figure walking down the sidewalk.

The captain spoke into the phone and everything went silent for a second. He then looked up at the general and nodded. “It is, sir. The NSA is electronically pinging the phone. It’s him.”

Lifting the cell phone in his hand, the general relayed what they were seeing back to General Royal at SOCOM, who had them on speakerphone with the Joint Chiefs and the White House. While Seth and the others in the ops center could not hear what was being discussed over the cell phone, it was clear the decision makers back in D.C. were discussing what to do next.

A minute or so of silence ensued as the group collectively watched the man climb into a vehicle and start to drive away. The drone stayed locked onto the man’s car as he started to head toward the A1/E-75 Highway that connected Skopje with Thessaloniki, Greece.

Is this man trying to head to Greece or some other safe house along the way? Seth asked himself.

While they contemplated where the man was headed, a decision had to be made in D.C. Another sixty seconds of tense silence ensued before the general nodded. He looked at the Delta commander. “We’ve been ordered to intercept the vehicle and bring the man in for questioning,” he said. “The NSA’s made a clear connection between this mystery man and Rexhepi. We already know Rexhepi is the man who ordered the attacks in the US. We need to know what this man’s relationship to him is and who else may be involved. Go bring me that man, Lieutenant Colonel!”

With the order given, the Delta squadron commander nodded and picked up another hand receiver. A second later, the helicopter blades of the two Ospreys down on the flight line increased in speed. After another minute transpired, the building rattled as the two aircraft flew overhead to fetch this mystery man.

Ten minutes later, they heard the chopping of helicopter blades again. The Delta team had returned from their own raid with Rexhepi in tow.

Seth stepped out of the ops center and caught a quick glimpse of them manhandling Rexhepi into a waiting van. A couple of other men dressed in 5.11 apparel hopped into the van as well, which Seth knew would be headed over to the interrogation room that had been prepared.

Looking at his watch, Seth figured he had twenty minutes before the ODA team caught up to the mystery man in Macedonia.

More than enough time to go check on our guest, he thought with a smile.

Seth made a beeline to the small detention facility the Army still maintained on the base. He arrived about the same time the van from the flight did. When the door opened, Seth saw the two men in 5.11 apparel get out with Rexhepi and smiled. He recognized one of the men—the OGA had sent their best interrogator.

The man looked up and saw Seth. He smiled but didn’t say anything. Seth knew he wouldn’t, at least not in front of the prisoner. When they brought Rexhepi inside, they immediately placed sensory deprivation goggles over his eyes and a headset over his ears. Then they chained him to his chair so he couldn’t go anywhere.

With the prisoner now taken care of and his mind and senses being assaulted, the OGA man turned to look at his unexpected visitor. “I should’ve known SOCOM would send you out here. How the hell are you, Seth?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me, Smith. They still calling you Smith these days?” Seth asked in jest. He didn’t actually know the man’s real name. All part of his cover, he figured.

Flashing a wry smile, the man responded, “Whatever do you mean, Seth? My name has always been and will always be Smith.”

Shaking his head in amusement, Seth switched topics. “Do you think you can break him?” he asked.

“They all break, Seth. It’s just a matter of when and how much they want to endure before they realize it.” He turned back to look at the man thrashing about in his chair with the specialized equipment on. “I’ll know more once I actually talk to him. Right now, I need to soften him up a bit, so I figure I’ll leave my toys on for the next hour or two. So, back to you. Why are you out here, Seth?” Smith asked. “I thought the Army had moved you past this line of work.” Smith pulled a pack of cigarettes out and lit one up. He offered the pack to Seth, but he shook his head.

“I’m working for General Royal. He wants me out here as his eyes and ears. Figures I could be of some help to you guys.”

“Hmm…well, I hear they’re bringing in another guy too. If there’s more than one prisoner, then I’d be glad to have your help. You’re good at this job, Seth. You really should have taken us up on our offer a couple of years ago.” He winked. “You know, that offer still stands if you ever get tired of wearing that monkey suit you’re in.”

Seth looked off in the distance. He had seriously contemplated the offer when it was made. Ultimately, he’d known he couldn’t accept it. He’d never get to see his kids, and his wife wouldn’t stick around. It just wasn’t meant to be.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, Smith. You know me, though. I’ve got a family now. I can’t just walk away from that.”

Smith nodded. “No, you’re right to turn us down, Seth. It’s a tough life, definitely not for everyone. Maybe if our paths had crossed before you turned into a family man…”

“Well, I need to get back to the ops center. I want to observe them capture this next guy. I’ll catch up with you in a while,” Seth said as he extended his hand.

Smith shook it. “No problem. You know where to find me. I’ll be here.”

Seth then turned around and started making his way back. As he walked, he couldn’t help but think back to his time in Virginia. It had been a tempting offer; he’d nearly accepted it. Then he thought back to the day before all of this had kicked off, lounging around in the pool in the backyard with his kids. A smile crept across his face, and he knew he’d made the right decision.

As soon as he walked back into the room, Seth noticed the apprehension immediately.

“What the hell do you mean the Macedonians are telling us to stand down? On whose authority?” yelled General Lancaster to a captain who was holding a phone to his shoulder.

“It’s the ambassador. He’s on the line, sir,” the captain replied, voice shaking slightly. He held the receiver out for the general.

Lancaster angrily walked over to the captain and snatched the receiver. “This is Brigadier General William Lancaster. To whom am I speaking?” he barked.

A few seconds went by before they heard the next interplay of the one-sided conversation. “On whose authority are you trying to abort my mission, Ambassador?” Lancaster said tersely.

Another pause ensued. “I understand the Macedonian Prime Minister just rescinded our permission to operate in his air space. I have a Special Forces team that is less than five minutes away from intercepting this vehicle. We’re going to move forward and grab this man,” Lancaster insisted.

No one could hear what the ambassador was saying, but at that point, Seth was sure that he heard the volume and tempo of the voice on the other end of the line getting louder and more aggressive.

“Mr. Ambassador, I have been ordered by the President of the United States to intercept that vehicle and apprehend that man,” the general insisted. “The NSA has directly linked him to the mastermind of the terrorist attacks on our country. I am going to do as I was directed. If you have a problem with that, you tell the Prime Minister to call the President.”

The general didn’t wait long for the ambassador’s response this time and interrupted him. “You tell that bastard that if his people try to interfere in this operation, I will order my men to treat it as a hostile act! Do you understand, Mr. Ambassador?”

Before any more heated words could be said, General Lancaster hung up the phone. He turned to the Delta commander. “Patch me through to the ODA team,” he barked.

A second later, one of the sergeants in the ops center handed him a radio receiver. “Captain, this is Lancaster. There may be a complication in your orders. Apparently, someone is grabbing the Macedonian Prime Minister by the balls and squeezing him to get us to let this car go. We’ve been ordered by the President not to let that happen. You’re to treat anyone that tries to interfere in your capture as hostile, to include the host nation. Is that clear? You will interdict that vehicle and you will bring that man back to Bondsteel—do I make myself clear?”

The general nodded as the captain acknowledged the orders.

“See you in thirty mikes, Captain. Out.” With that, the general handed the receiver back.

He then turned to one of the other NCOs and ordered, “Get me General Royal.”

A minute went by, and then General Lancaster was on the phone with his boss back at SOCOM, who was still also on the phone with the Pentagon and the White House, letting them know what was transpiring in Macedonia.

Seth scratched his head, deep in thought. Someone must have had some serious pull with the Prime Minister to get him to interfere in an operation he’d approved just thirty minutes earlier. The question was, who? Who could have called him in that timeframe that would have had that kind of pull?

Chapter 11

Going Postal

October 27, 2020

Raleigh, North Carolina

Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office

Special Agent Trey Mandel was exhausted as he lifted the fresh cup of coffee to his lips.

I can’t wait until this election is over, he thought. This terrorism alert is sucking the life out of me.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Linda Conway said as she walked up to his desk.

Trey yawned as he placed his mug back down on his desk. “You’re way too chipper this early in the morning. How do you do it?” he asked jokingly.

Linda chuckled. “It’s easy. I have a three-year-old who gets up at the crack of dawn, that’s how,” she said. “Now, grab your stuff. We’ve got an assignment.”

Holding a hand up in protest, Trey responded, “Come on, Linda. I’m buried in paperwork right now. I still need to write up my 302s on the interviews from last night. You know, that bogus report on some Middle Eastern men casing the YMCA down on Hillsborough Avenue.”

Since the horrific terrorist attacks less than a week ago, the FBI had been chasing down every possible lead and tip being phoned in by the public or local law enforcement. It was sadly stretching the agency beyond its breaking point as its agents were being run ragged. Add in the continued cyber-attacks against the various state election offices and the claims of voter intimidation by various far-right and far-left fringe groups, and many of the agents were ready to collapse from exhaustion.

“Tough luck, big guy,” Linda replied. “We’ve got ourselves a real case today. No more chasing down terrorist threats. Come on, I’ll explain in the car.”

Reluctantly, Trey grabbed his notepad, pulled his sidearm out of his desk drawer and attached it to his belt. After grabbing his suit jacket, he chased after Linda, his supervising agent.

Ten minutes later, the two of them were in their government car, headed into Raleigh.

“So where are we going, Linda?” asked Trey.

“The post office,” she responded. “We got an alert sent to us from the IRS. Apparently, a couple of postal workers in the local area have made some rather substantial deposits, and they believe something fishy is going on.” Linda turned down onto Fayetteville Street, which would lead them to the central post office for Raleigh.

Trey sighed loudly. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he remarked. “Now they have us chasing down suspicious bank activities? Don’t they know we have better things to be doing with our time than this?”

Linda shot a look at Trey like she would to her seven-year-old when he complained about something. “Trey, we’re the FBI. That’s our job. We look into suspicious things and then determine if there is something more there, or if it’s just nothing. Geez, don’t they teach you guys anything at the academy anymore?”

“OK, OK, boss,” Trey said, shooting his hands up in mock surrender. “Tell me more. What has the IRS so up in a tizzy that they’re sticking two FBI agents on a couple of underpaid postal workers?”

“Well, first off, there are four postal workers in question in Raleigh. Second, the workers in question made some truly substantial deposits in the last couple of weeks. One of them deposited $79,000, another one $116,000, and a third paid off a $78,000 mortgage balance. What really makes things interesting is that they all did this on the same day. Now, mind you, a postal worker’s annual salary tends to average around $68,000 here in Raleigh, so these deposits are way outside the norm.” She turned briefly to look at her young partner. “Does that sound like it’s worth the FBI looking into?” she asked with a smirk.

Trey nodded. He realized he’d spoken too quickly without having all the facts, something Linda had brought up to him on more than one occasion this past year. Trey was still in his two-year probationary period with the FBI. Fresh out of Quantico, he’d landed a cushy position in the nice medium-sized field office of Raleigh while most of his classmates had gone directly to the large field offices.

“I see your point, Linda,” he said. “You mentioned something about four workers in Raleigh—does that mean there are postal workers in other areas that are being looked at as well?”

She smiled. “Now you’re using the noggin, my young padawan. Yes, our SAC told me this morning that agents in Texas, Georgia, Florida, and Ohio are also looking into cases where a handful of postal workers have made some suspicious bank deposits as well. So, it’s not just us here in North Carolina looking into this.”

A few minutes later, they pulled into a parking space at the main post office for Raleigh. It took them a few minutes to get to the postmaster general for the building, but once they did, they asked about the four individuals in question.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you inquiring about four of my postal workers?” asked the postmaster with a look of concern on his face. “None of us are in any sort of danger, are we?” he asked.

“No, no one is in any danger—at least not that we’re aware of. It’s just a routine check right now, nothing to be concerned about,” replied Linda. They had decided that she would take the lead on this meeting. She nodded to Trey to go ahead, though.

“Can you tell us a bit about their routes?” he asked. “How long have they been with the post office? And have they had any financial problems that you are aware of?” Linda looked on and smiled.

Turning to face Trey, who stood ready with his pen, ready to write, the postmaster replied, “Um, yeah, I guess.” A minute went by as he pulled up their personnel files. “It looks like they’ve all been with us for a while. With the exception of Julie Parsons, they’ve all been working for the post office for twenty or more years. As to your other question, I don’t see any notes by their supervisors about any of them having any financial problems—no requests for cash advances, no reports of them mishandling any letters or packages, and no reports of theft against them. Actually, they all appear to be good workers.”

“Can you tell us about their routes? Where do they typically deliver the mail?” Trey asked.

“Hmm…oh yeah, here it is,” the postmaster said after tinkering with the computer. “It looks like they largely handle bulk deliveries.”

Leaning forward, Linda asked, “Can you clarify that for me? What do you mean by bulk deliveries?”

“Yeah, so a bulk delivery is when we deliver mail to Walmart, an apartment complex, or a retirement center. The postal worker will typically pick up large boxes of letters or packages and deliver the same type of material to the location. Because of the large number of articles they handle there, they don’t typically make a lot of stops throughout the day.”

“Ah, OK,” Trey acknowledged. “Can you tell us what kind of places these four tend to make deliveries to?” he asked, pen busily taking notes.

“Sure, let me look.” A minute went by as the postmaster examined each of the routes. “Hmm, it looks like the four of them primarily handle a series of retirement communities and nursing homes. Does that help?”

Linda and Trey looked at each other and then nodded. “Yes, I think that does. I think we have what we need. If we need to talk with these individuals, how should we reach them during working hours?” asked Linda as she stood up.

“I can give you the individual post office addresses they work out of,” said the postmaster. “Usually, the workers arrive back at the office around three p.m. to finish sorting through the day’s mail before they end their shifts at five p.m. If you miss them, well, I’m sure you know how to find their homes, but I can give you their addresses of record if you’d like.”

Smiling, Trey replied, “That would be great. Thank you again for your help.”

Five minutes later, Linda and Trey climbed back into their car, headed back to the office to write up what they had so far and compare notes with the other field offices. They wanted to see if they could find any correlations among the workers themselves. Something wasn’t adding up, but they weren’t quite sure yet what it all meant.

*******

Washington, D.C.

FBI Headquarters

J. Edgar Hoover Building

The TV in Deputy Director Joseph Latrell’s office was on, but muted. Fox News was running through their normal programming, and Joe was dutifully ignoring whatever they were droning on about. He had far more important things to do than get sucked into whatever political diatribe the talking heads and pundits were going on about. The only reason he even left the TV on at all was that on the off chance that some breaking news happened, he could quickly learn about it.

“What exactly am I looking at?” Joe asked Ashley Bonhauf, his Assistant Deputy Director. She’d slapped a large collection of paperwork on his desk, which appeared all too organized.

He smiled half-heartedly. Ashley was like the Energizer Bunny. She had an endless supply of energy and was completely married to her job at the FBI. If he wasn’t careful, she’d be his boss one day.

It was two hours after lunch, and Joe was in that midafternoon funk—the kind that usually happened when he ate a heavy meal and all the blood pooled to his stomach, dealing with his poor decision to overeat. Not enough oxygen was making its way to his brain, and it was slowing his cognitive abilities.

“A couple of things, sir. This one is a report from the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network that came to us on Monday,” Ashley explained, pointing to one of the stacks. “They flagged thirty-four postal workers for suspicious banking activities. At first, I didn’t think too much of it, but I had someone from our threat finance cell take a look at it, and they recommended we send it out to the field offices to have the local agents try and piece together some additional information. Yesterday, I got the initial reports from the Raleigh, Dallas, Cleveland, and Miami offices, and they all have one thing in common. All of the postal workers in question make bulk deliveries and pickups at the same types of facilities—nursing homes and retirement communities.”

Ashley held up a hand to get ahead of any questions. “Now, I would not have thought to do what I did next, but I was sent a query from our liaison rep out at US Special Operations Command asking about the integrity of our mail-in and absentee ballot system. At first, I thought it was an odd question, so I asked her why she was inquiring about it. She told me someone at CyberCom had mentioned it in a brief to the Secretary of Defense last week and now the SOCOM commander wanted some additional information on it. Now, when I heard these postal workers made bulk deliveries and pickups at nursing homes and retirement communities, it set off a few red flags in my head.

“I reached out to the state election offices in those particular districts and asked if they had seen any unusual activity in the early voting or absentee and mail-in ballots. They told me they had sent out around the same percentage of absentee ballots as they had in the previous elections; however, they’d noted a drop-off in the number of ballots that had been returned up to that point. While people have until the actual day of the election to have them mailed in, they typically would have seen close to ninety percent of the ballots they sent out turned back in by now. One of the election offices told me the typical turnaround time from when an absentee ballot is mailed out to when it’s returned is less than two weeks. As of right now, less than thirty percent have been returned in these districts.”

Joe considered the situation for a moment. He was hesitant to get involved in anything that resembled politics. His predecessors had done that, and they had all been charged with lying to investigators.

I don’t want to end up on the wrong side of things, he thought.

Sighing, Joe ran his fingers through his hair as he looked at his young protégé. “So, let me try and walk this out. One of the election offices said they mail a ballot out to a voter, and based on historical data of past elections, that same ballot is typically returned to them within two weeks. But presently, only thirty percent of the ballots mailed out have been returned, when at this time in previous elections that number would be closer to ninety percent. Did I miss anything?” he asked. He realized that he’d repeated her, but he wanted to make sure that he understood the ramifications of what she was implying.

Ashley smiled and nodded. “And to think some people around here think you’ve lost your sharpness.”

Wincing at the jab to his age, Joe retorted, “I didn’t realize people thought that of me.” Then he suddenly yawned, unable to control the bad timing of that innate response.

Leaning forward, Ashley said, “Please tell me I’m on to something here, Joe. I know we don’t have all the information just yet, but the election is now less than six days away, and somehow, a massive number of absentee ballots has turned up missing in several critical swing districts.”

Snorting at the implication, Joe looked at the field office locations on the map in front of him. “Look, Ashley, I’m no political science guy. I have no idea what the implications are of a few thousand absentee ballots not being counted in these districts. It looks to me, just judging by location, that these all look to be heavily Democratic districts. Are you thinking that someone is trying to re-tip that balance?”

Now it was Ashley’s turn to pause and think about her response. “I’m not sure. I don’t know what the percentage is of Republican or Democratic voters that vote via absentee ballot in those particular districts. Let me write that down as a follow-up question to ask, though.”

Joe nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. Why don’t you look into that, and if you find something else of interest, then we can address it.”

He leaned forward. “In the meantime, how bad is the political fallout in Macedonia and the other neighboring countries after yesterday’s Special Forces raid? It looked pretty fantastical on the news last night, that Osprey landing in the middle of the highway like that to block traffic right in front of the Greek border and those soldiers running out to snatch that guy right from his vehicle. I still can’t believe no one got hurt or shot.”

The President’s decision to go after the Islamic terrorists who were behind the recent terrorist attack was making some political waves both at home and abroad. Many people saw it as a stunt right before the election, while many others were ecstatic to see the US go after the terrorists so quickly. Of course, the death of the US ambassador in Kosovo had also added fuel to the fire for a quick and decisive military action.

Ashley sighed at the question. She had also been tasked with handling some of the foreign blowback that was taking place in the Balkans. The FBI’s legal attachés at the embassies were screaming for more help. They were getting bombarded by the local governments for help in dealing with what had suddenly become a very active group of Islamic extremists. They needed assistance coordinating things with the US military, which had suddenly flooded the region with Special Forces soldiers carrying out raids across national borders with impunity.

“Eh, what a mess that whole thing is turning out to be, Joe. Why did you have to make me the point person for that?” she asked glumly. She began collecting up the papers she’d been showing him.

“Because you want to be director someday. That means you’ll need to know how to handle working with all of the foreign aspects of the FBI. How is the legal attaché doing in Skopje?”

“He’s fine. The embassy appears to be fine. It’s the internal politics of Macedonia that seem to be in some trouble. No one is sure what the heck happened. One minute the Prime Minister was all over having the US purge his ethnically Albanian Muslim problem, the next minute, the Prime Minister is screaming bloody murder to the ambassador about us trying to go after a Chinese national living in Skopje.” She finished stuffing her papers into her folder.

“The target of the raid was a Chinese national? I thought it was a money guy that was connected to the terrorist group that carried out the terrorist attack a week ago,” Joe said, forehead scrunched up in thought.

“It was the money guy. He just happened to be a Chinese national. Apparently, he worked at the Silk Road Bank of Macedonia. The military has him in custody now. I suspect we’ll find out what’s going on at some point, once they start publishing some intelligence reports on his interrogation.”

Joe got lost in thought for a moment. Something seemed off about all this. Why would a Chinese national fund an Islamic extremist attack on American soil? he asked himself.

“Ashley, before you leave, I want you to look into that voting angle you mentioned,” Joe requested. “Find out from those election officials what the stats are on Republican versus Democratic absentee ballots in those districts. Also, try and find out where the money is coming from that these postal workers suddenly seem to be acquiring. Have the field agents bring in all the postal workers and start squeezing them for information on the source of the money. Something just seems off. I can’t quite place it, but we need to move on this. Bring them in today, will you?”

“Sure thing, boss. I’ll get back to you tomorrow when I have more to report.”

*******

Kosovo

Camp Bondsteel

The weather had turned decidedly cold in the last twenty-four hours. The temperature had dropped down to forty-two degrees and it was threatening rain. Dark clouds rolled in ominously.

Lieutenant Colonel Seth Mitchell was sitting in the ops center, reviewing the latest dossier the NSA, DIA and CIA had put together.

What does a Chinese national have to do with funding an Islamic extremist group in the Balkans? he wondered.

Sensing someone walking up behind him, Seth turned to see Brigadier General William Lancaster approaching him. The general had that look on his face that said he was about to task him with a difficult project.

“Morning, sir. You got something for me?” he asked.

Pulling up a chair next to him, the general sat down and looked around to make sure no one was nearby or could be listening to them. He then leaned in and quietly said, “Look, Seth, the OGA interrogator has been questioning Rexhepi for nearly fourteen hours. We’ve had this Chinese nationalist stewing in a holding cell since his capture. We need to start questioning him and getting some answers.”

Seth nodded. “I talked with Smith, the OGA interrogator, last night. He’s ascertaining some peripheral information on the Chinese guy from Rexhepi first. Then he wants to question the Chinese national with what he’s learned from our Kosovar friend. He’ll get what we need, sir. I’ve worked with Smith. He’s really good at this job.”

“That may be so, but we’re getting a lot of heat right now from State Department, the FBI and now it appears the Kosovo government about holding this Chinese national,” Lancaster said glumly. “I’m not sure who this guy is, or what’s going on, but the Chinese government is apparently very interested in getting him back. The Chinese are making all sorts of waves in Kosovo and with the EU about the abduction of one of their citizens.” The general paused for a second before adding, “I’m not confident that we’ll be able to hold him much longer. I want you to find out from Smith what he has and go question him now.”

Seth shrugged. “I can, but I’m not sure how fast we’ll get answers. These types of things take time. It’s like peeling away the layers of an onion. If he’s had any sort of interrogation resistance training—”

Lancaster interrupted, “I know. Look, this doesn’t go any further than you and me. The President signed a secret order an hour ago and sent it over to the Director of the CIA and our boss, General Royal. We’re to use extreme measures to obtain the information we need. We don’t have a lot of time, and if there is another terrorist attack planned that’s going to coincide with the election, we need to know about it. We’re five days out from election day—we don’t have time to dawdle.”

Seth shook his head in dismay. “There’d better be some sort of immunity or top cover for me,” he asserted. “I’m not going through Yemen all over again.”

Lancaster placed his hand on Seth’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back on this one, Seth. I won’t leave you in a lurch. If anyone tries to hang this on your shoulders, they’ll have to hang it on mine as well.”

After taking a deep breath in and holding it for several seconds, Seth let it out slowly. “OK, I’ll do it,” he responded. “I was told you brought my kit with you in case we needed it—is that accurate?”

“We did,” Lancaster replied. “Tell your friend Smith about the order if his own people haven’t already. You guys don’t have long to get what we need, so get to it.”

Seth nodded, got up, and headed out to the small detention facility where they were holding their two guests. After the short walk, he neared the appropriate building but saw that there were now a couple of plain-clothes guards wearing body armor stationed outside, wearing M4s slung across their chests at the low ready.

One of them held his hand up, saying, “Sorry, sir. This is a restricted area.”

A second later, the door to the building opened up and Smith walked out. His eyes lit up when he saw Seth, and he walked past the guard toward him. “It’s OK, guys. He’s with me. He’s on the list.”

The guards nodded and then returned to their stoic stance, making sure their menacing stares warded off anyone that happened to walk near their facility.

Guiding them past the guards, Smith walked into the facility with Seth. They walked over to a table with a couple of free chairs next to some computers being manned by a couple of analysts.

“Let me bring you up to speed with what we’ve found so far. Oh, and before I forget, your kit is over on the other table.” Smith smiled a devilish grin. “It’s good to have you back, my friend.”

Shaking his head at the reference, Seth responded, “I keep trying to get out, but they keep pulling me back in.” The guys around him all laughed.

“OK, enough chitchat,” said Smith good-naturedly. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, and from what my boss tells me, we don’t have a lot of time. We’re going to have to cut this joker loose soon, so we need to squeeze him for as much as we can.” Smith shook his head in dismay. “I’m not sure who this guy’s related to, but he’s got some serious pull with the Chinese government. They are hooting and hollering for his release back in D.C., here in Europe, and in Kosovo too.”

“So I’ve heard.” Seth leaned forward. “So, what do we know about him?”

“Sadly, not much. We know he works as a bank executive for the Silk Road Bank in Skopje. The bank itself is headquartered in Baar, Switzerland, just south of Zurich. He’s been employed there for roughly six years and spent most of that time with the company here in the Balkans, mostly doing banking services in Macedonia, Greece, Kosovo, Albania, Serbia, and Bosnia—so you can bet he’s met with a lot of folks in this region. Now, while we don’t have a lot of data on him, we do have his passport stamps, and his electronic devices are starting to yield some interesting information.”

One of the nearby analysts plopped down in a chair next to Seth. “Yeah, like one of the two laptops he was captured with appears to be linked to that large Gmail and White House hack from two years ago. You remember—that KHS group that supposedly pulled off the hack.”

Seth rubbed at the five-o’clock shadow that was already growing on his face. What does this hack from two years ago have to do with Islamic extremists from the Balkans? he wondered.

“OK, so what exactly do you want me to ask him?” Seth asked. “I suspect you want me to question him while you keep focusing on Rexhepi, right?”

Smith nodded. “Now that we’ve been green-lighted to use the other tools in our bag, yeah. I want you to figure out who he’s really working for, and what type of support he’s providing to Rexhepi’s group. Does he know of any other terrorist attacks against our country? What is his connection to the KHS hacker group, and what did he have to do with the Gmail and White House hack from two years ago?”

Seth snorted at the request. “You want me to find out who he dated when he was sixteen while I’m at it?”

Smith just shot him a dirty look as he shook his head. “You have your marching orders, soldier. Get to it!” His tone suggested that he spoke in jest but meant every word of it.

Without saying anything further, Seth nodded and got up. He grabbed his gym bag and pulled out a pair of 5.11 pants and shirt. He proceeded to change out of his military uniform into the civilian attire. He wasn’t going to let this guy know he was military if he could avoid it. Best the man think he was CIA and believe the rules were lax or nonexistent.

Ten minutes later, Seth opened the door to the hallway that led to the four interrogation rooms in the small facility. Rexhepi was in one room, and their Chinese mystery man was in another. Walking up to the appropriate door, Seth turned the handle and walked in.

Strapped to a chair in front of a small table was a man, roughly five feet seven inches tall. He looked to have soft, manicured hands—the hands of someone who doesn’t do a lot of dirty work. Seth observed that he still had on the sensory deprivation equipment. He nodded toward the guard standing behind his new Chinese friend to take it off.

Once the goggles and headphones were off the prisoner, the man blinked several times and briefly shook his head, looking around the poorly lit room to get a sense of where he was being held.

When the Special Forces soldiers had captured him, they’d injected him with a drug that had knocked him out for nearly twelve hours. Once he had awoken five hours ago, they’d immediately placed the sensory deprivation equipment on him. The combination of the induced sleep and the disorienting effects of the equipment he’d been wearing would have caused the man to be completely unaware of how long he’d been in their custody. He would likely think that he’d been held for three or four more days at this point.

Sitting down in front of the prisoner, Seth pulled the man’s passport out and held it up. He opened it and read the name aloud: “Wen Zhenyu.”

The man looked at him cautiously and then nodded. “That is my name. Who are you? Why am I being held?” he asked angrily in excellent English. Seth detected a hint of a Midwestern accent, as if he’d spent some time in the Chicago area.

Dismissing the prisoner’s question, Seth asked, “Who are you working for?”

Scoffing at the question, Wen replied, “I work as a bank executive for the Silk Road Bank in Skopje. I specialize in business and construction loans.”

Wen continued to look around the room, searching for clues that might help him figure out who was holding him and where he was.

Seth shook his head. “I know that’s your official cover. What I want to know, is who do you really work for?”

Seth observed the man’s eyes darting around the room a bit more, searching for something but apparently not seeing what he was looking for.

“I’m a Chinese citizen. You have no right to hold me. I have done nothing wrong. I demand to speak to someone from my consulate!” Wen said angrily.

Seth shook his head. Then he opened the manila folder he had and placed it on the table. Wen looked at the folder, almost surprised by its sudden appearance.

Holding a picture of Rexhepi up for him to look at, Seth asked, “Who is this man?”

Wen looked at the picture and shook his head. “I have no idea who that is. I demand to speak with someone from my consulate,” he said again indignantly.

Maintaining a calm demeanor, Seth held up Wen’s cell phone. “This is your phone, isn’t it?”

Wen looked at the phone nervously but nodded.

Pulling out a small digital recording, Seth proceeded to play the recording of the intercepted phone call between Wen and Rexhepi. When Wen heard his voice and Rexhepi’s on the other end, his eyes grew a little wider before he quickly regained his composure.

“You fabricated that recording,” he said, seething. “I have no idea who that other voice belongs to. I demand you allow me to talk with someone from my consulate. I will not say another word!” he shouted angrily.

Enough is enough, Seth thought.

He slammed his hand on the metal table, his wedding ring slapping the metal with a hard crack as he lurched out of his chair. In one swift motion, he grabbed the right side of the table and hurled it onto its side, causing the guard standing behind Wen to jump back slightly. Seth was on Wen before he even knew what had happened.

Seth grabbed Wen by the throat, lifting him right out of his chair. He used the force of his forward momentum to shove Wen past the guard, who had moved out of the way just in time for Seth to slam Wen’s body against the back wall of the interrogation room.

The man couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred and forty pounds; Seth effortlessly manhandled him. As he lifted Wen off the ground, choking him, Seth leaned in close to his face. Looking him in the eyes with burning anger and hatred, he shouted, “Enough games! Your cover’s blown. You’ve been caught aiding and abetting a known terrorist who attacked our nation. You’re either going to talk to me, or so help me God, you’re going to wish you were dead!”

He threw Wen down and let him sink to the floor as he gasped for air.

Seth looked at the guard, who only raised an eyebrow at what had just unfolded. “Fix the table and sit him back in his chair,” Seth ordered. “Put the restraints back on him. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” Then he proceeded to leave the room.

He wants to play hardball, that’s fine—I’ve got plenty of tools left in my toolbox, he thought. A maniacal grin spread across his face.

Walking out into the hall, Seth made his way back to the outer room where he had his kit waiting for him. When he walked inside, he saw Smith standing there with his hands on his hip.

“It’s good to watch you in action, Seth,” he said with a smirk. “You have him on tilt for sure.”

“I hate letting that side of me come out,” Seth replied rather glumly. Deep down he hated allowing that inner animal out. It wasn’t who he was—it was a trained response and not something he felt he could always control. Yemen had taught him that much.

Just then, General Lancaster walked into the room and approached Smith and Seth. “Have you guys found anything yet? I’ve got a call with the Pentagon in about two hours and I’m going to need to give them a reason to stall us handing Wen over to the Chinese. A special envoy from the Chinese government is landing here in Kosovo in three hours. They’re flying in directly from Beijing.”

“We must really have someone big if they’re sending a special envoy to fetch this guy. You best move right to the good stuff, Seth,” Smith added. They had hoped to have more time to question him, but that wouldn’t happen now unless they uncovered something big.

Seth nodded and grabbed his small back of tricks and headed back in.

Walking back into the room, he noticed Wen didn’t seem quite as confident in his situation as he had just a few minutes prior.

Good, maybe I’ve gotten his attention, Seth hoped.

“You can’t do this to me. I demand to speak with someone from my consulate.”

Seth placed his small bag on the table and proceeded to pull some items out of it, placing each small box on the table in front of Wen, doing his best to make a show of each one of them.

Wen squirmed a bit, unsure of what was about to befall him.

“You’re an American—you can’t torture me,” Wen insisted. “It’s against your laws.” He was clearly nervous now.

For added fear factor, Seth pulled out needle-nose pliers, a ball-peen hammer, a cigar cutter, and a small battery-powered bone saw. Wen’s eyes were now truly ready to bug out of his head.

Seth gave a wicked grin as he flicked the safety switch on the bone saw off. He gave it just enough juice to spin the blades, producing a horrifying whine as the metal saw began to spin hundreds of revolutions a second. All color drained from Wen’s face. Seth then turned the saw off and placed it back on the table, staring at the man sitting before him.

“Look, Wen, this is going to go one of two ways,” Seth explained. “You’re either going to answer my questions and tell me what you know, or this is going to get painful. It’s not going to hurt me in the least, but I can guarantee you, you will feel pain like you’ve never felt before in your life—the kind of pain you didn’t know existed. Do you understand me, Wen?”

For the first time since they had started talking, Wen truly looked scared. Seth leaned in. “Wen, I can tell you’re thinking you’ll try to hold out as long as possible. You’re telling yourself to fall back on your training, that what your instructors taught you will help you evade my questions, that if you hold out long enough, someone from your government will come get you.”

Wen turned his head up to look at Seth with a surprised expression, as if Seth had just read his mind.

“Wen, you are all alone…and no one is coming to save you. Don’t make me hurt you. Don’t make me do this to you,” Seth said as he waved his hand across the items on the table.

Seth leaned forward so that he was looking into Wen’s eyes. “Let me tell you a secret, Wen. No matter how strong a person is, no matter how much training they’ve had, they all break. It’s just a matter of time and patience, but eventually, everyone breaks. The only question is, how much pain do you want to go through before you decide you’ve had enough? Please, Wen, don’t make me use these tools on you,” Seth implored.

Wen shook his head in anger and frustration. “You can’t do this. It goes against everything your country stands for, every law you’ve passed. You can’t torture me like this. I didn’t do anything, and I demand to be let go.”

Seth looked down at Wen, disappointment written on his face. He then moved over to one of the small boxes and opened it. Inside was a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. He pulled them out and proceeded to fill the syringe with 3 ccs of the clear fluid. He flicked the syringe and pushed the plunger up a little bit to remove an air bubble before he looked at the guard.

“Hold him,” Seth ordered.

The guard moved forward and grabbed Wen firmly by the shoulders. Wen tried to squirm as Seth grabbed Wen’s left arm with a death grip. He then stuck the needle into his deltoid muscle and depressed the plunger. When all the liquid was pushed out, Seth pulled the needle out and moved back to the small box, where he placed the used syringe and the small vial. The guard behind Wen released his grip and moved back a couple of paces behind him, awaiting further instructions.

While Seth let the drug start to work its way through Wen’s bloodstream, he moved over to the corner of the room and grabbed the tripod and camera he had leaned against the wall. He set it up and double-checked that it was properly aimed at Wen before he turned it on and started the recording.

It took about twenty more seconds for the medication to have its desired effect, but once it began to settle in, Wen’s entire demeanor changed. His eyes became a little glassy, and he seemed incredibly relaxed. Seth let the drug work a little longer before he started to ask Wen some very generic questions about Wen’s childhood, where he had grown up, what his favorite food was, his first girlfriend, his first childhood crush—all the things that elicited a happy memory for him. Seth knew this would put Wen in a happy mental state and distract him from his current surroundings.

Now that Wen was properly primed, the real questioning began in earnest.

“Wen, you said you work for the Silk Road Bank in Skopje. Who do you really work for?”

Wen smiled a goofy smile. “I don’t work for the Silk Road Bank. I work for the Ministry of State Security.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, Seth thought.

“What’s your job with the Ministry of State Security?” asked Seth.

Rolling his head a bit, Wen answered, “My job is to undermine the United States government and foment anti-US feelings among the Muslim communities in southeast Europe.”

“What is your relationship with Rexhepi?” Seth asked. He was getting into the groove of asking questions now.

“I’m his handler. He’s my asset, silly. He does what I tell him to do,” Wen replied sarcastically. “Can I get some water or a stiff drink? I could really go for a stiff drink right about now,” he added.

Not wanting to distract from his happiness, Seth nodded for the guard to go get them something to drink. Seth knew they had a bottle of rakia, a type of brandy that was popular in the Balkans, sitting out by the analysts for just this type of situation.

“Did you order Rexhepi to carry out a terrorist attack against the US?” Seth asked.

Smiling a mischievous smile, Wen confessed, “I sure did. It’s my masterpiece. Years of planning and millions of dollars later, I achieved a bigger success than I ever thought possible.”

“Who ordered you to carry out this attack?”

“The Ministry of State Security, of course. We Chinese do exactly as we are told, unlike you Americans. We don’t go rogue. We’re good communists,” he replied jovially. “Man, what kind of drugs did you give me? I feel great. I haven’t felt this happy in…I don’t know how long.”

Seth smiled. “I’m glad you’re liking them. I have plenty more I can give you. What was your involvement with the Kosovo hacker group two years ago?” He wanted to see if there was a connection between these two events.

Shaking his head, Wen said, “KHS was just a cover. I needed to find out what tariffs or economic sanctions President Sachs was going to implement on my country after your 2018 midterm elections. My government needed to know what your government was planning to do.”

Seth was surprised by the response. It was a bit more than he thought he would have gotten, but it sure explained an awful lot about why the Chinese had been responding toward the US the way they had. They had an inside track on what the President was going to do, so they could sidestep him at every turn.

An idea suddenly popped into Seth’s head. “Is the Ministry of State Security going to interfere in the US presidential election?” he asked.

Laughing at the question, Wen just shook his head. “You have no idea what’s coming. We’re not interfering in your election. We’ve already picked your next president and there isn’t a damn thing you or anyone else can do about it!”

Just then, the guard walked back into the room, a bottle of rakia and a couple of shot glasses in his hand.

“Ah, about time you got back with the good stuff,” said Wen. “Pour me a drink, and I’ll tell you all about the puppet regime we’re setting up here in the Balkans…and your new president.”

Chapter 12

Dominos Falling

October 28, 2020

Washington, D.C.

Department of Homeland Security

The weather had moved from an Indian summer to decidedly cold in the span of a few days in D.C., which Patricia felt was a sign of things to come. The more she read of the report from Kosovo, the more she felt like she was going to throw up. She put the folder down and stared at her computer monitor. It still had the video of the interrogation paused on it. She had watched it but paused it midway through so she could read the actual report and the analysis that went along with it to help her put the entire thing into context.

She had to admit, what she was reading was nothing short of absolutely horrifying. It was the government’s absolute worst fear about what could happen during an election, and it didn’t seem like there was anything they could do to stop the wheels from falling off this wagon train.

An hour went by as she sat numbly in her office, watching the interrogation video and reading through the report. When she was done, she knew she had to start bringing more people into the loop. This was about to get deadly serious, and her department had to do whatever was necessary to get ahead of it.

By 11 a.m., she had assembled several of her deputies and department heads, along with the group that was handling election security. Joining them for the meeting, much to her relief, was the Deputy Director of the FBI, Joseph Latrell, along with a senior official from the CIA and NSA. It was all hands on deck as they tried to figure out what to do next.

Seeing that everyone who needed to be present had arrived, Patty called the meeting to order. “Thank you, everyone, for coming over on such short notice. I know you all are busy, and worse, it’s nearly the end of the week, so everyone wants to get things finalized before the election. However, we are here today because our nation is about to be attacked by Islamic extremists. Our presidential election is about to be interfered with by foreign actors.”

A murmur could be heard in the room as many of the people shared nervous glances with each other.

“Because of the gravity of what has recently been uncovered, we have several folks from our interagency partners here to help bring us up to speed on certain aspects of what has been discovered. With that said, I’m going to hand the meeting over to Mr. Latrell,” she said as she nodded for him to begin.

Joe cleared his throat as he prepared to give his remarks. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Joe Latrell, and I’m the Deputy Director at the FBI. Thanks to the hard work of our military overseas, and efforts by the CIA and the NSA,” he said as he nodded toward the two agency reps, “in the last couple of days, we’ve become aware of two new terrorist attacks that are planned against our country.

“According to intelligence, the next attack is supposed to happen on Halloween, October 31st. Then a second attack is slated to happen on election day, November third. Unfortunately, we don’t know who the attackers are just yet. Our forces in Kosovo are working hard to uncover that information for us as we speak.

“What we’ve been able to track down from the lone attacker that was taken into custody after the October 24th attack is that we’re dealing with an Albanian terrorist organization that goes by the name of the Islamic State of Kosovo, or ISK. All, and I want to emphasize this, all of the October 24th attackers had previously fought with ISIS in Syria and Iraq. They all originated from Kosovo and a small Albanian enclave in Macedonia. The ringleader for this organization is a man by the name of Luan Rexhepi, a forty-four-year-old ethnic Albanian Kosovar. He fought against the Serbs in the 1999 war and was suspected of a number of atrocities committed against ethnic Serbs. In the mid-2000s, he traveled to Afghanistan and then later Iraq to fight against US forces. One of his brothers was among the attackers as well.

“When Rexhepi returned to Kosovo sometime in the late 2000s, he tried to form a terrorist organization with the intent of overthrowing the government and instituting a Sharia government led by him. He spent a couple of years in jail for sedition, but upon release from prison, he went right back to radicalizing people in his village. Sometime around 2017, ISK started to receive some large financial donations from an unknown source. The Treasury Department is still looking into where the funds originated from. With added money, he began to buy loyalty and new followers. For the next two years, his organization grew and trained. It’s suspected that his group has somewhere around two hundred members scattered across Kosovo, Macedonia, and Albania.

“What we’ve been able to ascertain about the Halloween attack is that this particular one will be carried out by a sister organization, the Islamic State in Bosnia. The election day attack is going to be carried out by the Islamic State in Serbia, also a sister organization to the ISK.”

For the next several minutes, he continued to lay out the history of the three organizations and who was responsible for and planning the terrorist attacks. Then he explained that the military had apprehended Rexhepi two days ago in Kosovo.

“Was this that Special Forces raid we saw on the news that took place in Macedonia with those two helicopters landing in the center of the highway near the Greek border?” asked one of the DHS department heads.

Joe shook his head. “No. That was the apprehension of another man by the name of Wen Zhenyu. He is ultimately the reason why we’ve called this meeting.”

As he shook his head, Riku Tanaka asked, “What does a Chinese national have to do with this Albanian terrorist group that attacked us?”

“I’m getting to that,” Joe said. “If you all can please stay patient a little bit longer, everything will become clear. During the apprehension of Rexhepi, the NSA intercepted a phone call between him and Mr. Wen. Jill, would you go ahead and play the conversation?” Joe asked.

Jill nodded and pulled a small digital recorder out of a padlocked pouch she had brought with her. She gave the crowd a very stern look before declaring, “What I’m about to play for you is classified top secret. Its contents are not to be discussed outside this room. If they are, it won’t take the NSA long to figure out who leaked it, and I can guarantee you, that person will be prosecuted.”

The warning was so severe, even Patty felt a shiver of nervousness going down her spine.

The conversation between the two played aloud, and Patty watched as many of the people in the room grew angry and surprised that this Chinese national was not just helping this known terrorist but appeared to be actively involved in the planning of future attacks.

When the tape ended, Joe added, “During the interrogation of Mr. Wen, we learned that he is actually a covert agent for the Ministry of State Security, the Chinese version of the NSA, CIA and FBI all rolled into one. In addition to the two terrorist attacks, he revealed a much larger plot that is already underway to subvert our presidential election.”

Patty saw several people place their hands over their mouths in shock while others muttered a few curse words under their breath.

Joe continued, “Our agents are in the process of arresting more than two dozen sleeper agents that were going to carry out these attacks. Unfortunately, there is another cell that’s responsible for the election day attacks, and we have not yet identified who their members are or where they are hiding. All we know is this second cell is tied to an Albanian enclave in Serbia known as Presevo. I’ll let our agency rep tell you more about that.” He nodded to the Director of the CIA, Marcus Ryerson, to take over.

Ryerson lifted his chin up as all eyes turned to look at him. “During our interrogation of Mr. Wen, we learned that he also funded a separate terrorist organization that has loose ties to Rexhepi’s group in an Albanian enclave called the Presevo Valley. That area has been a hotbed of Albanian Muslim extremism dating back to the Bosnian-Serbian war in the 1990s. It’s seen an increase in extremist activity with the rise of ISIS in the Middle East. The Serbs estimate close to three or four hundred young men and women from this area have traveled to Syria in the mid-2010s.

“We’re currently working with the Serbs right now on trying to track down who the cell leader may be, and who from that region had mentioned traveling to the US or may have already left for America. I’m afraid we do not have a lot of information on this second group just yet. What I can tell you is we are experiencing an enormous amount of pushback from every government in the region once we apprehended Mr. Wen. Prior to his arrest, all the Balkan countries were bending over backwards to help us hunt down these terrorists. Once we took Wen into custody, it was like a switch was turned on and we immediately hit heavy resistance.

“I don’t have to tell you how much the Serbs hate Kosovars, Albanians or Muslims. Their hatred of each other goes back hundreds of years. Hell, they’ve ethnically cleansed entire villages over how much they hate each other. But right now, all of them are singing one unified voice, saying that we must release Mr. Wen and stop our unilateral abduction of these Islamic extremists.”

Patty saw the puzzlement on the faces of many in the room. She felt it too.

Director Hogan chimed in at this point. “I think we should talk about why the Chinese are so adamant about us releasing Wen, and what he told us. We can’t solve this problem if we don’t disclose to everyone the full truth of what we’ve discovered.”

All eyes now turned back to FBI Deputy Director Latrell.

Joe sighed and nodded. “We noticed some irregularities with about a dozen postal workers who appeared to be receiving significant sums of money. When our agents looked into it, they discovered that these postal workers were responsible for picking up and dropping off bulk mail at nursing homes and various retirement communities. At first, we didn’t know what to make of this common link they all seemed to have. When we questioned one of the postal workers about the large sums of money she had suddenly found herself inundated with, she broke down in tears and confessed what she was doing.”

Joe shook his head as though he didn’t want to be discussing this topic. “She told us a man she had been dating said he had a friend who would pay her fifty dollars per absentee ballot she collected and turned over to his friend.”

Audible gasps and grumbling broke out in the room.

Riku Tanaka jumped in. “This sounds like a wild story that’s been spun to give an excuse if the administration loses the election next week.”

More than a few people shot Riku a dirty look at the comment.

Joe immediately jumped in. “Now, hold on a second. My agents didn’t make this crap up, and we aren’t ginning something up to give an excuse to any one particular group in case they lose the election.”

“Come on, what are we talking about?” Riku retorted. “A few hundred absentee ballots at most. This is a red herring.”

Joe slammed his hand on the table, startling half the people in the room. “It’s more than a few hundred ballots. This group in Charlotte alone bought more than 30,000 ballots. In south Florida, it’s more like 65,000 ballots. We’re talking about enough votes to swing the election in five states that have previously decided the election by less than 30,000 votes.”

Several people shook their heads in disbelief.

Director Ryerson stood up and leaned forward on the table, leering over them all. “You want more proof—ask Director Hogan to share the interrogation video of Mr. Wen with you. She’s seen the proof. The Chinese have stolen this election before we’ve even had it! They’ve financed these terrorist groups to carry out these attacks against us and then weaponized the videos of them on social media to tear us apart. If you think the Russians interfered in the 2016 election, the Chinese have outright manipulated the vote and weaponized our social media against us. The bigger question we have to ask is now that we know what’s been done, what do we do about it?”

“This is a farce. The Chinese can’t possibly manipulate the vote,” Riku exclaimed angrily. “You said these were absentee ballots, so we have no way of knowing if they took away votes from the Democrats or Republicans. For all we know, this is a desperate last gasp by an administration that looks to be losing a close election.”

“Enough, Riku,” Patty insisted, rebuking him publicly for his outburst. “We’re being given factual intelligence by the FBI, CIA, and NSA of direct foreign interference in our election. It doesn’t matter what the polls say, or what our opinion is of the current administration. Our duty is not to the administration but to the Constitution of the United States and our country. We have clear proof. As a matter of fact, here it is.”

She pulled out her government-issued laptop and brought up the interrogation, turning the computer around so everyone else could see it. “This is the interrogation of Mr. Wen. This is about an hour into the interrogation. I’ll let you listen to the interrogator ask him the questions, and you can hear Mr. Wen’s response with your own ears.”

For the next ten minutes, the group listened to the interrogator methodically question Mr. Wen about the election tampering. He went into detail about how they had chosen the specific districts and roughly how many absentee ballots they needed to intercept in order to reduce the number of votes to tilt the election result in each of those states to have the desired result.

When the video was over, Riku indignantly asked, “How do we know this guy wasn’t tortured to say all of this? He looks pretty drugged to me.”

Jill, the NSA rep, shook her head at the comment. “Whose side are you on?” she asked. “We’ve been shown a video interrogation of an admitted Chinese state security spy, an audio recording of him talking with the terrorist leader of the October 24th attack, and a confession of a postal worker involved in this plot to interfere with our election…and you still have the audacity to say this is all somehow being fabricated and made up? Where did you find this grossly incompetent idiot?” She shot Director Hogan a look of contempt.

Riku sat there silent for a moment. His face turned a darker shade. He was clearly fuming with anger, but he seemed to know enough to hold his tongue.

Thank God, thought Patty. He’s already said way more than he should have at this point.

“Joe, what’s the Director doing about this?” Patty asked. “Has he spoken with the AG or the President about it yet?”

Joe checked his watch, then responded, “He should be meeting with the AG now. When he’s done, I suspect the AG will probably want to talk with you about what to do with the information. I think we need to inform the President, but frankly, I’m not sure what can be done. The damage has already been done. More than 180,000 absentee ballots in five states have already been stolen. There’s no way to know which person’s ballot was stolen and which one was not. Short of voiding all absentee ballots and requiring everyone to cast a ballot in person, I don’t know how you would fix this. And even if you did that, you’d disenfranchise the tens of millions of people who already voted absentee for one reason or another.”

Patty shook her head in disgust. Something needed to be done, and the President would ultimately have to make that call. Right now, she needed to give him some options to consider, but she didn’t have the foggiest idea of what the best course of action would be.

*******

Washington, D.C.

US Supreme Court

Anna Cho finished preparing a fresh pot of coffee and a separate kettle of hot water for tea. Then she arranged a couple of tea bags on the pushcart. She made sure to grab the small container of half-and-half and some flavored creamers as well. She looked around cautiously—she was still alone.

She quickly pulled out the small tube of red L’Oréal lipstick and smiled.

Such a clever way to disguise its contents, she mused.

She gently twisted the lower portion of the lipstick tube, which revealed a small compartment filled with a metallic gray powder. She poured half of the powder in the coffee and the other half in the pot of hot water for the tea. In the blink of an eye, the powder dissolved and disappeared. Anna quickly put the container back together and then breathed a sigh of relief.

God, I hope I didn’t just breathe any of that in, she thought nervously. I guess I’ll know in a week…

With her primary mission now complete, she finished putting together the pushcart with the few remaining items: a sandwich cut into smaller squares for one justice, some macadamia nuts for another, some fresh fruit for a third. Each justice had their own favorite snack they liked, and people like Anna Cho and others who worked in the dining facility of the Supreme Court made sure the justices were well fed and hydrated throughout the day.

Her coworker, Maja Stankovic, walked back into the kitchen. “Do you need any help with that?” she asked.

Smiling, Anna replied, “No, I think I have everything ready. Would you like to bring it up for them?”

“Really? You’ll let me do that?” asked Maja. “Are you sure?”

Maja was a relatively new employee. She’d only been working here for about a year, so she typically did the more menial jobs in the kitchen.

Anna, however, was more than happy to let the junior employee have the glory that day. After all, she needed to make sure she had an alibi for when the justices got sick. After today, Anna would be on a preapproved vacation for five days, so by the time the justices started to show symptoms, she wouldn’t even be at work to be considered a suspect. Especially when she’d be able to point to Maja having brought the justices their afternoon tea and coffee and not her.

She smiled warmly at her coworker. “Yeah, you can bring the cart to them. Besides, you’ll be doing this job for me while I’m on vacation, so it’ll be good practice. Just remember, Chief Justice Mark Lighthouse is a prolific coffee drinker, and Justice Amy Keaton recently switched over to tea after her doctor recommended she change her diet. I’ve written out a small note on what each of them likes to drink and their favorite afternoon snack to help you out.”

Maja beamed. “That’s so nice of you, Anna. Thank you for the help. I really appreciate it.” She looked around to make sure no one else heard her. “Some of the other ladies here are really catty, aren’t they?” she asked.

Anna snickered at the comment. “They sure can be. We immigrants have to stick together,” she said with a wink.

Anna was a first-generation American from China, and Maja was a Bosnian-Serb refugee. Her family had fled the war-torn nation back in the late 1990s to come to America. In all reality, America was the only home Maja had ever known, though she had visited Bosnia on a number of occasions to see family that still lived there.

As Maja collected the pushcart and headed off to the justices’ deliberation chambers, Anna smiled a mischievous smile, knowing that she was about to forever change the fabric of America. No other person from the Ministry of State Security would have the level of impact in the world that she would, and that fact alone warmed her deep within.

*******

Kosovo

Camp Bondsteel

Brigadier General William Lancaster stared at the video screen in frustration. The sixty-inch monitor was split into four separate squares: one showed the Pentagon’s situation room, one had the SOCOM ops center, another had a briefing room at Langley, and the final square was the White House Situation Room. All the groups on the SVTCs were bickering about what to do about the evolving situation in the Balkans.

General Lancaster rubbed his temples. He needed to get everyone back on track and provide some guidance on what to do next. “Hey! Excuse me, everyone,” he said in a rather loud voice. The talking heads on the other end of the SVTC stopped talking.

“I understand there are a lot of political decisions that need to be made, but I’ve got some serious problems here in Kosovo that need an immediate decision,” Lancaster insisted. “The Kosovo government says my forces don’t have permission to operate inside their country, and for the time being, they’re trying to keep my guys bottled up here on Bondsteel.

“In northern Kosovo, where we captured Rexhepi, the Kosovo police have been fighting a near daylong gun battle with remnants of the ISK and desperately need help. At the NATO Kosovo Forces headquarters in Pristina, the German commander won’t release his forces to go help them, and he further tells me that my forces have no authority to operate inside Kosovo. So, on the one hand, I have the police and security service begging me for help. On the other hand, I have the government and the KFOR commander telling me I have no authority or permission to operate in Kosovo. I need someone to make a decision as to what I’m supposed to do,” Lancaster said in a frustrated tone.

The President’s National Security Advisor, Robert Grey, responded, “We’re working on figuring that out, General. Hypothetically, are there any military or government forces in the nearby area that could prevent you from intervening on behalf of the Kosovo police, should they opt to unilaterally request military help from the President in contradiction of their own government’s guidance?”

Ugh…talk about putting my guys in a bad position, thought Lancaster, controlling his urge to groan.

He took a deep breath. “Not really,” he responded. “There’s Multinational Battle Group–West stationed in Camp Villaggio, Italia, near Pec. It consists of a small Italian and Austrian force, but they don’t have anything that could really be considered a threat to my force. Likewise, there’s a military police unit in Pristina that’s composed entirely of Italian Carabinieri. None of those two groups really have any sort of combat power that could stop my force, but I’d rather not have our guys square off if I can avoid it.”

“What about Serbia and Bosnia?” asked another person, who was in the Situation Room with the President. “If you had to take unilateral action in either of those countries and go after the safe houses the CIA’s sources provided, could you?”

General Lancaster thought about that question a bit more before he responded. “That’s a trickier question, sir. I’ll address Serbia first. The Serbs do have an actual military. I have no idea what kind of military force they have in the area or if they would try to intervene. I’d like to think they’d sit on the sidelines and let us do what we needed to do. They don’t like Albanians any more than we like Al Qaeda.

“The bigger challenge in Serbia is the Gendarmery, which falls under control of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, or MUP. This paramilitary force reports directly to the president. If he’s under pressure from the Chinese to protect this Albanian terrorist group, then you can bet he’ll have the Gendarmery do it. I doubt the military would obey such an order, but the MUP certainly would.

“As to Bosnia, they also have a military, but it’s relatively small. If they opted to protect the ISB, then they could prove to be a problem, but I doubt they’d get involved. Our bigger problem in Bosnia would be an actual fight with the ISB itself. From the most recent CIA report we have on them, their numbers hover around five to eight hundred fighters, largely concentrated in the mountainous area around Tjentiste, near the Montenegro-Serbian border region. It’s a relatively isolated part of the country with no military presence, but you can bet it’s an ISB stronghold.”

There was silence on the other end as people on that side of the call muted their lines and talked about the options. General Lancaster realized that none of them were good.

General Royal at SOCOM finally came on. “Mr. President, we have a reasonably good idea of where Sefer Kubura, the leader of the ISB, is held up—it’s his group that’s slated to carry out a terrorist attack against our country in less than forty-eight hours. We also only have five days to find out who the election day attackers are and when and where they’re going to attack. Right now, he’s our best bet. We just don’t have time to deal with the politics of the situation, Mr. President. If you want us to find out who these attackers are and where they’re located, we need to capture the cell leaders and interrogate them as quickly as possible.”

The President let out a stream of obscenities. “There’s no good answer, is there, gentlemen?” he finally asked. “Well, I’m not about to let another terrorist attack happen on my watch.”

He leaned in so his face would be visible on the teleconference screen. “General Royal, Lancaster, you guys are cleared hot to take these guys down. Do whatever you have to, but capture these men and find out who these attackers are.”

The President then addressed the directors of the FBI and Homeland Security. “As the military and the CIA uncover names, I want your agents to be carrying out raids and apprehending the suspects. Work your sources here in the states and leave no rock unturned. We have to find these terrorists before they can carry out their next attack. I also want those postal workers charged with interfering with an election, bribery, and any other charges you guys can come up with. We need to build a solid case of how a foreign actor has actively interfered in our election so we can bring it to the American people once we have all the details. In the meantime, this needs to stay airtight until we have everything ready to go public.”

The President then shifted in his chair to face his Secretary of State. “I want you to confront the Chinese with the information we have from Wen Zhenyu. Tell them we know about the election fraud they’re attempting and their scheme with the postal workers. You tell them we have proof they’re behind the terrorist attacks and that if any further attacks happen against our country, we are going to consider it an act of war.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Secretary Kagel replied. “I’ll relay the information and the threat. What do you want me to say should they disregard it?”

Leaning forward, the President exclaimed, “You tell that conniving SOB Chen I still command the most powerful military in the world. If he wants to escalate our trade war to a full-blown military conflict, then let one more terrorist attack happen in our country. They had better call them off or I’ll destroy their economy!” Sachs slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his point.

Chapter 13

Raider-One, Raider-Two

Kosovo

Camp Bondsteel

As he placed the last thirty-round magazine in his front pouch, Seth made sure he had everything arranged just the way he wanted it before he put on his individual body armor and began to tighten all the straps in place to fit snugly against his body. He looked around at the other men in the hangar near the helipad. They all had looks of determination written on their faces as they too got their individual equipment ready.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for helping my men out,” a colonel in the Kosovo police said. He had come to Camp Bondsteel to personally request their help up in Srbica. His police officers were battling an all-out insurrection in the city following the capture of Rexhepi.

Turning to look at the police colonel who was coming with them, Seth replied, “I’m glad we’re able to help, Colonel. Just make sure your officers know when we’re coming and tell them to stay clear until we call them for their help. We’re going to move quickly through the village, and we don’t want to accidentally end up shooting at each other, OK?”

The colonel nodded and held up his cell phone. “I’m in constant contact with the police commander up there. His officers are hunkered down in the police station, waiting for us. They’ve locked themselves in the building for the time being.”

Placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, Seth added, “We’ll sort this out and rescue your men, Colonel. These terrorists aren’t going to win.”

Captain Justin Nicholson walked up and pulled Seth to the side. “You sure you want to come with us?” he asked. “This is going to be a fast, hot and heavy hit. We have to get ready to make a quick turn for the next mission.”

Seth smiled at Nicholson. “I know, Captain. But you guys are going to need the added help. Besides, I’ll help coordinate things with the colonel here and his men, so your team can focus on rooting out these insurgents. If we can take some prisoners, all the better. The DEVGRU guys are arriving shortly, and they’ve got another interrogation team coming along with them.”

Nicholson nodded. “Do you know who’s doing the hit in Bosnia and Serbia?”

“From my understanding, it’ll be the JSOC boys doing both hits,” Seth explained. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a Ranger company here yet, so your ODA team will be acting as the QRF should either group get into trouble.”

General Lancaster joined them. “OK, you all, enough chitchat. Get in the choppers and go clean up our mess,” he ordered.

“Ha ha. You just wish you were coming along,” Seth replied good-naturedly.

“Hell no. I’m too old for this crap anymore,” Lancaster said with a laugh. “But I sure do like watching you guys on my Reaper drones.”

After a few minutes of final instruction, the twelve-man ODA team, along with Seth and the Kosovo police colonel, boarded the two Blackhawk helicopters that would fly them twenty minutes away to Srbica, the small city where they had captured Rexhepi. His supporters there had surrounded the local police station and killed five officers so far.

As their helicopters lifted off, so did two Apache gunships. They only had a total of four of them on Bondsteel, specially flown in from Romania using drop tanks on their wing pylons to get them the extra range needed to fly to Kosovo.

*******

The two Blackhawks made a quick pass over the city and the Bajram Aliu stadium, which was two blocks away from the beleaguered police station. As they flew over the area, Seth spotted dozens of individuals surrounding the police station, shooting into it.

Captain Nicholson told the pilots, “Set my team down in the stadium. We’ll move in on foot from there.”

The Blackhawks circled back around and landed quickly in the center of the field. In seconds, both groups dismounted the helicopters quickly and began to move forward to advance on the insurgents.

Seth tapped the police colonel on the shoulder. “Call ahead to your guys now and let them know we’re on the ground and moving to relieve them,” he ordered.

While they advanced, the colonel made the call.

When the group rounded one of the corners onto the main street, they came face-to-face with a group of five insurgents who were standing near a pickup truck, reloading magazines. Without hesitating, the Special Forces soldiers gunned the five hostiles down before they even knew what had happened.

“Bravo team, take the far side of the street and advance. Alpha team, on me!” shouted Captain Nicholson as he moved forward, his rifle at the ready.

Turning to the police colonel, Nicholson said, “Stay low and follow me.”

Seth raised his own M4 to his shoulder and advanced quickly behind Alpha team. They moved maybe halfway down the block before the attackers realized they were under attack.

Zip, zip, crack.

Bullets slammed into the cars and nearby walls of the buildings as Alpha team advanced. Seth spotted an insurgent manning one of the heavy machine guns and drew a bead on him, pulling the trigger before the man had a chance to get the heavy weapon turned around to shoot at them. Seth’s bullet hit the man in the head, dropping him right where he stood.

“Cover to the right!” shouted one of the soldiers as they shifted fire to a building on the far side of the street. Several soldiers shot at a figure that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

More gunfire rang out from a few other buildings as the Special Forces soldiers quickly fanned out and moved in on the insurgents.

While the American soldiers advanced on the insurgents, one of the Apache gunships circled overhead, banking hard as it angled its nose down before letting loose a burst of gunfire from its chin gun.

BOOM.

A car in front of the police station exploded, killing several insurgents who had been hiding behind it as they’d peppered the police station with machine-gun fire.

The second Apache hovered slowly over the police station, the chin gun moving wherever the gunner turned his head as he searched for more targets. Finding one, he let loose a short burst of fire, shredding another insurgent.

At this point, the remaining insurgents broke off their attack and tried to do the best they could to slip away. The rest of Captain Nicholson’s men continued to advance along the sidewalks of the main road leading up to the police station. When they got near it, they had the police colonel call to his men and let them know they had reached the station.

A few minutes later, half a dozen police officers exited the building as they approached the American soldiers. The police colonel spoke with them for a few minutes and then told several of them to accompany the Special Forces soldiers to check the surrounding area and make sure there were no more insurgents hiding anywhere. It was imperative that they make sure they either killed them all or got them to vacate the area.

Twenty minutes went by as the police continued to search the surrounding area for any further insurgents. They managed to apprehend two of them as they tried to escape down an alleyway. When the police returned, they went to work on collecting the bodies of the dead insurgents and their weapons, while a local fire truck was called over to put out the fire from the car the Apache had blown up.

Seth’s radio sprang to life. “Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell, this is General Lancaster. I’m sending the Blackhawks back to pick you guys up. It looks like the KFOR commander in Pristina is finally sending some soldiers over to Srbica. I don’t want you guys there when they arrive, so make sure to grab whatever you think is important and get on those helicopters.”

“Copy that, sir. We’ll be on the birds before they get here,” Seth replied. He quickly waved down Nicholson and filled him on the situation. His compatriot agreed that it was time to get out of there.

With the sound of the approaching helicopters getting louder, Seth pointed to the two prisoners. “Let’s take them with us. We can try and find out how many more insurgents are operating in the area and who else is involved.”

The soldiers nearby nodded. They walked over to the prisoners and zip-tied their hands before placing black hoods on them. Then they marched the detainees over to the football field nearby where the helicopters would land.

Once everyone was loaded on the helicopters, they lifted off—not a moment too soon. As they began their ascent into the air, a dozen Italian armored vehicles rolled into the city, headed right for the police station. The Italian soldiers looked up at the Americans as they flew away and shook their fists, but they were out of their grasp.

As Seth and his men approached Camp Bondsteel, they saw a small column of military jeeps and lightly armored vehicles lined up at the main gate.

I wonder what that’s all about, Seth thought.

When the helicopters had landed, Seth took off at a trot to the operations center. He had a bad feeling about the activity at the main gate and he wanted to find out what was going on.

Once Seth entered the building, he immediately spotted General Lancaster on the phone with someone. The general waved for him to join him.

“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure to tell them.…Yes, sir, the SEALs should be landing here shortly.…I know, once they’re here, we’ll get them saddled up for the mission. I’ll call you back.” Lancaster hung up the phone and then turned to Seth.

“Good job in Srbica,” he said. “However, I’ve got another problem right now that I need your help with.” He was clearly frustrated with how things were turning out.

“Sure thing, boss,” Seth answered. “What’s going on?”

Lancaster shook his head. “I have to go deal with the KFOR commander who’s down at the front gate. He’s insisting that this base is under his control, and he’s ordering us to cease our military operations right now. I need to go tell him that by order of the Secretary of Defense and the President of the United States, that’s not happening.”

“Wow, this whole place is turning into a complete goat rope. What the hell is going on?” asked Seth, venting. “One minute the Kosovars are happy that we’re here taking these terrorists out of there, the next minute it seems like the government, along with our NATO partners, is protecting them.”

General Lancaster ignored the comment. He motioned for Seth to follow him as they walked out of the ops center. “The Delta team is nearly ready to go,” he explained. “The SEALs should be arriving momentarily. When they do, I need you to brief them on the Presevo raid. One of the ops planners has the brief ready—I just need you to bring the DEVGRU guys up to speed on what’s been going on and who the target is.”

They heard the roar of a C-17 flying over the base and momentarily looked up. They spotted roughly four dozen parachutes descending toward the helipad area of the base. Seth looked at the general. “Is that the SEALs’ boss? You had them parachute in?” he asked with a look of disbelief on his face.

Lancaster spat on the ground. “The damn government and KFOR wouldn’t give us permission to land them at the Pristina airport, and none of the neighboring countries would let them land either. I don’t have time for them to slip in surreptitiously. I need them on the ground now!” He stomped off in the direction of the front gate to go deal with the German KFOR commander.

Wow, this whole mission is going to crap, Seth thought. What the heck is going on?

*******

Washington, D.C.

Pentagon Operations Center

It was 2109 hours when Secretary of Defense Charles “Chuck” McElroy dropped a couple of Alka-Seltzers in his glass of water, waiting for the tablets to dissolve before he could gulp the liquid down. His heartburn was killing him, and he needed to get it under control.

Looking up at the video display, he saw it was 0309 hours local time in Bosnia. The Osprey had just landed in a field near the target location in Tjentiste, near the Montenegro-Serbian border, disgorging its cargo of operators. The ground forces would hike a quick mile to the target location as they sought to maintain their stealth. The Reaper drone circling overhead was providing him with excellent real-time surveillance of the surrounding area, and another screen showed a thermal image of the targeted building, courtesy of a CIA satellite some sixty miles above them.

McElroy watched as one group of helicopters dropped off a team of twelve Delta operators. Twenty minutes later, his Alka-Seltzer had started to kick in, and he watched a smaller group of four operators rapidly approached the roof of the targeted building from the air. They had HALOed in and were quickly closing in on the location that intelligence sources had said housed Sefer Kubura, the leader of the ISB.

The Secretary of Defense watched anxiously, barely remembering to breathe. When the soldiers who were parachuting in got close to the roof, they shot the two guards there with their silenced rifles, making sure their presence remained undetected. By the time the guards in the building could hear the rotor noise of the Ospreys, the four operators who’d landed on the roof were readying themselves to breach the building from the top down.

The twelve-man team that had landed further away and hiked in fanned out into two separate groups. One group of six approached the targeted house, while the other ground team moved toward the two outbuildings nearby. Their Bosnian source had said the outlying buildings were acting as a barracks of sorts, housing as many as fifteen armed insurgents.

Another computer monitor suddenly came to life. One of the technicians had added the views from the head-mounted cameras the operators were wearing. There was a split screen, and McElroy quickly ascertained which image was from one of the operators on the roof and which was from the team heading toward the same building from the ground level.

The Secretary of Defense suddenly heard audio of one of the men, half a world away. “Five, four, three, two, one…!” Then he saw a bright flash on the rooftop door.

BOOM.

In seconds, a second flash was soon followed by a short whoomf as a flash-bang went off. Then the four operators on the roof swiftly burst into the building. McElroy watched as the other two groups of operators on the ground almost simultaneously burst through the doors of the remaining buildings on the property.

In the span of three minutes, the Delta operators had captured Sefer Kubura alive, along with a handful of his lieutenants. Only four occupants on the property had been killed in the skirmish, while the other eleven had been captured. With their primary target in custody, the operators began a quick sweep of the buildings for any and all sensitive materials that might help shed some light on their activities. They grabbed laptops, thumb drives, cell phones, maps, journals, and notebooks—anything and everything of potential value was quickly stuffed into large bags. A few of their other comrades rounded all the prisoners up and held them fifty meters from the buildings while they waited for the Ospreys to head back for the pickup.

Ten minutes went by as they waited for their rides to return. When the helicopters landed, the team conducting the SSE of the buildings had collected what they could and made their way out to the landing zone.

When the Ospreys landed, the operators threw the prisoners on before piling in with all the captured materials. Secretary of Defense McElroy breathed a huge sigh of relief.

A team of specialists would be waiting for the men at Bondsteel to begin ripping the phones, computers, thumb drives, and any other electronic devices. All the data would be uploaded to teams back at the NSA, CIA, and SOCOM for further analysis.

McElroy knew that for now, the operators would sit back and count themselves lucky that none of them had been killed or wounded on what was arguably a hastily-thrown-together mission with zero preparation—something he knew that they both specialized in doing and absolutely hated being asked to do.

*******

As the first mission into Bosnia wound down, the mission into the Presevo Valley was heating up. After some arm-twisting on the part of the President and the Secretary of State, and sixty million dollars in foreign aid, the Serbian government had granted the US permission to carry out the raid in their territory.

Surveillance showed they were indeed pulling their MUP forces out of the area, along with any other police and military units, so there would be no chance of a friendly-fire situation. All the Serbs had asked was that they be allowed to monitor the raid, which the DoD originally agreed to, but only if they performed their surveillance from the confines of the US Embassy in Belgrade, where the Americans could counter-monitor the Serbian officials.

Because this raid was viewed as far more dangerous, an entire SEAL team platoon was being sent in, along with ODA 0311 on standby in a second set of helicopters, accompanied by two Apache gunships.

McElroy made a comment to those in the room with him. “Well, the first raid went off without a hitch. Let’s hope the SEALs have the same luck the Army just had.”

Bristling a bit at the comment, the Chief of Naval Operations puffed his chest out a bit. “I’m sure DEVGRU will get our man,” he said confidently.

The SecDef nodded. “I’m sure they will, Admiral. I’m sure they will.” He stood. “Excuse me for just a moment,” he said as he headed to the restroom. They had less than thirty minutes before the next raid. It was going to be a long evening for the men and women at the Pentagon.

*******

As the Delta Force raid reentered Kosovo airspace, the DEVGRU raid had just left, crossing over into Serbia and the Presevo Valley. It was now 0435 hours, still another two and a half hours until sunrise, plenty of time left to operate in the darkest hours of the day. A second Reaper drone, flown in from an airbase in Romania, had finally come on station, loaded with four Hellfire missiles, ready to deliver some aerial support should it be needed.

For this raid, the SEALs would be hitting two specific targets. The Serbian Security Service was unable to confirm which location Tahir Shicri, the head of the Islamic State of Serbia, was bedding down at, so the SEALs would have to hit two locations simultaneously, which was why the entire platoon was going in on the raid. Each team would also have a lone Apache gunship assigned for close-in support, and the Reaper could be vectored in, depending on what additional help was needed. Under normal circumstances, they would have had two Apaches for each location, but these aircraft were not commonly deployed to Kosovo, and the other two had accompanied the Delta team into Bosnia.

While everyone was watching the monitors showing the aircraft heading toward their individual targets, President Sachs snuck into the room and walked over to an empty chair next to the SecDef. As the President approached the table, a few people suddenly noticed him and began to stand before he waved for them to stay seated.

Now that all eyes had turned to him, he said, “Please carry on, people. I’m just here to watch like the rest of you.”

The attention in the room quickly returned to the monitors as they waited for the assault teams to reach their targets.

The first assault team swooped in quickly, hovering over the roof of the building they were going to raid. Ropes were thrown out the back end of the Osprey, and two strings of operators descended quickly down the ropes. While the first Osprey was landing one group of operators, a second landed less than a hundred feet from the building and offloaded the other group.

With the Apache circling nearby, the operators moved quickly on the house. Just as it looked like they were going to breach the house before anyone could react, a lone figure appeared in one of the windows and let loose a string of bullets at the group of SEALs who had been rushing the front of the building, forcing many of them to duck for cover while a few brave operators charged forward, firing their own weapons back at the shooter.

The Osprey hovering over the building disconnected their ropes now that they had offloaded their assault team and immediately applied power to the engines as they fought to gain as much altitude as possible to get out of the kill zone. Suddenly, four figures appeared out of a small building not more than two hundred feet away and opened fire on the Osprey with AK-74s. Then a lone figure appeared on the roof of a building several doors down and fired off an RPG at the Osprey.

The pilot deftly banked to the left, allowing the RPG to sail right underneath their right engine, just missing them. Suddenly, a second guy appeared practically beneath them and fired off another RPG round. With almost no warning, the pilot had no way to avoid this new attack, and the second RPG slammed into the belly of the aircraft. The warhead exploded up into the cargo bay, and the Osprey slid sideways in the air for a moment before it began to lose altitude and summarily crashed into the side of a single-story house, practically on the main street of the small town.

The Apache gunship flew in and quickly lit up the building where the man had just fired the RPG with its 30mm chain gun. The gunner then turned the chin gun on the other group of shooters who had fired off the first RPG and lit up that building as well.

While all this was happening, the breach team that had come in from the roof met heavy resistance inside the building. The men and women in the Pentagon operations center nervously watched one of the head cameras from the breach team as they rapidly moved from room to room, looking for the high-value individual they had been sent in to capture. Suddenly, the screen whited out from an explosion.

The second breach team, which was charging up the front of the building, made it to the front entrance when a machine gunner opened fire on them from across the street. Several of the SEALs went down from the fusillade of bullets before the Apache gunner was able to swing his chin gun around and rake the building with 30mm rounds, shredding the structure and any anyone inside it.

“It’s a damn trap!” shouted a Navy captain in the Pentagon ops center. He slammed his fist down on the table, causing everyone in the room to jump.

“What the hell’s going on, Chuck?” asked the President, who was anxiously watching as several of the operators dragged some of their wounded brothers behind a couple of vehicles parked in front of the building.

“Hang on, Mr. President, we’re trying to figure that out,” replied the SecDef. He gave a nervous glance to a couple of his generals. This assault mission had gone from a quick snatch-and-grab to a rescue mission in the span of sixty seconds.

One of the generals quickly picked up his telephone and ordered General Lancaster to send in the ODA team they had on standby.

While the call for reinforcements was being made, the remaining SEALs on the ground continued to try and execute the mission. They finished clearing the house but failed to find the high-value individual they had been sent in to grab. With the mission an official bust, they now did their best to collect up their wounded and secure a perimeter until their QRF could arrive and get them out of there.

Several of the SEALs took off toward the downed Osprey to check on the crew. Fortunately, no one had been killed in the crash or by the RPG. The two crew chiefs and one of the pilots had been injured. The SEALs quickly collected them up and made their way back to where they had the rest of their wounded comrades. Several of the medics started working on stabilizing the wounded while they waited for their rescue helicopters to come fetch them.

Meanwhile, the Apache continued to make several low passes over the area, giving anyone else who wanted to attack the Americans pause.

“We still have the other assault group heading to their target,” explained one of the Army colonels hopefully. “They should be over the objective in minutes.”

Everyone turned their eyes to the second assault group as it prepared to hit its target. Before the two Ospreys flew in to drop the next team off, the Apache made a slow circle over the farmhouse, scanning the area for possible threats. The gunner saw something suspicious near one of the outlying buildings on the farm and opened fire, shredding the building. In the blink of an eye, a heavy machine gun opened fire on the Apache from the nearby forest, hitting the helicopter with a string of heavy-caliber machine-gun rounds. Fortunately, the Apache was a heavily armored attack helicopter, and the rounds harmlessly bounced off.

At this point, the two Ospreys changed course and moved to gain more altitude and let the Apache do its thing. While the gunship was circling back around for a better angle to attack the tree line, it let loose two antimateriel rockets at the heavy machine-gun position to silence it. Just then, the helicopter suddenly spat out flares as its emergency evasive systems took over.

A fraction of a second later, a surface-to-air missile from a man-portable air-defense system streaked out of a nearby copse of trees. The MANPAD had been fired from less than a thousand feet away, leaving little time or opportunity for the flares to cause the seeker head to lock on to them before the missile slammed into the right engine of the Apache.

The gunship’s engine started spitting out flames and smoke. The helicopter veered to the right, streaking smoke as it drifted away from the trees and the farmhouse. The pilot would now have to do his best to limp the helicopter back to Camp Bondsteel and hope he didn’t have to make an emergency landing.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded the SecDef as he stood up, looking at the general and colonels sitting at the table. “Clearly, someone tipped these guys off that we were coming, because there’s no way they could have known we were hitting both locations.”

Still fuming, he turned to one of the colonels, who was holding a phone receiver to his shoulder. “Order the other team to abort. Tell them to head over to the other objective and work to pick up our wounded. Order the Reaper to light that farmhouse up, along with the surrounding area. If our target is still there, then I want him dead. If not, then I want the rest of those hostiles dead!”

A minute went by, and then they saw several missiles streak in and blow the entire farmhouse apart, along with the lone outbuilding and several spots in the tree line where the MANPAD had been launched.

The two Ospreys that had been holding back at a higher altitude until the gunship made sure the area was clear headed toward the other objective ten minutes away to help pick up their wounded comrades from the other team.

The President looked at the generals around the table and asked the obvious question. “How did we not know about this ambush? Why didn’t our surveillance pick up those guys in the tree line?”

The lone rep from the National Reconnaissance Office, or NRO, leaned forward as he replied, “They must have been tipped off. As to why we didn’t pick them up on the satellites…they could have used a thermal blanket and just waited under it until our helicopter was in range. A thermal blanket is relatively cheap tech these days.”

The President shook his head. “That’s not good enough, people. I want answers on who leaked the raid information and how this terrorist group knew exactly when and where we were going to attack. Someone on the Serbian side must have tipped them off. Figure out who knew what when, and what the heck is going on,” he ordered.

Turning to look at the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the President added, “I’d like to talk to the both of you separately; we need to go over something in private.”

The two looked at each other and then back at the President. “Yes, Mr. President,” said the SecDef. “We can walk up to my office.” He motioned for the other two men to follow him.

The three of them exited the ops center, leaving the rest of the staff to handle the recovery and the rest of the mission on their own.

*******

When they left the ops center, the Attorney General and the Director for Homeland Security were both waiting for them in the hallway.

The SecDef and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs were caught off guard but quickly regained their composure. Turning to look at the President as the five of them now walked down the hallway toward his office, McElroy asked, “Something big is going on, isn’t it?”

The President just nodded, not saying a word as they walked down the hall. Then he turned to look at the SecDef. “It’s best we wait to get into your office before we speak, but, yes, something big is going on.”

The rest of the walk was shrouded in silence as the group made their way through the maze of hallways to reach the SecDef’s office. When they walked in, Chuck noticed it was 2247 hours, an hour and thirteen minutes until midnight.

When everyone was in the office, the President asked the Secret Service agents to stay outside and to make sure no one disturbed them unless it was absolutely urgent. With the room now secured and all five of them seated, Sachs leveled with the SecDef.

“Chuck, I’ve got some bad news about the election and everything that’s been going on,” he began. He had a nervous and uncertain look on his face.

Holding a hand up before the President could say anything else, the SecDef said, “If you’re telling me it looks like we may lose, I wouldn’t count yourself out yet. The polls were wrong last time.”

The President shook his head. “It’s not that, Chuck. I’m going to lose. It’s not even about the polls this time.” Sachs sighed, then turned to the Attorney General, Malcolm Wright. “Why don’t you tell him what we know up to this point? The sooner Chuck knows, the sooner he can help us figure out what to do next.”

Malcolm nodded. “We’ve uncovered a very sophisticated plot to subvert the election,” he said.

“Oh my God. You have to be kidding me,” said the SecDef, flabbergasted. “How bad is it?”

“It’s bad, Chuck,” Malcolm said. He stood up and paced behind his chair for a second. “Several weeks ago, we uncovered what we thought was a couple of postal workers who had been bribed to intercept absentee ballots from being delivered to the post office during their daily mail routes.”

“What? How the heck is that possible?” Chuck asked angrily.

With this national ID card and iVote, the election was supposed to be infallible, he thought. So much for securing the election.

“It’s complicated, Chuck, but I’ll do my best to break it down in layman’s terms. At first, we thought this was just a couple of bad apples, a few rogue postal workers. Unfortunately, the more we dug, the more we found. As of this morning, we’ve arrested forty-three postal workers involved in the scheme. There could be more, but those are the ones we’ve discovered up to this point.”

The SecDef held up his hand. “Wait—can’t the election offices just send out new ballots to the individuals who requested them and just have the people recast their vote? There must be a mechanism that allows for something like that to happen.”

Sighing before he replied, Malcolm explained, “Unfortunately, that’s not possible. For one, the election commission in each affected area would have to resend absentee and mail-in ballots to everyone in the affected districts. Second, there just isn’t enough time to send out new ballots to everyone and allow people to review and return them before election day. We’re less than four days away at this point. Also, even if the new ballots were sent out, they’d have no way of being able to distinguish between whose ballot had already been received and counted and whose hadn’t counted. We could have tens of thousands of people casting more than one ballot.”

“This must be some sort of mistake,” McElroy insisted. “How many ballots could these postal workers have intercepted, anyway? Maybe it’s not enough to affect the outcome of the election.”

“No, this isn’t a mistake or some sick joke,” Malcolm insisted. “From the number of people the FBI have caught up to this point and the amount of money that has been identified as part of this scheme, it would appear these postal workers were able to intercept more than 192,000 votes in five states, enough to swing the outcome of the election in Florida, Ohio, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Texas.”

Malcolm hung his head low. “This is just what we know right now,” he said in a very depressed tone. “This scheme could be going on in other states as well. I’ve got the FBI looking at every postal worker in the country right now, but there just isn’t time to uncover every possible angle before the election.” He slumped back down into his chair with a look of despair and angst on his face.

There was a short pause as Chuck and General Austin Peterson, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, digested what they had just been told. Finally, the general asked, “How do we know these intercepted votes won’t help you, Mr. President? I mean no disrespect, but perhaps this is being done to advance you.”

“We thought about that as well,” responded Patricia Hogan, the DHS Secretary. “However, the districts these votes were stolen from were districts that have traditionally voted Democratic by a two-to-one margin. The specific postal workers that were involved in this scheme targeted nursing homes, retirement communities, and assisted living facilities in these districts. Without fail, these specific groups have traditionally voted Republican by a wide margin. Not enough to tip the balance in their districts, but enough to keep the races there from being a complete defeat.”

She leaned forward as she continued to explain, “The consensus at my department is that these facilities were targeted as a means of suppressing the Republican vote in these districts. If 30,000 fewer people voted Republican in one of these districts, it wouldn’t be as easily noticed because these districts already vote two-to-one against the Republicans regardless. So, if that margin were to increase to three-to-one, it wouldn’t necessarily raise any red flags. However, it would be just enough difference in the margin that it could shift the balance of the state, effectively changing the results in these states from closely voting conservative to just barely voting Democratic.”

Jumping back into the conversation, Malcolm added, “When we reviewed the interrogation of Wen Zhenyu and reinterrogated a handful of the postal workers, we put two and two together and discovered that Wen was one of the key money guys supporting this effort.

“One of the postal workers in North Carolina told us she was dating a fellow by the name of Michael Wang and that he was the guy who approached her about the scheme. When the FBI raided his workplace and arrested him, he eventually spilled the beans. He said he had been approached by some men who said if he didn’t cooperate with them, his grandparents who still live in China along with his extended family would be thrown in jail or possibly killed.

“During his interrogation, he told us he was directed to set up several business checking accounts for a couple of companies in each of the states where the scheme was happening. He was then contacted by Wen Zhenyu, who said he’d start sending money through an offshore account to be placed into each of these shell corporations he had been directed to set up. Once we had Mr. Wang’s side of the story, we pressed Wen about it. He not only confirmed the information but revealed a greater plan to rig the election. So, as you can see, this is a much larger conspiracy than we first thought. We have actual, verifiable proof of at least one foreign power having successfully interfered in our election to engineer an outcome of their choosing.”

Turning back to look at his Secretary of Defense, the President said, “That brings us back to what’s going on in the Balkans. This Wen Zhenyu appears to be the main money guy. We know he has supported this voter scheme here in the states and financially supported the terrorist groups that carried out the October 24th attacks. He’s also given money to help carry out the Halloween attacks tomorrow and the election day attacks, if our people aren’t able to stop them.”

Shaking his head in disgust, Chuck asked, “To what end, though? And why? What is the end-state of all of this involvement? Surely they must’ve known that at some point we’d find out.”

The President snorted. “To change administrations, Chuck. I mean, peel the onion back. The CIA analysts looking at Wen’s computers and electronic data were able to trace that Gmail and White House email hack back in 2018 to the Ministry of State Security. They were trying to figure out if we were going to impose new trade tariffs on them and label them a currency manipulator. They wanted our playbook for what we were going to do to them economically so they could anticipate our moves and have countermoves ready and in place. When they saw the severity of what we were going to impose, they opted to take a more direct approach in manipulating our democracy. What better way to control the trade policies to their choosing than to steal the election outright?”

“This is crap! What are we doing about this?” Chuck demanded angrily as he looked at the four of them for answers.

“There isn’t much we can do, Chuck,” said Malcolm. “We know what’s happening, but what are we supposed to do? Hold a press conference and lay all the cards on the table? If we do that, we’ll be accused of trying to rig the election a couple of days before it’s supposed to be held. The Democrats and the media will go absolutely nuts, and who can blame them? They’ll say we engineered this, that we allowed the terrorist attacks to happen, that we were incompetent in protecting the nation.”

“It’s a perfect storm, Chuck,” said the President. “We’re in a total Catch-22 here. If we stay silent, we know Senator Tate is going to win because everything’s been engineered for him to do so. If we bring all this information forward, then we’ll be accused of attempting to rig the election. If we win, they’ll say we manipulated the voters at the last minute, and if we lose, they’ll say it was a repudiation of our attempt to lay blame for the loss on the Chinese and Islamic extremists. It’s the ultimate lose-lose position.” It was apparent from his expression that Sachs felt completely helpless.

“We can’t allow this to happen, Mr. President,” the SecDef insisted. “We can’t allow the country to be manipulated like this.” He wasn’t happy with the President’s response up to this point.

The President let out a deep sigh. “What would you have me do, Chuck? This has the potential to completely split the country apart. I mean, look what’s happening already from the weaponization of the October 24th attacks on social media. Shoot—half the country doesn’t even think it was Islamic extremists. They believe the narratives that were being pushed out on social media, that these were attacks carried out by Antifa, white nationalists or Black Lives Matters. You and I know that’s garbage, and we’ve put that out in multiple press conferences and briefings, refuting it. There’s just been so much sketchy news pumped out the last four years that no one’s listening anymore to what’s really going on.” Shaking his head, the President added, “I don’t want to go down as the last American president, Chuck.”

Standing up, Chuck walked over to look out the window of his office. He needed to think for a moment. Surveying the capital across the Potomac, he shook his head in disgust.

We’re not going to lose this country over this, he resolved. We have to figure something out.

Turning to look back at the President, Chuck saw the four others were watching him, waiting to see what he’d say next. He didn’t hold back with his response. “I don’t accept that, Mr. President. We’re bigger than this. We have to stop this from happening.”

“What do you want us to do, Chuck? Hold a press conference and tell the world what’s happening?” Malcolm retorted. “They won’t believe us. Even if we show them the evidence, half the country still won’t believe it.”

“We can postpone the election,” Chuck asserted. He quickly held a hand up to stop them from interrupting him. “Let me finish my thought. Look, we’ve already made the blockchain voting an option for people. Heck, it looks like 35 percent of the electorate has opted to use the iVote app. What if we brought our findings to the American people, and then, as a consequence of what we’ve discovered, we postpone the election for sixty days to allow people ample time to register to vote using the iVote app. That way, those who aren’t able to use the app have time to request a poll worker to help them with it, or to be allowed to vote via a new absentee ballot that is immediately scanned into the voting machine so there’s no chance for fraud.”

The President surveyed the faces around him. Secretary McElroy could see that the AG and the DHS Secretary were still mulling the idea over.

After a moment, Malcolm cleared his throat. “Mr. President, I’m not sure if Chuck’s plan could work, but with the pending terrorist attacks that we know are going to take place, we could use that as a justification to postpone the election. We can then present the case of voter fraud and void all absentee and mail-in ballots. We could announce that people either have to physically come to a polling station to vote or use the iVote app. Exceptions could be made for those who are homebound and unable to use the app or come to a polling station, but we’d have to really limit the exceptions and then go out of our way to make sure a polling worker was able to accommodate those who needed it.”

The AG paused. “We’re going to get accused of interfering in the election if we try to make the American people aware of what’s going on—we have to accept that fact. However, if we don’t do anything, if we stay silent, then we have to accept that not only are we going to lose, but a foreign power would have succeeded in manipulating our election. If we allow that to stand, Mr. President, we may never know if our future elections will ever be free and fair. It’ll be a permanent smear on our nation, and worse, if word ever gets out that we knew about this and did nothing, it may tear the country apart.”

“It may tear the country apart as it is, Malcolm,” said the President. He sighed. “No, the country is going to fall apart if we do this.”

He then turned to look at Austin Peterson, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “General, if we move forward with this plan and bring this to the people’s attention, there is going to be some serious civil disturbance. Worse, things may start to fall apart. How will the military feel about this? Whose side will they come down on?” he asked.

“It’s not about whose side the military will come down on, Mr. President,” General Peterson answered. “Each and every one of us has sworn an oath to the Constitution, to protect it against both foreign and domestic enemies. What I see from what’s been shared with me up to this point is a clear attack on our democracy. Foreign actors have purposely tried to usurp our government and install a candidate of their choosing, not the American people’s. That is the problem. When couched that way, I believe the officers and soldiers under my command will adhere to the authority of the duly elected President. Right now, that’s you. If the election were held and a new leader were elected, then the military would fall under that new authority.

“If you present the information to the people the same way you presented it to me, I think the voters will decide for themselves what to believe. If they still choose to vote for the other guy, well, then you’ll have done the right thing and they will have won fair and square and the military will back you up on that.”

Austin has been fairly silent during the past hour, so McElroy felt that it was good to get his perspective on the situation.

Lifting his head up, the President turned to Malcolm and Patty. “OK. We’ll let the American people know what we know and let the chips fall where they may. In the meantime, General, I need you to work with the AG and DHS on preventing these terrorist attacks from happening. If I need to sign some sort of executive order to make it rain, then please tell me what you need. We have to stop these attacks.”

The next hour was spent going over what specific laws needed to be suspended and for how long. Once the NSA was able to identify and locate the terrorist cells still in hiding, the Joint Special Operations Command would unleash the entire wrath of the US military on them.

Chapter 14

Thunderclouds

October 31, 2020

Kosovo

Camp Bondsteel

Sefer Kubura had been stripped naked and strapped to a chair in the interrogation room with the sensory deprivation headphones and eye mask on for nearly four hours. His body shivered a bit in the cool air while goose bumps had formed across much of his body.

Once he had been captured and brought to Bondsteel, they immediately began the process of disorienting him and getting him primed for his interrogation. His mind and body were being meticulously prepped for what was about to happen to him. Every effort to break him down physically, emotionally, and mentally was being applied.

With a terrorist attack supposed to happen today, there was not a lot of time to get the information from him, so they had to skip a lot of steps that normally would have been taken.

“Seth,” said Brigadier General Lancaster, drawing his comrade out of a deep train of thought. “See if he knows anything about the election day attack the Serbian group was going to carry out. I’m not confident we’ll find Tahir Shicri in time now that he knows we’re after him.”

Seth nodded. He agreed that the chances of them finding Shicri in less than seventy-two hours were slim. They’d need to see if Sefer could fill in any of the same pieces to the puzzle.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Seth responded. “I know I don’t have long, so we’re going right to the hard stuff.” He held up a small black bag with a zipper on it.

Nothing more needed to be said. The general walked back to the interrogation observation room along with the other analysts, who would check and cross-reference any information Sefer provided and feed questions to Seth via his earpiece.

Once he walked into the interrogation room, Seth told the two guards to take the headset and eye mask off the prisoner. While they were doing this, Seth placed a bottle of water on the table in front of Sefer. When his disoriented detainee could see again, Seth pointed to the water, and through the use of an interpreter, he told him to drink.

Seth wasn’t fond of working through an interpreter, but he didn’t speak Serbo-Croatian or Albanian. Seth was fluent in Mandarin and had a working understanding of Korean, but virtually no European language skills.

Sefer grabbed the bottle of water and drank most of it down. He took a minute to survey his surroundings; just like Rexhepi, he couldn’t see a way out. Turning his attention back to the American before him, he asked, “Why have you captured me? I haven’t done anything to you.” The translator did his best to keep up.

Pretending the translator wasn’t there, just as he had been trained to do, Seth focused his attention on the prisoner and let the man sitting behind him do his job while he focused on doing his own.

“We know about the terrorist attack you’re planning to carry out in America,” Seth asserted. “I want to know how many people are involved and what your targets are.”

With a look of indignant arrogance, Sefer just laughed.

Feeling his anger rising within him, Seth again asked the same question.

This time, Sefer just spat at Seth. “You’ll never find them. You’re too late,” he said, letting out a deep guttural laugh.

“We’ll see how much you laugh in a few minutes,” Seth countered, unzipping the small black bag lying on the table in front of him.

Sefer’s smile immediately turned serious when he saw Seth pull out a small vial with a yellowish liquid in it. Seth filled the syringe about halfway. For effect, he pushed a little bit of the liquid out, allowing a small amount to spray into the air as it pushed the remaining air out of the syringe.

Seth looked at his prisoner. “I’m about to give you a drug, Sefer. This isn’t a fun drug that makes you happy. You see, this is a specially designed drug, an experimental drug, if you will. It’s been manufactured for one sole purpose—to make every nerve ending in your body feel as if it is on fire. In reality, your body won’t be enveloped in flames, but I can promise you, your mind won’t be able to distinguish the difference.” He paused at this point as he let the translator catch up.

“I’m going to ask you again—how many people are involved in this attack, and what are their targets?” He held up the syringe for effect. “If you fail to cooperate, I will inject you with this drug.”

When the translator finished speaking, Sefer looked at him with pure anger and hatred in his eyes. He then sucked as much snot as he could into the back of his throat and attempted to spit it at Seth.

Seth stepped aside just in time and the spittle landed behind him, next to his interpreter, who likewise sidestepped the sputum. Seth nodded to one of the guards, who walked up to Sefer from the side and punched him so hard in the side of the face that he fell out of his chair while still strapped to it. The guard then picked the chair up with him still attached to it and held his arms down. Seth walked up to Sefer, jabbed the needle into his deltoid muscle and depressed the plunger. Within seconds, Sefer’s entire demeanor changed.

He began to scream uncontrollably. Sweat collected on his forehead and face. The heart monitor the guards had attached to him showed an immediate spike in his pulse as the drug circulated throughout his body. For the next several minutes, Sefer just shouted and shrieked in agonizing pain as every nerve in his body sent signals to his brain, telling him he was burning from the inside. He kept looking down at his arms and legs, as if not believing that it was possible he wasn’t actually engulfed in fire.

When Sefer’s heart rate had stabilized a bit, Seth asked, “How many people are part of this attack? What are they going to attack?”

Sefer tried his best to look tough. He stuck his chin out. “You can torture me all you want, but I will never talk. Never!” Then he screamed again as another wave of pain washed over him. His body tensed up as he fought against the straps holding him to the chair.

Seth picked the vial up again and filled the syringe halfway up with more of the yellowish liquid. He showed the drug to Sefer. “This stuff won’t kill you, but you’ll wish it would. The pain is only going to get worse. I suggest you start to talk. If you do, I can give you another drug that will turn this off like the flick of a switch.” He snapped his fingers for effect.

Seething with anger, Sefer just growled at him. Seth nodded to the guards again, who moved forward and held the prisoner’s arms still as Seth approached. He swiftly injected the second round of drugs into Sefer’s arm.

Sefer screamed again and again in pain, howling as the agony washed over every cell of his body. He started shaking, sweat now dripping off his face and the rest of his body. His heart rate was now spiking up to two hundred beats a minute. Seth knew he couldn’t push him much further, or he’d stroke out.

I hope he breaks in a few more minutes, Seth thought. He didn’t want to resort to the physical stuff, but he would if he had to.

Three minutes went by with no one saying anything. Seth just watched as Sefer rocked back and forth against the restraints in pain.

“All I want is a number. How many people are going to carry out the attack?” Seth asked, using a more comforting tone.

Shaking uncontrollably, Sefer looked up at Seth. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Just make it stop!” he yelled. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Nodding, but not smiling, Seth replied, “OK, Sefer. I’ll make it stop. Just tell me how many people are involved in the attack.” He picked up a different vial with a clear liquid in it. Seth grabbed a clean syringe and filled it up about a quarter of the way. Then he paused as he waited for the answer.

With fire in his eyes, and a hatred Seth had only seen a few times in his life, Sefer cursed at him a few times before he finally said, “Six. Six people are going to carry out the attack today.”

Nodding, Seth got up and walked over to Sefer. Before placing the syringe into his arm, he asked, “How are they going to carry out their attack?”

Looking up at Seth, Sefer suddenly sported a wicked grin. “It doesn’t matter. You’re too late to stop them,” he said.

Tilting his head to the side, Seth replied, “Then you should have no problem telling me how it’s going to happen. I mean, if we’re too late, then what difference does it make?”

He then proceeded to inject Sefer with the concoction that would turn the effects of the nerve pain off. Unbeknownst to his prisoner, Seth had already mixed this drug with his other drug of choice, the happy drug that made people extremely calm, chatty, and completely unable to resist answering his questions.

It took only a moment for the new concoction to take effect. In a fraction of a second, Sefer’s body language completely changed. Every muscle in his body that had been tense immediately relaxed. Seth watched the telltale expression of exhilaration take hold of his prisoner’s face; the hatred and animosity were gone.

Sefer laughed at Seth’s question. “You’re right—it doesn’t make a difference. You can’t stop them. You know why you can’t stop them?” he asked.

Walking back to the chair opposite Sefer, Seth sat back down and looked back at him. “No. Why don’t you enlighten me?” he asked.

Sefer smiled. “Look at me. Look at you. Look at your interpreter…we’re all white. You can’t stop my bombers because, unlike Arabs, we’re all white. We look just like you. You can’t stop us because you can’t distinguish us from yourselves.”

Seth nodded at the response. He had to give these guys credit. Whoever had thought up this master plan had done a superb job. They had found a group of Islamic extremists who looked just like the average American or European.

Seth moved to praising his prisoner and stroking his ego. “Clever. Incredibly clever, Sefer,” he said.

The prisoner smiled and nodded. “Our attack is even more clever,” he said, subconsciously repeating Seth’s words. “Not only are we using white people to carry it out, we’re bringing the jihadis directly to your most vulnerable people. Tonight, when your children go out trick-or-treating, our suicide bombers will strike.”

Seth did his best to conceal his horror and his own anger. My own kids are going to be out tonight, he thought, an undercurrent of panic rising up.

Seth took a deep breath and steadied himself. “What type of attack are they going to carry out?” he asked calmly.

Sefer snickered. “One you can’t stop—martyr attacks.”

Shaking his head disapprovingly, Seth exclaimed, “Impossible. You can’t get the equipment to build a suicide vest in America, not in 2020—maybe a decade ago, but not these days.” Seth was trying to create doubt in Sefer’s mind and get him to tell them more details that might help them track down who the attackers might be.

“You Americans are so arrogant. You think you know everything. You know nothing. Our vests aren’t homemade. These are professionally made using military-grade explosives. When you have friends in high places and you’re doing the will of Allah, nothing is impossible.”

“You really think the Chinese are going to help you?” Seth retorted. “They’ve probably sold you fake explosives just to make money off you.” He was throwing a piece of meat out there just to see what Sefer’s response would be.

Tilting his head to the side, Sefer gave a wry smile. “You know about the Chinese?”

“We know everything,” Seth said nonchalantly. “Why don’t you tell me your version?”

Sefer smiled and shook his head. “Nice trick, but I think I’ll let you figure things out on your own…”

For the next hour, Seth tried multiple different angles and approaches to get Sefer to give up the details of the type of suicide attack his people were going to carry out and whether he knew anything else about the election day attack the Serbian group was planning. Unfortunately, Sefer wouldn’t budge, despite the drugs Seth continued to pump into him.

Frustrated, Seth turned the interrogation over to one of the DEVGRU interrogation teams to work on him for a while. He needed to write up what he had. While he didn’t have all the details he was after, they now knew the terrorists were going to target trick-or-treaters tonight. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but hopefully that bit of information could be pieced together with others and paint enough of a picture for someone to see the whole thing.

*******

Fort Meade, Maryland

National Security Agency

National Security Advisor Robert Grey drummed his fingers on the mahogany table as he waited for one of the deputy directors of the NSA to come in and brief him. The President had signed an executive order suspending some privacy laws in the US that barred the NSA from being able to listen on phone calls made by individuals who fit a predetermined profile that had been created by the DOJ, FBI, NSA, and DHS, and the NSA was now quite busy sorting through their mounds of data.

Fortunately, intelligence had determined that the attack was going to be carried out by individuals from Bosnia, Serbia, Kosovo, Albania, and Macedonia, so the NSA could focus their efforts on going after individuals and groups that fit that specific demographic. Of course, the EO was only valid for five days, but he hoped it would be just long enough for them to identify the terrorists before they could carry out their attacks.

God, if word ever got out about what we’re doing, this could go really south on us, he thought. He knew the optics of it would be especially bad since it was right before an election.

Suddenly the door to his office opened. One of the deputy directors of the NSA walked in with a woman he didn’t immediately recognize.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” said Deputy Director Tony Wildes. He walked up and extended his hand.

Smiling, NSA Grey responded, “It’s actually afternoon now.” He motioned to the chairs and they took their seats.

Tony blushed slightly. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “We’ve been busy trying to track down the information you requested. I must say, I’m rather surprised the AG and the FBI went along with this EO. This is an incredibly expansive directive.” He opened his briefcase and proceeded to pull out a folder he’d brought with him.

“Extraordinary times call for extraordinary steps to be taken to protect our democracy,” Grey said flatly.

“Yes, of course,” said Tony, shifting a bit in his seat. “OK, per the parameters given to us, we’ve run some searches, and I think we’ve come up with some possible names and individuals who fit the bill.”

NSA Grey lifted his left eyebrow suspiciously. He hadn’t expected a result so quickly.

The woman who’d taken a seat next to Tony explained, “You’ve taken the leash off. We’re responding.”

Grey smiled at the response. “I’m sorry. What’s your name and what do you do here?” he asked.

“I’m Leah Riesling. I’m one of the department heads in the counterintelligence department. I run the European desk,” she replied.

Robert nodded. “Good to know,” he replied. Then he wrote her name and job title down on his pad of paper. When he had finished, he said, “Great job finding something so quick. So, what have you got for me?”

“We have a few names for you,” said Leah, pointing to a list on the first page of the report Tony had produced. “These six individuals flew into the US on German passports five days ago—three men and three women. Nothing was flagged when they entered the country, but we’ve since learned that the biometrics they provided match German nationals who are still presently located in Germany.”

NSA Grey held up a hand. “Whoa, how is that possible? Wouldn’t this have been caught when they entered?”

“The passports were spoofed, sir. They took a legitimate passport, forged the image with their intended operator and then hacked the electronics to associate someone else’s fingerprints. When we did our check at customs, everything would have seemed correct.”

“OK, so how did you guys figure that out, then?” asked Grey.

“Under normal circumstances, we’d honestly have no idea that someone had managed to successfully spoof a passport. However, with the EO you guys provided us, we broke into the German biometric database. After running recent entry data against their system, we found that these fingerprints matched other German nationals, not the ones listed on their passports.”

“How?” Grey asked, mouth slightly agape.

“The best we can come up with is that these men and women were provided with fake fingerprints to place over their own, ones that were electronically paired to their passports.”

Leah reached into her pocket and pulled out a small case. “These,” she said, holding up what looked like a small piece of tape, “are fake fingerprints. We use them on some of our own agents when they’re entering a country that uses biometrics at their entry control points and we need to slip past them. Prior to approaching the customs agent, you pull this side of the adhesive off and then place it over your own fingerprints. You then pull the other end of the tape off and for the next hour or so, you have a different person’s fingerprints. It’s pretty high-tech stuff.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, NSA Grey asked, “Who could provide this kind of stuff? I mean, is this readily available or easy to fabricate? I didn’t even know they really made crap like this. I thought that was just James Bond movie material.”

Leah snickered. “It’s spy craft, Mr. Grey. Believe me, there’s a lot more where that stuff came from. But as to how these particular individuals got this? Well, they could have bought it on the black market. It’s not cheap, but it can be acquired. However, the fact that the real biometrics of these passports and these fingerprints match actual German citizens, particularly those of people in the German criminal system—the individuals were sitting in jail, not able to travel and therefore cause questions—it’s highly likely they were provided by the BND.”

“German intelligence? To what end? Why would the BND have ties to these individuals?” Grey asked.

Tony chimed in. “We don’t have definitive proof the BND is involved just yet. We’ll know more in another day or so, once we’ve had time to crunch through their secure communications, text messages and other electronic communications.”

“Wow, OK. So what else have you found on these individuals? Do we have a way of tracking them or know where they are?”

“We took the images that were captured by customs and ran them against the facial recognition databases from the CIA, the DoD, and the NSA. We were then able to ascertain their real names. Taking that data, plus all known aliases for these individuals and the names that were used on the passports, we combed through any mention of these names on social media, email, chat boards or phone calls. As of thirty minutes ago, we’ve managed to locate all six of them,” Tony explained. He puffed his chest out a bit, clearly proud of his people’s effort.

Robert was visibly excited. “You found them? Where are they? Do we know anything else about them or what they’re doing?” he asked rapidly.

Tony held up his hand. “Hold up, Mr. Grey. Yes, we believe we’ve managed to find them, but we still haven’t fully determined they are in fact the terrorists we’re looking for. All we know right now is that they entered the US using spoofed passports. They could legitimately be German BND agents, infiltrating the US under nonofficial cover. We do that to Germany and many other nations all the time—it doesn’t mean either side is about to commit a terrorist act. Until we can get physical eyes on them, I’m hesitant to say these are the men and women we’re looking for.”

“Do they all have a nexus to the Balkans?” asked Grey.

“They do. We verified the facial images against multiple different law enforcement and passport control interactions in Europe.”

“OK. Why don’t you walk me through a few of the contacts, and let’s try to see if we can make the connection then,” said Grey. “Also, I want you to forward the information you have on to the FBI immediately, so they can work to get eyes on them for you. This is way too hot to sit on right now.”

Tony looked uncomfortable with the request but nodded toward Leah. He then picked up a secured phone on the table and placed a quick call to someone.

“Yeah, this is Tony,” Grey overheard. “I need you to send that data we talked about over the FBI liaison rep for them to action.” There was a brief pause as the person on the other end acknowledged the orders, and then Tony hung up the phone.

Leah then picked up the conversation. She pointed to a picture of one of the women from the group. “OK, this picture was taken at the customs station in Newark five days ago,” she began. “Here’s another picture of her passing through customs in Ankara, Turkey, three years ago. This is her at customs in Geneva, Switzerland, and again in Frankfurt, Germany. Our facial recognition software matched the image taken in Newark to all of these images. However, the passport said she was this person,” Leah explained, pointing to the image of a similar-looking woman. “This woman, however, is serving a three-year prison sentence in Leipzig for bank fraud.”

The three of them talked for another twenty minutes as Leah pointed out the other biometric matches to other passport control pictures taken from a few different countries. While they couldn’t find any definitive links that tied the six individuals directly to ISIS or any other Islamic extremist organization, they were able to determine that they had all traveled to Turkey during the height of ISIS power and appeared to have stayed in the region for more than a year.

“I’m not sure we’ll find a direct connection to ISIS, but once we’re able to obtain their true biometrics, we may get lucky and find something in the DoD’s biometric database,” Leah explained. “Right now, all we have is facial images—what we need is fingerprints or DNA. We might get lucky and find a match to one of their fingerprints on some captured enemy material, weapons or remnants of an IED.”

Nodding, Grey said, “I’ll see if the FBI can surreptitiously collect their prints, but then again, if these attacks are supposed to happen this evening, we may not have time to do that.”

NSA Grey did some calculations in his head. “All right, while the FBI is running these six individuals down, I want you guys to keep looking for anyone else that might fit this profile. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find another needle in the haystack that fits our profile. We still need to find the election day attackers. We know that groups involved in that attack are supposedly tied to the Islamic State in Serbia. I’m going to make an educated guess that those attackers, like the Bosnian and Kosovar group, are probably from Serbia. So, let’s see if we can get a bead on them. We have three days until that attack is scheduled. Even if the election does get postponed, we have no guarantee the attacks won’t happen.”

“Agreed. We’ll start working on that immediately,” said Tony as he stood up, apparently realizing the meeting was coming to a close. Leah followed his lead. “Hey, on a side note,” he said as if suddenly remembering something, “what the heck happened on that raid in Serbia? I heard we lost seven operators from SEAL Team Six on that botched raid, along with two helicopters.”

Grey sighed and shook his head. “We’re still trying to piece that together. The Agency believes someone in the MUP, the Serbian Ministry of Internal Affairs, tipped them off on the raid. I’m actually more concerned with finding out who provided the MANPAD to them that brought down our gunship. God help us if they have access to more of them or managed to smuggle them into the US.”

They talked for a few minutes as NSA Grey walked with Tony and Leah down to the helipad. A helicopter from Andrews Air Force Base had flown in to pick Grey up and ferry him back to the White House. Time was too short on this critical day for him to be jammed up in traffic. He needed to get back to the White House Situation Room so he could better coordinate the government’s response.

*******

Jacksonville, North Carolina

Special Agents Scott Spellman and Amelia Riley had just pulled up to the parking lot in front of the mall entrance near Sears. Looking down the row of parked cars, they spotted the blue Toyota Corolla they had been following for the last hour.

*******

What had started as a weekend on edge had turned into something far worse. They knew there was an elevated alert about a possible terrorist attack leading up to the election, but they’d had no idea when they’d been called into work that morning that their city was one of the chosen targets. When they’d received a flash warning from headquarters and the NSA about a possible suicide bomber in Jacksonville, they’d thought it was a mistake. However, when the NSA began to provide them real-time GPS data of where the person was, they knew it wasn’t a blunder.

At 3 p.m. they’d received their first tracking data, and they’d hopped in their car to head toward the coordinates they’d been given. They’d quickly realized that their suspected attacker was on the move, so they had made best speed to find the car and get eyes on their suspect. What they’d found was a nondescript blue Toyota Corolla, driving casually down the streets of downtown Jacksonville like any other person.

After ten minutes, the car had parked near a local mosque. Agents Spellman and Riley watched their mark go inside. He stayed there for roughly an hour before returning to his vehicle. When he eventually walked out, they used the telescopic lens on their camera to grab several pictures of the man before he entered his car, and quickly sent the images back to their office.

The potential bomber appeared to be a male of European descent, late twenties to early thirties. They continued to follow the driver, who appeared to be heading toward the mall. Then they received a message from their office on the radio.

“An HRT team is en route to intercept the driver,” their supervisor told them. “Keep an eye on him until they arrive and continue to relay his movements. Local law enforcement is also being alerted and will be sending help to you.”

When the transmission had ended, Agent Riley remarked, “Geez, this is the real deal if the hostage rescue team is getting involved.”

When the Corolla pulled into the mall, Agent Spellman nervously tapped on the steering wheel. “Riley, I’d rather not deal with a presumed terrorist on our own, but if this is going down now, we have to do something,” he said.

As they got out of the car, Agent Riley called their office to let them know what was going on, and they walked quickly to intercept the man.

In the distance, they could hear the police sirens getting closer.

As the man got closer to the entrance of Sears, Agent Spellman took off running, and Agent Riley moved swiftly to catch up. The suspect reached for the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” Spellman shouted. “Do you have the time?”

The man turned around just in time to see two people running toward him, guns drawn, and the lights of several police cars flashing nearby. His eyes grew wide.

The suspect reached for a device that had been dangling from the inside of the right sleeve of his coat, but Spellman and Riley immediately fired their sidearms, hitting the suspect multiple times in the chest. His body slumped against the entrance and slid down, lifeless.

Rushing toward him, Scott shouted, “Run inside and tell everyone to get away from the entrance!” He then moved toward the man lying on the ground with a growing puddle of blood expanding around him.

Reaching down to check the man’s pulse, Scott confirmed he was dead. Just then, several police officers ran up as well.

“Stand back!” he ordered. “I need to check his jacket.”

The officers all looked at each other with concern and fear, then gradually retreated a few dozen feet.

Scott took a moment, gently unzipping the man’s jacket. As he did, his eyes grew wide as saucers as he saw what he had feared most—a suicide vest.

How in the hell did we not set this thing off when we shot him? he wondered, a huge lump forming in his throat as he thought about how close to death he’d just been.

Scott backed away from the man’s body.

“You need to move further back!” he shouted to the police. “We need to set up a cordon several hundred feet around the body, just in case they have a way to set off the vest by remote control.”

He then quickly fumbled with his smartphone, adrenaline coursing through his body at the near-death experience, causing his hands to shake a bit. He called in what had happened and requested a bomb squad to deal with the suicide vest.

*******

With confirmation that this man was, in fact, one of the terrorist bombers, the FBI ordered the remaining five individuals to be quickly apprehended before they could carry out their own attacks. In four other states, FBI agents moved in to intercept the terrorists before they could detonate their suicide vests.

Sadly, three FBI agents and several local law enforcement officers were killed when one of the bombers was able to trigger his vest before being killed in a shoot-out. However, aside from the three agents and handful of police officers who died that day, there were no other casualties. What could have turned into a horrific massacre was prevented.

*******

Vinton, Louisiana

Interstate 10

Dusty Hampton had just completed a ten-hour drive across most of Texas in his eighteen-wheeler on his way to Tallahassee, Florida, when he decided it was time to call it quits for the day and grab himself some dinner and a beer. Spotting the perfect little watering hole, he pulled into the truck lot at the Longhorn Truck and Car Plaza and found a spot next to a couple of other big rigs. Dusty pulled the yellow button to engage the parking brake, locked the door and then made his way into the diner to grab some food and a cold one before he turned in for the night.

He found a table with a seat facing one of the several TVs mounted on the walls and plopped himself down. The waitress came by and brought him a glass of water and a menu.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “Do you have Miller Lite on tap?”

“Yep, sure do,” she replied.

“Perfect. I’ll take one of those while I figure out what I want to eat,” Dusty said.

“Sounds good,” she said, rushing off to grab his beer.

About the time that the waitress came back, he’d figured out what he wanted to eat.

“So, what can I get for you, darlin’?” the waitress asked with a wink as she slid the Miller Lite over to him.

He smiled at the woman, reading her name tag for the first time. Sarah Jo, he thought, a charming southern name if I’ve ever seen one.

“I’d like the Billy’s Longhorn ribeye with a baked potato and the seasoned rice,” he responded.

“How’d you like your steak cooked?”

“Medium rare, please.”

She scribbled down his request. “Sure thing, honey. Give me twenty minutes or so and it’ll be up.” Then she walked off, leaving Dusty to start polishing off his first beer while he watched a rerun of Duck Dynasty.

When he’d finished his drink, he flagged Sarah Jo down and asked for another. Just as his second beer arrived, a newscaster came on, interrupting the show. One of the old-timers, who looked to be a regular, flagged one of the waitresses down to ask her to turn the TV up.

“The White House has asked for all the networks to broadcast a special message from the President. We’re standing by for just a moment as we wait for the President to come on—oh, as we speak, it looks like he’s just about to start.”

The camera moved from the broadcaster to an image of the President, resolutely sitting behind the desk in the Oval Office. Dusty immediately noticed that Sachs looked exhausted; his eyes had noticeable bags underneath them.

“My fellow Americans,” the President began, “I come to you tonight with grave news that I feel you, the American people, need to know. As most of you are starting to find out, today the brave men and women of the FBI and Homeland Security intercepted six individuals wearing suicide vests just prior to them carrying out their dastardly attacks against our nation. Unfortunately, three FBI agents and five local police officers were killed when one of the would-be terrorists detonated his suicide vest during a shoot-out with police at a mall in Manchester, New Hampshire. The other five suicide bombers were either killed or apprehended without further loss of life. These terrorists were attempting to carry out a coordinated attack specifically targeted at our children.”

The President looked visibly shaken as he explained the threat.

“These six suicide bombers were also tied to the terrorist group Islamic State in Kosovo that carried out the October 24th attack against four early voting centers. Even now, our brave armed forces are attacking these terrorists’ safe havens across Kosovo in coordination with our Kosovar partners. I am proud to report that our military has successfully captured the leader of this organization, Luan Rexhepi, who will be held accountable for his crimes in a court of law.”

The President paused for a moment. “The six suicide bombers that were going to carry out their attack today were part of the Islamic State in Bosnia, a partner of the Kosovo group. Unfortunately, we have credible intelligence that says a third group, the Islamic State in Serbia, is planning to carry out a similar type of terrorist attack against our country this Tuesday, on election day. We are not sure when these attacks are planned or what specific locations have been targeted. What we do know is that the terrorists plan to carry out attacks in Florida, Ohio, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Texas. I assure you that our intelligence agencies and law enforcement are working diligently to track these individuals down and stop them.”

Lifting his chin up, the President leaned forward, looking directly into the camera with renewed energy in his eyes.

“In the last three weeks, the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security have not only uncovered these terrorist plans to attack our nation, they have also discovered a much grander plot to interfere with our election. The Treasury Department, along with our intelligence agencies, has identified several banks in Europe as the financial institutions that funded and supported not only these dastardly terrorist attacks against our country, but a wider, grander scheme to steal our election. Yesterday, the FBI arrested thirty-six US postal workers who were caught stealing and then selling absentee and mail-in ballots to a third party.

“Through the collective work of our intelligence agencies, that third party has been identified as being a member of the Chinese Ministry of State Security. The FBI has uncovered evidence that the Chinese Ministry of State Security was involved in and responsible for the theft of these ballots in a brazen attempt to interfere in our presidential election. The stealing of these ballots incidentally took place in the same states these terrorist attacks were planned to take place in. All of this was orchestrated in an attempt to suppress voter turnout in key districts to sway the election in these states and thus manipulate the electoral college.

“To date, the FBI, working with local election officials, have determined that more than 300,000 votes in five states were intercepted and destroyed before they could be counted. Because we have no way of knowing which individuals’ ballots were stolen, I have consulted with the Department of Justice and the Department of Homeland Security, and we are going to void all absentee and mail-in ballots collected in these states so far. We will require people to either vote using the iVote app, vote in person, or request a polling worker to visit their residence and assist them in using the iVote app.

“Because this will all take time to implement, and because the election is only four days away, we must postpone the election from November third until Monday, January fourth, 2021. I am also declaring January fourth a one-time-only national holiday, to allow people the day off to go vote.

“The integrity of our election is absolutely paramount to ensuring trust in the federal government and our elected officials. When the FBI discovered proof that a foreign power had interfered with our election, I felt it the responsible thing, the right thing, to bring this situation to you—to make sure you, the American people, know that your government is doing everything in its power to ensure the integrity of our elections.

“We will not tolerate a foreign power interfering in our election in an attempt to affect policies to their benefit. With factual evidence of what has transpired, I have directed the Treasury Department to sanction the financial institutions in Europe and Asia that were involved in this conspiracy. They will be cut off from any financial dealings with the United States. I have also directed the Department of Justice to pursue all available criminal charges against the individuals involved.

“I am confident that, win or lose this election, history will look back on our decision to bring this to you, the American people, as the right decision. If I lose the election on January fourth, I will have lost fair and square and not because of foreign interference. It is imperative that people are able to trust the results of the election and not have the stain of foreign interference on whoever wins.

“I want to say a special thanks to the men and women of the FBI, Homeland Security, the Department of Defense, and our intelligence agencies for their hard work in both uncovering this conspiracy before it was too late, and for stopping these terrorists from carrying out another dastardly attack on our great nation. May God bless you all and keep you safe in these troubling times.”

As Duck Dynasty came back on, Dusty shook his head in horror.

Holy cow, I need to drop this load and get out of Florida ASAP, he thought. He couldn’t help but think that he might have gotten caught up in one of the attacks. He stared at the food on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t very hungry anymore.

*******

Cleveland, Ohio

Senator Tate’s Election Headquarters

“What the hell are we supposed to do now?” yelled Louis Carter, Senator Tate’s campaign manager. “He postponed the election?” His face was red with anger. The polls had been showing them inching ahead in several swing states just prior to the announcement.

“Damn him!” shouted Senator Marshall Tate. He stood up and let loose a string of obscenities at the now-muted TV and the political pundits who were analyzing the President’s address.

When Tate stopped swearing, Jerome Powell, his longtime Chief of Staff, offered, “We can file an emergency injunction and force the election to be held on Tuesday. If we can get the court to block the delay and the voiding of the absentee and mail-in ballots, we can still move forward with the original election date.”

Senator Tate grumbled, then ordered, “Do it.”

Jerome grabbed for his smartphone and dialed the number for their chief counsel. While he spent the next few moments on the phone with their lawyer, Louis picked up his own cell phone and called the Democratic National Committee Chairman to get the ball rolling on his end. They’d need to move quickly in order to stop the President’s executive order from being implemented before it was too late.

With Jerome and Louis in motion, Marshall turned to one of his senior aides. “Janey, call our friend over at DHS and find out what the hell is going on. Tell him we need his help to slow this down or to do what he can to make sure the election still happens on Tuesday.”

She nodded and immediately got up to walk into the other room to place the call.

Marshall Tate looked at the TV in shock and anger. He was less than four days away from being elected the next President of the United States, and now it all seemed in limbo. The talking heads were droning on about how big a bullet the country had just dodged with the apprehension of these six suicide bombers; another group began blathering about whether or not the President had the authority to postpone the election.

Suddenly, Marshall’s phone buzzed on the table next to him. Looking at the caller ID, he saw it was a New York number. He grabbed the phone. “This is Marshall.”

He sat and listened for a moment as the caller began to feed him information. A smile crept across his face. “This is excellent news,” he said. “Are you sure this won’t get challenged in court?”

Another thirty seconds passed as the caller explained the situation further. Marshall nodded a couple of times. “Is there time for the Supreme Court to hear the case before Tuesday?”

As he heard the answer, Marshall’s smile grew and his spirits rose.

I still may win this thing, he thought.

Pulling the smartphone away from his face, Marshall ended the call feeling much better than he had just five minutes ago. His crack legal team was on it. Less than four hours after the President’s proclamation, they had managed to get a judge from the Sixth Circuit to issue an injunction against the postponing of the election, labeling it unconstitutional and outside the President’s statutory authority.

According to the legal experts, only Congress had the authority to change the date of the election, and his party was firmly in control of the House of Representatives. Marshall took a deep breath, let it out, and allowed himself to drift to sleep in his chair while his team continued their work.

Chapter 15

Supreme Court

November 1, 2020

Washington, D.C.

Chief Justice Mark Lighthouse couldn’t believe what he read in the New York Times as he sat at his kitchen table. It was Saturday morning, and normally he’d enjoy the crossword section of the paper, but not with the headlines he saw splashed across the front page.

Terrorists had nearly carried out six attacks against locations where children were trick-or-treating the night before. Then the President made his bombshell announcement about Chinese interference in the election. When he read about Sachs postponing the election for sixty days, he immediately knew the Department of Justice and the President would get sued and the proclamation would be put on hold.

He shook his head. Article 1, Section 4 of the Constitution clearly stated that Congress had the authority to determine when and how frequently a presidential election was held. The Attorney General should have advised him better on that proclamation, he thought.

Justice Lighthouse had been feeling nauseous and a bit under the weather for the last twenty-four hours. He was hoping he’d feel better by Monday, because he knew all too well the Attorney General would demand they hear the merits of the case either tomorrow or Monday at the latest so they could rule on the constitutionality of the President’s decree. There was certainly a case to be made with regard to public safety, but unless the Speaker of the House came out in support of the executive order, Lighthouse didn’t think an effective argument could be made for the legality of the election being postponed this way.

Just as he was about to pick up his smartphone to call one of the other justices to see if they should hear the case on Sunday or wait until Monday, he suddenly felt the overwhelming need to vomit.

After retching his guts out for a few minutes in the bathroom, Justice Lighthouse leaned over the sink and splashed some water on his face. He briefly looked at himself in the mirror and was startled by how bad he looked. His skin had several dark marks on it he’d never noticed before. Even his hair looked odd. He ran his hand along his hairline. When he looked down at his hand, there was a small patch of hair in it.

He suddenly felt panicked. Something’s not right, he realized.

Justice Lighthouse walked over to the living room and found his wife.

“Honey, I need you to drive me to the hospital,” he said.

“Oh my gosh, what’s wrong, Mark?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I just threw up and my hair is falling out.”

She immediately grabbed her purse and took him to the ER at Walter Reed Hospital. When the triage nurse saw his condition, he was rushed to the back, and a doctor saw him almost immediately.

Four hours and a few blood tests later, several doctors talking in the hall seemed stumped by his symptoms. What was clear, though, was that his condition was worsening.

When the other Supreme Court justices started to arrive at Walter Reed with similar symptoms, it became clear they had all been infected with something—but they were in a race against time to figure what it was and how to treat it.

*******

Washington, D.C.

Robert F. Kennedy Building

Department of Justice

“What do you mean the justices are all sick? Did they all come down with the flu at the same time?” shouted Malcolm Wright angrily into the receiver of the phone he was white knuckling.

This is what happens when you have a geriatric ward for a Supreme Court, he thought.

“It’s not a cold or a virus, Malcolm,” retorted Carl Iverson, the Solicitor General.

The AG hated dealing with this poor excuse of a man; he was an arrogant, overly confident jerk who’d lost a couple of high-profile cases before the Supreme Court. Consequently, Carl had fallen out of favor both with the President and with Malcolm.

“If they aren’t sick with the flu, then what the hell is it?” Malcolm demanded.

“They don’t know yet, but it’s serious. They’re showing signs of organ failure.”

“Are they all sick?” the AG asked, now a bit of concern in his voice. Sure, one or two of them could have come down with the flu or some other ailment, but all of them at once—no, that wasn’t a coincidence.

“Yes, all nine justices have been hospitalized at Walter Reed,” replied Carl.

“Well, let me know as soon as you find out what’s wrong with them. We need to get this case settled ASAP, Carl. We can’t sit around and wait for this to make its way through the normal channels,” Malcolm finished, and then he hung up the phone.

Malcolm looked around on his desk for his direct number to the FBI Director. He didn’t find the number he was looking for right away, but he did uncover the business card to his deputy. He quickly dialed the man’s cell number.

It rang a couple of times before he answered. “This is Deputy Director Joseph Latrell speaking.”

“Joe, this is Malcolm over at DOJ. I just got a very disturbing call from the Solicitor General. He’s trying to get the case on this presidential executive order heard by the Supreme Court justices, but he just told me they all suddenly showed up sick at Walter Reed a few hours ago.”

“Wait—just one or two of them, or did you say all of them?” asked Joe.

“You heard right the first time,” Malcolm said. “All of them. Something doesn’t feel right about this. I need you to get a couple of your best agents over to Walter Reed ASAP and find out what the hell is going on. As soon as you know something, get back to me.” Then he hung up the phone.

If the Supreme Court justices were all sick, he needed to figure out what their next steps were in getting this EO reinstated. They only had three days left before the election.

*******

Deputy Director Joe Latrell pulled up to the emergency entrance of the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center exactly twenty minutes after the AG had told him about the Supreme Court justices. He had phoned ahead to his headquarters office telling them he wanted a couple of agents sent over to Walter Reed to meet him there. His next call had been to his boss, the Director, to make sure he was kept in the loop. His boss had told him to find out what was going on and if it appeared that any foul play was happening, to call him before he called the AG or anyone else.

Joe swerved his government-issued vehicle into one of the empty parking spots reserved for law enforcement, quickly locked the door and made his way into the emergency room. As soon as he reached the receptionist, he flashed his FBI credentials. “I need to speak with the managing doctor on duty now,” he said in a tone that meant business.

The receptionist nodded. She picked up a phone and paged the head doctor over the PA. A couple of minutes later, three more FBI agents walked in and quickly headed toward him. Together, they waited for the doctor to arrive.

A man in teal surgical scrubs approached. When he got within a couple of feet, he waved for them to follow him over to an empty office to talk. The five of them filed into the room and then waited as the doctor closed the door.

Turning to face the G-men, he said, “I’m Dr. Patrick Morris. I’m the head doctor on duty for the weekend. I assume you all are here to discuss the Supreme Court justices?”

The agents all nodded.

Nodding, Dr. Morris said, “Chief Justice Mark Lighthouse arrived about five hours ago complaining of vomiting, nausea, and diarrhea. While he said he’d been feeling under the weather for about two days, he felt something really bad must be going on when clumps of his hair began to fall out, so he had his wife drive him here.”

He held up a hand to forestall the barrage of questions he knew he was about to get slammed with. “We’ve been running tests to find out what could be wrong with them. Up to this point, all our tests have come back normal. He’s not sick with the flu, pneumonia, or any sort of exotic illness. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his symptoms would appear to be radiation sickness, but I don’t see how he could’ve been exposed to any sort of radiation that could cause these types of symptoms.”

Joe thought about that for a moment before asking, “What about the other justices? Do they appear to have the same symptoms?”

Dr. Morris nodded. “Unfortunately, they do.”

One of the agents asked, “Is it possible the justices were poisoned?”

Another agent retorted, “Why would the justices be poisoned? Who would stand to gain from that?”

The doctor then looked at them like an idea had just struck him. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s one other test we haven’t run that might tell us what’s going on.” With that, the doctor left the room and jogged back down the hallway he had come from, leaving the FBI agents unsure of what to say or do next.

After a few awkward moments of silence, Joe motioned for the other agents to follow him over to a nearby vending machine. “Since it looks like we might be here for a little bit, let me at least buy you guys some coffee,” he offered.

One of the agents held up a hand. “No offense, sir, but you’re not buying us vending machine coffee when there’s a Starbucks right over there,” he said.

Two of the other agents snickered. Joe laughed, nodded, and then the four of them walked over to Starbucks to get a drink while they waited for the doctor to come back and tell them what the heck was going on.

Thirty-two minutes later, Dr. Morris walked back over to them with a grim look on his face.

“I take it you found something with this newest test?” inquired Joe as the others looked on.

Nodding, the doctor plopped down in the chair next to them as he ran his right hand through his graying hair. “When you guys mentioned poisoning, it got me thinking about the 2018 poisoning of Sergei and Yulia Skripal in the UK. They, of course, were poisoned with the Novichok nerve agent. None of the justices appear to have any of those symptoms.”

The FBI agents all let out a collective sigh of relief at that proclamation.

Dr. Morris went on to add, “However, in 2006, the Russians poisoned a former spy by the name of Alexander Litvinenko in London. Mr. Litvinenko exhibited symptoms of radiation poisoning, which was later discovered to be induced, acute radiation syndrome related to polonium-210 poisoning. It was the first known case of someone being killed through polonium poisoning.”

Joe Latrell stood up at this point, looking down at the doctor. “Are you saying the judges—are you saying all of the Supreme Court justices have been poisoned with polonium?”

The other agents looked at Joe and then the doctor in a state of shock and disbelief.

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m not sure how it happened, or even when it happened. But it appears all of them have been given enough polonium to be lethal.”

Joe reached out for the edge of the chair, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. He sat back down before looking at the doctor. “Is there anything that can be done for them?” he asked, barely managing to get the words out.

Dr. Morris shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We might have been able to do something for them the day they were initially poisoned, but it’s far too late for that now. If I had to estimate, I’d say they were probably given the polonium four, maybe five days ago, just based on when the justices said they began to have some symptoms.”

With all color completely drained from his face, Joe asked, “How long do they have?”

Grimacing, Dr. Morris replied, “Forty-eight to seventy-two hours at best. But frankly, the next couple of days are going to be rough. Their internal organs are going to start failing really soon. It’s going to be a rapid decline once that starts to take place.”

Joe ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “Dr. Morris, I don’t have to tell you how important this announcement is going to be or how this is going to impact the country. What I need you to do right now is work with my agents here to make sure this information stays contained, at least for the rest of the day. I need to brief the Director, and obviously the AG is going to want to say something and possibly the President. Can you help me keep this under wraps long enough to allow the leaders of our country to respond? For all we know, other members of the government could have been targeted by this attack.”

Dr. Morris suddenly looked very concerned at that prospect. He nodded solemnly and then led the other agents back to the wing of the hospital where they had the justices sequestered. The agents then spoke with the medical staff to make sure they all knew the urgency of keeping the situation quiet for the time being.

*******

Attorney General Malcolm Wright thought he was going to be sick when FBI Deputy Director Joe Latrell finished briefing him and FBI Director Nolan Polanski.

The Solicitor General asked the obvious question. “If the justices are sick—no, let me rephrase that, if all of the Supreme Court justices are dying, and thus unable to hear this case—how are we going to get this resolved before the election? We only have two days to get this sorted out before Tuesday.”

Director Polanski shot him a dirty look. “You have to be kidding me,” he retorted. “You’re worried about them ruling on your EO case? This could be the first stage of a major attack against our government.”

The Solicitor General snapped, “Protecting the country and finding out who did this attack is your lane. I’m trying to make sure a fraudulent election isn’t held on Tuesday, creating a constitutional crisis.”

Joe held his hand up. “Please, gentlemen. None of us are the enemy. Clearly, someone thought this entire thing out. Someone or some group knew that if we found out about this conspiracy to steal the election, the President would issue some sort of executive order and that EO would be challenged in court, resulting in us having to take it to the Supreme Court. Whoever is behind this conspiracy anticipated our moves and preempted us by poisoning the justices before they could issue a ruling.”

Malcolm sighed. “This clearly falls in your lane,” he said, motioning to Joe and Director Polanski. “Who could have carried out this kind of attack? Who has that kind of capability, and are we in danger ourselves? What about the President or the members of Congress?”

The two FBI men looked at each other before returning the AG’s eye contact. “I can’t say for certain that no one else in the government is in immediate danger,” Director Polanski admitted. “My advice is that we alert the Capitol Police and the Secret Service of the possibility of polonium poisoning. As to who could carry out this type of attack—well, there are only a couple of nations who have this kind of capability. The prime suspects, however, would have to be Russia and China. In the case of Russia, we know they’ve carried out this exact type of attack before; they’ve also carried out assassinations of dissidents in the UK.

“The Chinese are also capable of carrying out this kind of attack. That said, they have no history of targeted assassinations abroad. However, they certainly do have an axe to grind against President Sachs. He’s caused them immense economic harm with the trade tariffs, so I wouldn’t want to totally rule the Chinese out.”

Malcolm sighed. “OK, Nolan, here’s what I want you to do. Collect as much evidence as you can about this attack. Put together as much information as you can about who could have carried out this attack and how. I also need you to finish the evidentiary case against Mr. Wang and the Ministry of State Security now. I’m going to recommend the President call an emergency meeting with the leaders of the House and Senate to present this information to them.

“It’s obvious we’re not going to be able to rely on the Supreme Court to decide on the constitutionality of the EO. The only other course of action is for us to lay out the case to the Speaker of the House and convince her to agree to postpone the election until January fourth. I also need you to compile whatever you guys have on the election day terrorist attacks. If we still don’t have any leads, you guys need to let them know. They need to make a decision about what they’re going to do, and soon. The country is headed to a constitutional crisis if we don’t get this situation solved.”

Chapter 16

Race Against Time

Kosovo

Camp Bondsteel

Lieutenant Colonel Seth Mitchell was exhausted. His back had been spasming on him, and he still felt sore from the IED attack that had nearly killed him several days ago. He started thinking about the sensation of the vehicle rolling over and over, feeling weightless for just a moment.

He thought about Master Sergeant Nance and the embassy’s RSO—fortunately, both had survived. They were a bit banged up and worse for the wear, but they’d pull through. Both men had been flown back to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany before being sent back to the US.

“Hey, come back to reality,” said General Lancaster as he snapped his fingers a couple of times in front of Seth.

Letting a yawn slip past his control, Seth stood up and stretched his body, forcing a couple of loud pops and cracks.

“I need some coffee and a Flexeril for my back,” Seth replied. He walked over to the back of the ops center. He reached for a heated plate which had a fresh pot of coffee sitting on it, and another one already brewing. He poured some of the Death Wish brand coffee into one of the mugs, then swiftly lifted the black liquid to his lips and took a couple of gulps.

He walked back over to Lancaster, coffee in hand. “Any word yet on where Tahir Shicri is or if his body was in the building we leveled?” Seth asked.

Lancaster looked frustrated at the question. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. We don’t have any DNA to compare against the bodies from the safe house we blew up. The Agency insists he’s still alive—they said they had a SIGINT hit a few hours ago that matched his voice.”

Just then, one of the sergeants who’d been working with the NSA on tracking down the last terrorist leader jumped out of his seat. “We found him!” he shouted.

“Whoa, soldier,” said Chief Moore. “Calm down and show us what you found.”

The sergeant pointed to the computer monitor. “Right here. One of the Reaper drones just intercepted a phone call with a voiceprint matched to Shicri.”

“Did we get a copy of the call?” asked Seth. “What did he say and who was he talking to?”

“They’re still tracking down whoever was on the other end. It was just a quick twenty-second call, but it originated in this village here. The NSA is still pinging the phone from the Reaper. It appears the phone must be moving on foot as it’s moving slowly and through some rough terrain.”

“Holy cow, those NSA boys are good,” said General Lancaster. He reached for the phone that would link him back to the SOCOM ops center at MacDill.

A few minutes went by as Lancaster brought his boss up to speed and worked on getting permission to go capture Shicri.

While he was on the phone, one of the soldiers that was listening in remarked, “Shouldn’t we just hit him with a Hellfire from the Reaper?”

Chief Moore shot him a disapproving look. “Sure, if we don’t want to find out what they’re going to attack on election day or who all is involved in the attack. Maybe it doesn’t matter to you who’s funding them or providing them with the weapons or explosives, huh?”

The soldier’s face turned red as he realized just how stupid his comment had been. He went back to manning the weapon system on the Reaper without another word.

General Lancaster finished his call. “We’re a go,” he announced. “Get the unit spun up. I want them ready to roll in the next hour!”

A flurry of activity began as Lieutenant Colonel Patrick “Paddy” Maine from JSOC got his guys ready to launch.

General Lancaster looked at Moore. “Chief, I need your group to start working up the targeted area. Figure out what’s there. See if our Serbian LNO has any information he can offer us,” he ordered.

Then the general turned to Seth. “I need you to get with Smith and his ORA guys. We need to have a game plan ready for when we capture this joker. We don’t have much time to get what we need from him. We’re down to less than three days from when the next terrorist attack is supposed to happen.”

Seth nodded. No pressure or anything, he thought.

Seth headed out the door to walk over to where Smith and his group were working. They still had their three key prisoners under wraps. Between Smith and an interrogation group from DEVGRU and the Unit, they’d been questioning these guys nearly nonstop since their capture.

As Seth walked into the main room of the small detention facility, he immediately spotted Smith on the phone with someone. Smith made eye contact with Seth and waved for him to come over. Seth took a seat next to his colleague and waited for him to finish his call.

When Smith hung up, he shot Seth a serious look. “Things are starting to go to hell in a hand basket back home, my friend,” he said.

Seth’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, things are starting to spiral out of control faster than we can stop them.”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” Seth responded.

Sighing, Smith leaned in so the others around them couldn’t hear. “I just got done talking with my boss—”

Seth interrupted, “Who exactly is your boss?”

Smith waved the question off. “That’s not important. What he told me hasn’t been made public yet, but someone poisoned the Supreme Court justices.”

With a look of surprise, Seth asked, “Which one?”

Smith shook his head. “No, you misheard me. It wasn’t one of them—it was all of them. The FBI is trying to figure out when it happened or if there are others in the government being targeted. It appears they were poisoned with polonium-210.”

Seth sat there in a state of shock at the news before replying. “Wow. How the hell could that have happened?”

The two of them sat there for a moment, not saying anything. Smith finally broke the silence. “No one knows the details yet, but this isn’t good. Have you been following anything with the election?”

Seth shook his head. “I’ve been too busy, and frankly, I usually just try to ignore politics.”

“Well, you might want to start paying a little more attention right now. Apparently, our Chinese national who’s been spilling his guts has been involved in a much bigger conspiracy than we originally thought. You did hear about all those postal workers being arrested for tampering with election ballots, right?”

Seth was starting to feel like an idiot living under a rock. He hadn’t heard anything about what was going on back home. He’d been so focused on what was happening here, right in front of them, he’d blocked everything else out.

Seth held up his hands in mock surrender. “OK, Smith, you caught me. I’ve been a little preoccupied with these dirtbags we’ve been chatting up. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Smith shook his head disapprovingly. “Seth…you need to do better than that, my friend. You can’t stay living in the dark. Everything we’ve been uncovering here has been getting actioned back home. It’s created quite the uproar and circus. Heck, the President even tried to postpone the election until the terrorist threat had been successfully averted. He even went so far as to void all the absentee and mail-in ballots once it was discovered the Chinese Ministry of State Security was involved in stealing them.”

Seth just sat there, stunned at what Smith had just told him. He’d had no idea things were falling apart like this back home. Come to think of it, he hadn’t called to talk to his wife in two days. She was probably worried sick about him.

I need to call Dana later today when things slow down, he resolved.

Then Seth snapped himself back to the task at hand. “Smith, not to ignore what you just told me, but the reason I came over here was because the boss wants me to find out what the plan is for when we catch Shicri.”

Looking surprised, Smith asked, “Did we find him?”

Now it was Seth’s turn to be the guy in the know. “Yeah, the NSA just located him. The general’s spinning up the unit to go after him right now. We may have him in custody in a few hours. So, what’s the plan? How are we going to get what we need from him?” he asked.

“I think it’s pretty simple, Seth. We keep using what’s been working. You got some good information from the last couple of guys with your bag of pharmaceutical tricks. I say we keep going with that.”

“Did you bring ‘The Eye’ with you?” asked Seth.

Smith smirked. “Yeah, of course I did. You really think you’ll have time to do that kind of interrogation? Why not just stick to the drugs? They work faster for what we’re doing.”

“I don’t know. It’s an extra tool,” Seth responded. “Just make sure you have it out, so I can find it when the time comes. I think I’d like to try that thing first before I go back to using the fire drug.”

“No worries,” Smith said. “I’ll have a solid packet of information for you on Shicri in a few hours if your snake eaters catch him. I’ve had my guys busy tracking everything down and then some.”

Seth nodded, then left the detention facility to head back toward the dining facility to grab some breakfast. He did a calculation of the time zones. It was late in Florida, but he knew Dana would rather be woken up than not to hear from him. He dialed his wife’s number.

“Seth, is that you?” asked Dana groggily.

God, it’s so good to hear her voice right now, he thought.

“Yeah, it’s me, baby. How are you and the kids?”

“We’re doing OK. How are you? Are you coming home soon?” she asked.

“Not right now, honey. Things are too hot here,” he said, his voice betraying some of the sadness he felt. “Honestly, things were so busy, I hadn’t even heard about the ballots that were stolen, or the election being postponed or anything. I guess I need to call more often. You always did keep me up to date on the important things in the news.”

“Aw, babe. Yeah, it’s really crazy here,” Dana replied. “At least they stopped those terrorist attacks on Halloween. I know you’re doing things that are really important and making a difference right now, but the selfish side of me just wishes you were here.”

She sighed. “Eric has been having nightmares like every other night. Half of the time, I just end up letting him sleep in the bed with me. Lily keeps trying to get me to drive her to school, but this time it’s because she keeps telling me that a terrorist is more likely to target a school bus than a car. They’re growing up too fast. The world is scary.”

“Dana, I’m so sorry you have to handle all that,” Seth replied. “I’ll have to call when it’s a better time of day to talk to them. Maybe I can help reassure them for you.”

“That would be great, honey. If you could, it would really help.” She paused. “Listen…as much as I want to talk to you more, I’m just so tired right now. It’s been a lot of late-night conversations lately. Is there any chance we could talk more after I’ve had a chance to sleep?”

“Yeah, of course. Rest up, darlin’. I’ll keep doing what I can on this end to stop all this madness. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replied. “Come home to me safely.”

*******

Linca, Serbia

10 Kilometers Northwest of Presevo

Cool air whipped through the open cabin on the Blackhawk, but the six Delta Force operators remained laser-focused as they prepared themselves for an incredibly dangerous daytime extraction of a high-value target.

Following the lead Blackhawk were two more of the flying chariots, carrying sixteen Army Rangers who’d provide the ground security of the area once the Delta operators landed to carry out the hit. They’d cover the extraction and make sure no unforeseen forces showed up to interfere in this high-stakes capture.

Flying slightly above the troop-carrying helicopters was a pair of Apache gunships. Like a pair of sheepdogs, they’d make sure no unwanted advances were made toward the soldiers below.

Further above the formation, loitered a lone Reaper drone, armed with four Hellfire missiles, ready to provide additional ground support should it be needed.

With less than forty-eight hours until the next terrorist attack and the US elections, the DoD was under immense pressure to find and subsequently capture the terrorist leader whose members were even now positioning themselves to carry out their next attack.

*******

Master Sergeant Bruce “Deuce” Wilder did a final check of his harness and weapon as the Blackhawk sped toward the Serbian border. Looking at the faces of the other operators, he saw they were ready for some payback. The last raid to capture this HVI had resulted in a handful of SEALs getting injured and killed, not to mention the loss of two helicopters. He’d eluded capture once, but he wasn’t going to pull it off a second time.

Sergeant First Class Larry Flint, who just went by Larry rather than some call sign, was going to assault the front of the building with him, along with Sergeant First Class Pedro “Spider” Santos, their breacher. He’d be responsible for blowing the front door down, gaining them entrance into the building. The other three operators that would leave the helicopter via the other door would move quickly to the rear of the building and breach from there, ensuring no one was able to escape out the back entrance. If things went according to plan, they’d be in the building and clear it in less than three minutes.

Deuce held on to the edge of the helicopter as his feet dangled below the lip of the cargo bay. The helicopter picked up speed and banked hard to the left, cutting down another valley as it neared the target location just across the Kosovo border into Serbia. The other helicopters in their entourage were doing the same, following them as they flew just feet above the bare trees of the valley below.

“Three minutes!” shouted the crew chief over the roar of the whooshing air.

Their objective was located in a small mountainous village just north of the Muslim enclave of Presevo. It had been rumored that this area was controlled by an Albanian Muslim extremist group. It was also a site where a number of different atrocities had been committed by both the Serbian MUP forces and the Albanian terrorist groups that dominated the area. The animosity between the Orthodox Christian Serbs and the ethnic Albanian Muslims had boiled over dozens of times there, resulting in some horrific atrocities by both parties.

The crew chief turned around to face the operators again. “We’re coming up on the target now!” he shouted. The two gunners swiveled their M134 miniguns toward the nearby buildings that were rapidly coming into view.

The nose of the helicopter flared up as the tail boom dropped, rapidly bleeding speed off as the helicopter went from traveling more than a hundred miles per hour to a near hover over the targeted landing zone. In seconds, the helicopter was on the ground and the operators were launching themselves from the metal beast to the ground. They raced toward their target, a small cluster of buildings that made up the center of this small little village.

Deuce brought his weapon to bear and ran toward the building. The rotor wash blew brownish leaves and loose dirt everywhere as the pilot applied power to get the helicopter back in the air.

Seconds later, Deuce and his team were practically to the main door when the first target emerged, a young man in his early twenties wielding an AK-74. Deuce squeezed the trigger once, sending a short burst of fire into the man’s chest, hurling him back against the door he had just emerged from.

The operators continued their relentless charge toward the targeted building, knowing that speed was life in this situation. They needed to hit the building now, while the occupants were still confused by what was happening and before they could get organized and repel their attack.

Deuce was now practically to the front of the building. His two comrades moved to the left of the front door while he moved to the right side, near a bay window that allowed the occupants to see outside.

A hundred meters to their right and left, the other two Blackhawks were landing, dropping off the sixteen Army Rangers who would focus on securing the perimeter of the village.

As Deuce neared the front of the building, the window closest to him exploded. AK-74 rounds shattered the glass and tore through the wall above, below and to the right and left of the window frame as the shooter sought to kill the men trying to assault their building before they could breach the entrance.

Deuce reached for one of the M-84 flash-bang grenades on his vest. Clenching it in his hand, he pulled the pin and tossed it into the destroyed window. More bullets tore into the wall inches from his face and body as the occupant inside tried to kill him.

BOOM.

The grenade exploded, and the shooting momentarily stopped. Spider, Deuce’s partner, had managed to slap a strip of det cord to the outer edge of the door. As soon as the bullets were silenced, he blew the door open. Deuce and Larry rushed in, sweeping for threats. The lone shooter who’d been desperately trying to kill them moments earlier was writhing in pain on the ground, still feeling the effects of the stun grenade and the door being blown in.

Larry ran up to the downed shooter and kicked him hard in the groin with his steel-toed boot. Then he dropped down to a knee, turned the man over and zip-tied his hands with the flex cuffs they’d brought for this purpose.

Deuce ran past Larry with Spider hot on his heels. They raced up to the second floor of the building, in search of their HVI. Just as they were about to reach a turn in the stair, the wall in front of them exploded in splinters. A shooter on the second floor peppered the staircase with bullets.

Deuce dropped to a knee as a string of bullets flew right over where his head had just been. Spider quickly tossed another stun grenade up to the landing.

BOOM.

As soon as the grenade went off, Deuce was back up on his feet, running up the rest of the stairs three at a time. When he reached the top, he found the shooter sitting motionless with his back against the wall, his AK-74 sitting in his lap. Deuce kicked the man’s weapon out of his lap and then pounced on him. He punched the guy as hard as he could with his right hand and then forced the man over onto his belly. Yanking the man’s hands behind him, he grabbed the flex cuffs off his vest and cinched them tight on the man’s hands, immobilizing him.

While Deuce manhandled his shooter, Spider had already bounded past him and burst into one of the bedrooms. Deuce heard a string of bullets being fired and raced to help cover his comrade.

He came through the entrance just in time to see Spider launch himself at a man, knocking his rifle loose from his hands. The two of them tumbled onto a bed. Spider kneed the shooter as hard as he could in the groin, then rolled him over onto his belly. He grabbed for his flex cuffs and got them on the man, cinching them tight on his wrists and neutralizing him as a threat.

Just as Deuce began to think that Spider had the situation under control, he saw a figure skulking toward the back door.

Crap, Shicri is about to escape, he realized.

BAM.

The door blew inwards, throwing Shicri into the wall behind him. He slumped down to the ground, holding his chest. The concussion of the blast had likely knocked the wind right out of him.

One of the other operators busted in through the hole in the wall, throwing Shicri onto his belly. The man had him zip-tied before he had any chance to respond. He coughed several times, trying to regain his breath, and the man sat his new prisoner up.

Deuce smiled at the success of their mission, and then he thought about the view Shicri had. He was staring at a soldier with a close-cropped beard, tactical helmet and ballistic glasses, body armor covered in hand grenades, stun grenades, magazine pouches, and another pair of flex cuffs for good measure. Then his eyes focused on the camouflage Velcro Punisher patch just above another Velcro patch with his blood type, O positive.

Deuce chuckled. He’s probably asking himself who in the world we are, he thought.

After making sure the situation was secure, Deuce grabbed the man from the top of the landing and helped guide him down the staircase, so they could get the house cleared and start to search for anything of value that might help the intelligence guys track down the remaining terrorists in the US.

Spider had his prisoner behind him and was doing the same. When they reached the ground floor, they moved the two men out the front door to where the other members of their team had the other prisoners from the building sitting Indian style on the ground.

With two of the operators guarding the four prisoners, the rest of the team was inside the building, grabbing everything that might be of intelligence value. At this point, the Army Rangers had moved in closer to their position and reported spotting no additional threats.

A handful of civilians who lived in the immediate area cautiously came out of their homes but kept their distance. The operators must have seemed like a mystery to them because, unlike the Serbian MUP or other police units they might have seen in the past, Deuce and his fellow soldiers were heavily loaded down with weapons and equipment. They quietly mingled with each other.

A few minutes went by relatively uneventfully before the familiar sound of helicopters returned. The first to appear were the two Apache helicopters, which stayed in a low hover on opposite ends of the village, making their presence known and ensuring no one decided to take a pop shot at them. Next came a series of Blackhawks and a lone Chinook. The Chinook landed first, which allowed the operators to load up their four prisoners and the half dozen large black bags of evidence they’d grabbed from the building. The six Delta Force members hopped in the bird as well to escort their HVI back to Bondsteel.

Next came the two Blackhawks, which would collect up the Rangers. When the last helicopter lifted off and was safely out of the village, the two Apaches turned away and followed their charges back across the Serbian border into Kosovo.

Deuce smiled. This was what he lived for—it had been a successful mission with no casualties and only one terrorist killed.

*******

Seth looked at the naked, shivering image of Tahir Shicri as he sat there, tied to the metal chair with a black hood over his face. They hadn’t placed the sensory deprivation equipment on him just yet. Seth wanted to save that for later, when he wanted to make his prisoner believe he’d been held for far longer than he really had. Right now, it was far more important for him to be unsure of where he was being held and what was about to happen to him next. Unfortunately, Seth and Smith didn’t have much time to get the information they needed to stop the next set of terrorist attacks.

Seth nodded to one of the two guards standing in the room to remove the black hood covering his face. As the hood came off, Shicri crinkled his eyes a bit, trying to adjust to the poor lighting of the room. Seth had readjusted the setting for his purposes; a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling was barely illuminating the place with its yellowish glow. Ominous shadows filled in the rest.

Seth stepped forward to allow himself to be illuminated and waited for Shicri’s gaze to settle on him. When his prisoner finally made eye contact, Set saw the look of fear and anger in his eyes.

“Are you thirsty?” Seth asked. “Would you like some water?”

Shicri opened his mouth as if to say something but then quickly closed it. Seth had seen this before. His detainee didn’t want to admit he needed anything. Seth took a bottle of water and placed it on the table in front of him anyway.

Seeing that Shicri’s arms were still zip-tied to the chair, Seth signaled to one of the guards to cut him loose. He obliged, pulling out a knife and quickly cutting through the plastic ties that held him to the chair. Then the guard sheathed his knife and stepped back into the shadows, out of sight but ever-present should he be needed.

Shicri stared at the water bottle, unsure of whether he should take it or not.

“Drink,” Seth commanded, miming the action with his right hand. The interpreter, who sat in a chair behind the prisoner, also hidden in the dark, echoed Seth’s instructions.

Reluctantly, Shicri grabbed the water bottle, unscrewed the cap and then proceeded to drain most of it in several large gulps.

“Would you care for something to eat?” Seth asked.

Shicri looked at him quizzically.

Before his prisoner had a chance to decline, Seth waved a hand and the door to the room opened up, allowing a stream of light from the hallway to shine in. A lone figure appeared in the doorway, and a man walked in, holding a tray with eight chicken wings, some olives, and some fresh-cut fruit. He placed the tray down in front of Shicri and walked out.

The prisoner looked at the plate of food longingly and skeptically, obviously unsure if the food had been spiked with something or what to make of it all.

Seth smiled. He knew that when Shicri had been captured, he’d fully expected to be tortured, not fed and taken care of; his campaign of confusion was having the desired effect.

Suddenly, Shicri began to shiver. Then he looked down at himself. It was as if he rediscovered that he was naked, sitting on a metal chair in a room that had an ambient temperature of about fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

“I’m sorry for your initial treatment, Shicri,” said Seth comfortingly. “They shouldn’t have stripped you naked like this. You are still a human being, and you should be treated with respect.”

Seth snapped his fingers, and one of the guards brought over a blanket. “Stand up,” he ordered. When Shicri had complied, he wrapped the blanket around the man, and then he sat back down, visibly more comfortable.

Seth observed his prisoner staring at the food again. “Eat,” he said. “I’ll wait until you’ve had your fill before the two of us talk.”

Shicri’s instincts took over and he began scarfing down the food as if he hadn’t eaten in two weeks. Seth observed the man as he ate, looking for signs that the drugs he’d injected into Shicri’s water were having the desired effects. His eating had slowed a bit, and he began to fumble with his plastic fork.

Excellent, Seth thought.

His prisoner was oblivious to what was happening to him, but his mind was being lulled into a place of tranquility and peace. A sense of euphoria would start to take over as any inhibition he had would start to fade away.

During the next five or so minutes, Seth made casual conversation with the man sitting before him, asking him if he had made the pilgrimage to the Haj, and sharing his own story of the pilgrimage experience he’d had several years prior. Given, Seth’s pilgrimage had been done for covert reasons during an operation he was a part of in Yemen, but he was still able to share some of that experience with Shicri, who now showed a bit more respect to Seth than he had just a few minutes prior. Sharing the same experience created a bond that Seth could build on.

In his life back in the States, Seth actually attended a Baptist church, but he knew enough about Islam that he could easily pass himself off as a Muslim when the situation required, like right now, during his interrogation of this terrorist mastermind.

Now that Shicri had finished his food, he asked, “How can a Muslim, a brother in the faith, work for such a godless atheist government? How can you work against us? We are doing the work of Allah—what are you doing?”

Seth nodded at the question. “We all do the work of Allah in our own ways, Shicri. We all bear His burdens differently.”

“You should be working with us, not against us for these infidels,” his prisoner countered.

Seth shook his head. “You have it all wrong, brother. While you wage the smaller jihad against the West, I wage the great jihad, the jihad against the mind, the body, which is far more difficult than the war you wage against flesh and blood.”

“You are just trying to warp my sense of honor, my sense of purpose,” Shicri replied angrily.

“Brother, the West will be defeated in the coming decades when the Muslim faithful outbreed these infidels. There is no need for violence when through procreation we will outnumber them, elect leaders that agree with our interpretation of Sharia and our values and way of life. It is only a matter of being patient, brother.”

Shicri sat there looking at Seth for a moment, almost dumbfounded by what he’d said. He seemed to be mulling over whether or not what the man before him said could possibly be true.

Now that Seth had Shicri thinking, and he was sure that the drugs were having the desired effect, he began to lay his foundation. “Look, we know your terrorist group is planning to carry out an attack in America during the election. I could torture you to get the information I’m looking for, but why? I don’t want to torture a fellow Muslim, a brother in Allah. In the end, Allah will defeat the West, but He’ll defeat them through peace and showing them His love, not His hate.

“I want you to tell me what you are planning to do. How many of your followers are involved, and where will these attacks take place?”

Seth leaned in. “We can’t defeat the West through Allah’s love and by outbreeding them if we cause them to fear Allah and lash out at His followers. Please see that you are imperiling a much greater jihad in the West by carrying out an attack that will only hurt the rest of our Muslim brothers and sisters.”

Then, very softly, Seth asked, “Do you understand?”

Shicri stared at Seth with an unsure look. The drugs were clearly causing him to have a hard time thinking. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. No, I cannot betray my people,” he said. “We’ve trained too long and too hard for this day. This is our chance to strike at the heart of the great Satan.”

“How is your strike at the great Satan going to be any different than what has already been done? Is your group just another copycat of the previous groups?” asked Seth.

Shicri snickered at the comment. “Oh no. We are no copycat. We’ve been given help to make sure that our attack will be bigger and better than any previous attack.”

Seth smiled as he asked, “Then tell me, one Muslim brother to another, what it is? Tell me so I can rejoice in your triumph and share in your joy.”

At this point, Seth had reached across the table and gently took hold of Shicri’s hands as he looked into his eyes with about as much joy and excitement as a child would have when he saw his family’s Christmas tree fully decorated and surrounded by beautifully wrapped gifts.

A smile crept across Shicri’s face. “OK, fine. I’ll share with you one of the attacks, but you’ll have to wait for the others. They’re a surprise…”

Chapter 17

Birth of a New World Order

New York, New York

United Nations Headquarters

Secretary-General Johann Behr of the United Nations sat in his office, looking out the large windows at the great city of New York before him. From his perch, he could see much of Manhattan and the surrounding harbor and waterways. As much as he loved the energized scene before him, he despised the nation it belonged to. To him, the United States was a parasite, a leech that was bleeding the world dry. Its never-ending thirst for energy and resources and its perverse belief that somehow its people were more important than those of any other nation made it a dangerous scourge.

American exceptionalism…more like American imperialism if they don’t get what they want, Behr thought.

Like a petulant child, America would routinely lash out at various countries of the world when it didn’t get what it wanted, using its economy and its military to bully smaller countries into submission. He found comfort that those days were quickly coming to an end.

Only a few more days and America—and the world—will change for the better.

“Mr. Secretary-General,” said his assistant, breaking his trance and bringing him back to reality.

He turned to look at his assistant and saw him walk in, accompanied by a Canadian general, a man by the name of Guy McKenzie.

The Canadian general had built a well-known reputation both within his own country’s forces and those of the UN as a true warrior diplomat. He’d spent large portions of his career in the Canadian Special Forces and then in various functions developing the small Canadian military into a well-trained professional force. He’d been the commander of numerous UN peacekeeping operations around the world. The few UN-led peacekeeping operations that hadn’t been plagued by scandal or marred by indifference, like those in South Sudan, were the ones specifically led by McKenzie. When it came time to develop a true UN standing army, there wasn’t a single military officer in the world that held the level of respect needed to make this concept work other than General Guy McKenzie.

Secretary-General Behr smiled warmly at the two men as he stood up to greet them. He’d been waiting all day for this meeting. Walking around his desk, he shook both of their hands excitedly. “General, it’s good to see you here in New York. How are things coming along?”

“Rough around the edges, sir, but coming along,” answered General McKenzie in an upbeat tone.

The Secretary-General guided them over to a table at the far side of his office. “Please, General, tell me how things are going and what more I can do to help or make calls to get things moving faster for you,” Behr pressed.

McKenzie nodded. “No disrespect, but is Mr. Vollmer cleared for this?” he asked, tilting his head toward Bruno Vollmer, who was sitting next to the general.

Behr waved the comment off. “Bruno is fully aware of what we’re doing. He’s helping me orchestrate the political side of things here at the UN, so please feel free to speak freely in front of him.”

“Very well,” General McKenzie responded. Then he opened a locked pouch he had with him and pulled out some papers and a folder to begin their discussion. “The plans for the exercises are going well. We have advanced parties for the participating nations’ militaries arriving this week. The United Nations’ Operation Restoring Order training exercise is shaping up to be a huge success.”

“Wait, what are you calling it?” asked Bruno with a quizzical look on his face. The name for the operation had only been settled on a few days ago, so it was still not widely known.

“Um, we settled on calling it Operation Restoring Order, since that is essentially going to be the function of the new standing army. For short, we’re calling the training exercise U-N-O-R-O. I guess you’d pronounce it yoon-OH-roh.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but how many nations have finally agreed to participate?” Secretary-General Behr eagerly asked. He’d been so busy trying to get the political side of this exercise taken care of that he hadn’t been able to delve too deeply into the nuts and bolts of the details.

General McKenzie smiled. “As of right now, we have forty-two nations participating in one form or another. The largest contributors to the exercise are France, Germany, Turkey, Belgium, the Netherlands, Norway, Spain, Italy—and surprisingly, China and Russia have agreed to send forces as well. Many of the other nations are contributing less than one hundred soldiers, mostly observers who’ll presumably report back on how well things go or don’t go so their home nations can determine if they want to support it and how many soldiers they want to commit.

“When the exercise is complete, we’ll have a better idea of how many nations will want to contribute forces long-term to the standing army. Once I have those figures, I’ll be able to develop my report of how many soldiers we’ll need to recruit to fill out the gaps in the force and that’ll tell us what the costs will be.”

Looking at one of the papers he had pulled out, McKenzie added, “Of the major nations participating, this is the troop breakdown. China is sending a total of 3,500 soldiers. Most of the Chinese soldiers are part of their air force and navy, no ground forces. Once they arrive in Vancouver, they will head to the Canadian Forces Base Comox, northwest of Vancouver. In addition to the air force, a total of ten Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy ships will make a port call at Canadian Forces Base Esquimalt.

“The Russian Federation is sending 22,000 soldiers to participate in the exercises that will be taking place at the Canadian Forces base in Trenton. In addition to the ground forces, the Russians are also going to send two squadrons of fighters to allow our NATO-based aircraft a chance to do some real training against some of their frontline fighters. We’re actually really excited about this opportunity to train with the Russians and move from always viewing them as a foe to a new potential UN peacekeeping partner.”

Secretary-General Behr grunted. He still had his suspicions about the Russians’ motives, but at this point, he needed them.

“Germany is sending the largest contingent, 24,000 soldiers. Then France is sending 18,000 soldiers.” He paused for a second as he rifled through the papers to find what he was looking for. “Ah, here it is. Turkey and Pakistan are sending a combined force of 9,000 soldiers, and the remaining countries have contributed a combined 17,000 soldiers. All in all, we’re looking at having a total of 68,000 soldiers from all forty-two nations.”

Behr let out a soft whistle. He was impressed that they were able to organize so many peacekeepers from so many different nations—in the dead of winter and traveling to Canada, no less.

This is going to work out better than I’d hoped, he thought.

“Incredible, General,” Behr said. “Truly genius what you’ve been able to put together. This will be the largest UN military force since the Korean War.”

Smiling at the high praise, McKenzie added, “And it’ll have all been done without any help from the Americans. A true effort by the nations of the world without having to rely on the United States to accomplish it.”

“How are we getting all of these nations’ military equipment moved to Canada?” Bruno asked as he jotted down a note. “Also, how long will the exercise last and what are you doing to keep them all fed and occupied?”

General McKenzie smiled at the questions, obviously not at all put off. “For decades, the United Nations peacekeeping forces have been poorly trained and poorly led because the organization has been dependent on receiving whatever forces each member state is willing to loan us. In many cases, we’ve been handed poorly trained and poorly equipped units as the member states hoped these units would receive the training and experience they themselves were unable to provide. They were essentially just giving us warm bodies with little skills or experience and expecting us to somehow stop a civil war or impose peace on a war-torn nation with these inadequate forces.

“Unfortunately, this has resulted in an abysmal peacekeeping record and tarnished the UN’s name. In some cases, we’ve caused more harm than good. Our track record in South Sudan and Somalia is a good case in point.” McKenzie looked sad as he mentioned those two countries, but then he perked back up. “This training exercise is meant to address many of those problems; mostly it’s meant to fix our logistical problem of shipping a military force to a foreign land and then keeping that force supplied.

“In this case, we’re relying heavily on nations like the Netherlands, Denmark, Germany, France, China, and Russia to do most of the heavy vehicle and equipment transport. Most of the equipment is due to arrive on the east and west coasts of Canada in the next couple of days—from there, it’ll be shipped via rail to the various Canadian military bases until the soldiers start to fly in from around the world. Most of the soldiers will start to arrive in Canada around November third. Within five days, all participating soldiers will have arrived and will begin collecting their equipment and begin the process of getting it ready.”

Pulling out a calendar, McKenzie added, “The first day of the military exercises will be November seventh, and they will continue for a full forty-five days. When they’re done, there will be a five-day period where we’ll conduct an after-action review of all the soldiers involved to find out what went right and what went wrong, so we can work on fixing the problems as they’re identified.”

Bruno smiled and nodded at the information. He wrote a few other things down on his pad of paper before returning his gaze back to the general. “What are the exact scenarios you’ll be training for?”

McKenzie nodded. “Well, in this case, we’ll be training for a couple of scenarios. The first scenario is a restart of the Korean War. In this scenario, we’ll be training our combat forces to carry out joint maneuvers to deal with a much larger North Korean ground force. Mostly it’ll be a lot of maneuver training, having units shift around from one base to another under strict timelines while pretending to meet a specific North Korean division. It’s a giant logistics and supply exercise, which is a huge challenge for any army to have to deal with.

“The second scenario is more in line with our traditional peacekeeping missions. Helping to restore order in a country after a coup or working with a local government to prevent a coup. This exercise will result in a lot of community interactions between UN forces and training in how to properly handle those interactions. We’ve utterly failed in those areas in the past, so it’s a much-needed exercise.

“What these exercises will also do is allow us to identify specific officers and NCOs inside of each host nation that may be better suited for future UN missions. This way, when a call goes out for a UN force in, say, Gabon or Sierra Leon, we can request specific officers and their units from a host nation and know those individuals have been properly trained and will react correctly in certain situations.”

Leaning forward, Behr asked, “And what about our test of the American aerospace defense networks? Have those units been briefed on what to do and what to look for?”

McKenzie nodded. “Yes, our Canadian officers serving at the joint US-Canadian bases will be monitoring things from their end. As to our side of the border, the Russians and Germans were most eager to have an opportunity to buzz an American airbase and practice carrying out mock bombing missions. It’ll give us a good test of the American aerospace defense system.”

Secretary-General Behr beamed with pride as McKenzie finished his brief. He couldn’t be prouder of the UN or what it was transforming itself into. Since his time as the German foreign minister, he’d wanted to see not just a strong, dominant European Union emerge as a counterweight to the US, but a strong and effective United Nations.

For decades, the UN had not only been a bloated bureaucracy that had proven to be largely useless, it had lacked any real teeth to enforce its mandates and policies. How many resolutions had the UN passed sanctioning North Korea, Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, or even Israel for their inhumane treatment of the Palestinians? None of them were worth the paper they were written on without a standing army to enforce their edicts. For too long, any semblance of a UN army was forced to be made up of US forces. This would ultimately mean the UN was used once again as the US’s proxy weapon to advance their causes, their goals—even if it went against the good of the world.

Looking at General McKenzie with pride, Behr felt he was finally on the cusp of having the very tool every past UN Secretary-General lacked—a real military force that could enforce its mandates.

Chapter 18

Fate of the Republic

November 2, 2020

Washington, D.C.

J. Edgar Hoover Building

FBI Headquarters

The polls were now less than thirty-six hours from opening, and the FBI was still no closer to stopping the impending terrorist attacks than they had been two days earlier. The information they had received from Kosovo had enabled them to arrest two individuals, but they had yet to find the rest of their cell or the others involved in the plot.

When they’d raided the home being used by the two individuals, they had discovered something truly horrifying. Their 2019 GMC Savana cargo van had been turned into a giant mobile version of a Claymore antipersonnel mine. When the bomb squad had torn the vehicle apart, they’d seen that the inner walls of the van had been covered in several layers of tiny steel ball bearings. Behind the ball bearings was a layer of C-4, which would act as the propellant that would throw the ball bearings in a wide arc, away from the vehicle. The terrorists had even shaped steel plates to fit behind the explosives, to further ensure the pressure from the blast expanded out in the direction they wanted it to go.

They had even marked the van to look like a police evidence van, complete with all of the proper markings, vehicle numbers and everything needed to make it look official. They still hadn’t figured out how the terrorists had planned on using it or where it was going to be detonated, but based on the type of explosives they’d found and the way it was configured with the ball bearings, they knew it was going to be used against a soft target, a place where lots of people would be gathering together.

*******

At precisely 9:07 a.m., Attorney General Malcolm Wright and one of his aides walked unannounced into FBI Director Nolan Polanski’s office.

Looking up a bit surprised by the sudden appearance of the AG, he stammered, “I, um, I wasn’t expecting you, sir. What can I do for you?”

With a bit of heat in his voice, Malcolm said, “I need to know where we stand with the questioning of these terrorists. You’ve had them in custody now for a day, and we still don’t know who their co-conspirators are or where they were planning to carry out this next attack. I need answers, Nolan! I’ve got the President breathing down my neck, and the election is tomorrow.”

Angrily, Director Polanski shot back, “I don’t know, Malcolm! We’ve been pressing them nonstop since we detained them. They’ve freaking lawyered up on us, and somehow the ACLU got wind that we’ve detained suspected terrorists, and now I’ve got them breathing down my back, demanding that they be arraigned and allowed representation.”

The FBI Director slumped dejectedly in his chair, frustrated that his agents weren’t getting the information they needed fast enough. He knew they were on the clock—a terrorist attack was going to happen tomorrow, and thus far, he was powerless to stop it.

Malcolm wasn’t having it. He slammed his hand down on his desk, jarring Polanski back to reality. “Damn it, Nolan! You’re the Director of the FBI. Use every tool you have at your disposal to get them talking. As to the ACLU—tell me who’s giving you grief and allow me to handle them. These guys fall under the Patriot Act; they have no rights. They don’t get to see a lawyer, and furthermore, they’re not even US citizens. Get me answers, Nolan, and stop this terrorist attack from happening.”

The two of them sat there for a moment, staring at each other without saying a word before Director Polanski finally nodded. He picked up the phone on his desk and spoke a few hushed words to someone on the other end.

“I’ve relayed your concerns, Malcolm. They’ll amp up the pressure on them.” He crossed his arms. “You’d better not burn me on this later,” he retorted. He was frustrated that while his agency wasn’t breaking the rules, they were certainly about to bend them to get the answers the AG wanted in the timeframe they were given.

“If another attack happens, Nolan, it’ll be both our heads—so let’s just focus on getting these guys. Now, what have your people figured out regarding the poisoning of the Supreme Court justices?” Malcolm asked.

“We believe they may have been poisoned while they were in deliberations sometime early last week. Sadly, the last four justices will die either today or sometime tomorrow. The radiation poisoning was just too severe for them to be saved.”

Shaking his head, the AG asked, “Have we figured out how they were poisoned yet?”

“The best we’ve been able to determine is that they were probably fed the poison in their drinks sometime last week. We’ve scoured the kitchen and interrogated all but one of the staff members that work there. The remaining staff member is on a preapproved vacation, so we’ll interview her when she returns. So far, we haven’t been able to find any traces of the polonium. Chances are, whatever was used to poison them with has already been thoroughly cleaned, and the half-life of this stuff is fairly short. In a way, we’re lucky it wasn’t placed in the HVAC system of the building. Had it been, it could have poisoned hundreds of people.”

Malcolm snorted. “I’m not as worried about a few hundred people being killed so much as the fact that between today and tomorrow, all nine Supreme Court justices will be dead at the same time. This is far more catastrophic to the fabric and stability of our nation than a few hundred visitors, lawyers and petitioners before the court.”

The FBI Director found himself in agreement at the morbid assessment. “What’s the President going to do about the justices? We can’t have a Supreme Court completely unable to hear cases, especially given the current executive order about the election. Has anyone officially determined what’s going to happen with that? We’re kind of running out of options and time.”

Shaking his head, Malcolm rubbed the right side of his head with his hand. He looked at his colleague with sadness and uncertainty written on his face. “I don’t know, Nolan. I just don’t know what to do anymore. The President needs to nominate new judges, but the country is still mourning their loss—not to mention we have an election tomorrow that, in all honesty, is probably not going to be legit. You’ve seen the pundits and what the Tate campaign is putting out there. They’ve whipped people up, saying this whole terrorist plot and these postal workers the FBI arrested are just a diversion from Sachs losing. You and I know that’s ridiculous, but how do we convince the other half of the country that’s drinking the Tate Kool-Aid?”

“We let the terrorists carry out their attack tomorrow. When they see a few dozen bombs go off, they’ll know we weren’t lying or making this crap up,” the FBI Director responded flippantly. He immediately regretted that he’d said that thought out loud instead of keeping it in his head.

Malcolm’s jaw dropped in shock.

Director Polanski held up a hand. “I’m sorry—I didn’t really mean that. I’ve gone over the TEDAC report on the truck bomb we’ve already captured. These are horrific bombs if they do end up going off.”

Malcolm shook his head, obviously angry and disgusted. “Look, Nolan, I know we’re all under a ton of pressure, but pull it together, man. You’ve got thousands of agents looking to you for leadership right now. I may be out of a job, depending on how the election goes tomorrow, but you’ll still be here, and we need you to finish this job.

“You’ve got to find out who all is involved in this conspiracy. Someone deliberately poisoned the Supreme Court justices just as they were about to hear perhaps the most important case in our generation. There are a series of terrorist attacks planned against our country, they weaponized social media to turn citizens against each other, and now we discover postal workers stealing the absentee ballots? You couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried, and yet, it’s all happening right before our very eyes.”

Malcolm paused, and leaned forward. “You have to figure out who’s behind all this before it’s too late. The fate of our entire republic is hanging in the balance…”

Chapter 19

Election Day

November 3, 2020

White Settlement, Texas

White Settlement Public Library

It was 9:03 a.m. and the line was only just now moving. Dwight Larson stood patiently in line with the dozens of other folks who must’ve had the same idea he’d had—to vote as soon as the polls opened and save himself the hassle of waiting in what he thought would be a much longer, slower-moving line later in the afternoon.

Under any normal circumstance, Dwight would already be at work. His shift at the Lockheed Martin plant just down the road started at 8 a.m. However, he had already told his boss the day before that he’d be late coming into work today so he could vote. While his shift would usually end early enough for him to cast his vote before the polls closed, no one wanted to wait around to the last minute, when the lines were usually longest. No, today he wanted to get in and get out—especially with all the warnings about a possible terrorist attack.

Steadily, the line that had snaked around the library moved forward. For perhaps the first time, Dwight noticed five heavily armed soldiers standing near the door. They weren’t checking people’s IDs, but they were giving everyone the once-over, probably trying to make sure no one stuck out.

Well, at least the government placed armed security at the voting station, Dwight thought as he inched closer to the door. It was on every voter’s mind that they didn’t want to experience an attack like what had happened during early voting.

A few more minutes went by, and then Dwight was able to make his way into the library. He walked up to the registration table and handed the elderly volunteer his voter ID card. She asked him several questions and then had him sign the electronic signature pad. She compared the signature to his ID and voter registration card and then smiled warmly as she handed back his cards.

When he’d put away his cards, she handed him his ballot. “Here you go, Mr. Larson. Just pick an open station, fill in the circles and place your voting card in the scanner at the far end of the room,” she instructed.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied before taking his ballot and making his way to one of the voting booths.

Dwight used the provided marker to fill in the circle selecting Sachs for president and then he voted for the sitting senator and congressman from his district. Despite what was going on in the world, things were generally going well for the Larson household, so in Dwight’s mind, if things were good, why change it up?

Just as he finished filling in the last ballot measure, which took him forever to read through, he heard a loud screeching of tires and then some excited shouting. A woman screamed and then gunfire punctured the eerie silence.

Pop, pop, pop, pop.

Then the loudest, most earth-shattering explosion rocked Dwight’s world as the windows overlooking the parking lot exploded into a million tiny shards. The wall itself imploded with a force Dwight did not think possible as chunks of wood, cinderblock and other debris slammed into every possible part of his body, hurling him backwards.

For a few moments, Dwight found himself staring at the ceiling, but somehow seeing burning pieces of paper raining down and the occasional flash of the morning sky. He crinkled his forehead.

How am I seeing the sky if I’m still inside the library? he wondered. His mind had not yet registered that close to half of the library had just been completely torn apart—the roof of the building had been ripped off like a metal can being peeled open.

Moments later, the morning sky started to turn dark as Dwight’s world slipped away into oblivion.

*******

River Oaks, Texas

River Oaks City Hall

The parking lot at City Hall was jam-packed this morning and it was only 9:06 a.m. Kimberly Wilson had finally given up on finding a parking spot and just parked in front of someone’s house a block away. She hoped the owner wouldn’t be too mad at her parking her car there. She wanted to cast her vote and get on to work. Granted, she didn’t have to be at the hair salon until 10 a.m., but judging by the number of people already in line, it might take her more than a few minutes to get through and vote.

As she walked toward City Hall, she spotted what she thought was the end of the line, so she started walking in that direction. When she neared the end of the gaggle of people, Kimberly heard a series of soft popping sounds, almost like someone was lighting off some firecrackers. Everyone turned their heads toward the noise. Kimberly and several others instinctively dove to the ground, seeking cover. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her concealed carry weapon. She looked up to see several other men and women from the line reaching into their sweaters, jackets, and handbags for their pistols.

This is Texas, after all, she thought.

“Look over there!” shouted one of the men.

A woman let out a scream. A plume of inky black smoke rose into the sky, a stark contrast to the bright blues of the midmorning.

“Everyone, stay calm!” shouted a police officer who was now walking down the row of people toward the smoke. “If I could get everyone to put their personal weapons away, that would greatly help us in making sure we don’t accidentally shoot someone,” the officer announced loud enough for everyone to hear. The crowd began to react to what he had said, holstering their guns.

A moment later, several armed soldiers came trotting toward the crowd from around the front of City Hall. “If we could get everyone to leave the area—we’re not sure if this polling station may be attacked next,” shouted what appeared to be a sergeant.

“If we leave now, when are we going to be able to vote?” shouted an angry older man who was sporting a hat from the President’s party.

With a look of concern written on his face, the soldier replied, “I don’t know, sir. Maybe if you’re willing to wait a little while, we can get you guys in. However, right now, I don’t know if our polling station is next,” he reiterated. His explanation was more than enough for a large swath of the crowd to start dispersing quickly to get out of there.

Kimberly debated whether to leave. She wouldn’t be able to leave work to vote later, so this was really her only chance. A few folks continued arguing with the soldier and the police officer, and she and a few others sort of milled about, unsure what to do.

Suddenly, from around the corner, she heard the sound of automatic rifle fire. The soldiers immediately ran around the corner to find out what the heck was going on, and Kimberly found herself following the remaining people in line to see what had happened. The lone police officer gave up trying to tell people to stay back and joined the crowd.

When she came around the corner, she saw a white cargo van riddled with bullet holes. There was a bright red blood splotch splattered across the remains of the shattered windshield.

A lone soldier stood next to the front of a Toyota Camry, his M240 Gulf set up with its bipod extended on the hood of the car and a slew of spent shell casings at his feet. He still had the machine gun trained on the van as another soldier, his rifle at the ready, moved in to make sure the driver was dead.

*******

Specialist Jose Ramirez held his M4 tight to his shoulder, his finger on the trigger, ready to send a fury of bullets into the driver side of the van if he thought he saw movement.

How’d I draw the short stick to go check and see if this freaking terrorist is dead? he thought to himself as he inched ever closer to the driver side door of the van.

When Jose got to within maybe ten feet of the van, he saw the driver, bleeding from multiple gunshots. Looking at his face, he saw blood coming from his mouth.

Thank God, he’s dead, he thought.

Just then, the man moved his head and looked directly at him. While spitting up blood, the terrorist smiled before he detonated the bomb in the van.

In the blink of an eye, a massive blast tore Specialist Jose Ramirez into a fine red mist as he disappeared in the conflagration that consumed the nearby vehicles and building. Thousands of steel ball bearings were thrown in every direction, cutting down anyone in their path, killing and injuring dozens of people who had thought they were safe just moments ago.

Within minutes, the Islamic State in Serbia had attacked two different voting stations in the Fort Worth area of Texas, striking fear into the heart of every American as they began to head to the polls to choose the next president.

*******

Arlington, Virginia

Pentagon

Secretary of Defense Chuck McElroy couldn’t believe what he was seeing unfold across the various news outlets. When he heard of the first attack, he immediately ran down to the ops center in the bowels of the Pentagon. They had two of the monitors there tuned to the news outlets as they described what appeared to be a pair of bombings in the Fort Worth area.

Before McElroy could even ask for a SITREP, reports came in of a similar pair of attacks in Florida, one in Tampa and another in Kissimmee.

That’s just miles away from Disney World, thought McElroy.

Seconds after those attacks happened, several more took place in Ohio, and then Pennsylvania and North Carolina. The country was under attack, and his forces had proven powerless to stop them.

The red phone near the head of the table in the ops center rang. Everyone knew this was the direct hotline between the President and the SecDef, and all eyes turned to him as he reached for the phone.

“This is McElroy,” he said, very matter-of-fact.

“I want the alert level raised across the country to Threat Condition Delta!”

“Yes, Mr. President. I agree.”

“Start executing whatever operations you can in the Balkans, regardless of whatever the host nations think about it. I don’t care what those leaders think anymore.”

“I agree. I think the situation has changed. We’ll make the adjustment, Mr. President,” McElroy responded. “Shall I move us from DEFCON 5 to DEFCON 3?”

“What do you think?” Sachs asked sarcastically. “Obviously. Ground all the air traffic immediately, and close all land and sea ports.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Chuck, I’m authorizing the use of deadly force to defend our installations and strategic assets. If you see something suspicious, I don’t want you to think about it—just shoot it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Good. Now get the Air Force to spin up some fighters and start flying combat patrols over all of our strategic assets and major cities. That includes oil and natural gas terminals, ports, the works—not just the military installations, OK?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“All right, Chuck, I’ll leave you to it, then.” The line went dead, and McElroy hung up the receiver.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Austin Peterson, asked, “What did he say? What are our orders?”

McElroy relayed the details of the conversation. General Peterson and the Air Force Chief acknowledged the orders and rushed off to get the ball rolling. The nation was moving to a war footing. As soon as they had a target to blow up or shoot, they’d hammer it.

*******

Washington, D.C.

J. Edgar Hoover Building

FBI Headquarters

Ashley walked into Deputy Director Joseph Latrell’s office with a purpose. She needed to speak to him immediately. When she walked in, he shot her a look of contempt before he held up a hand and pointed at the phone in his other hand. She nodded and bit her lip to keep herself from speaking.

“Yes, sir.…I know we failed to find the bombers. They’re detonating bombs across half a dozen cities right now!”

Audible yelling could be heard from the receiver as Joe held it back from his ear just a bit.

Whoever is on the other end of that call is really laying into Joe right now, Ashley thought. She felt a bit relieved that it wasn’t her on the receiving end.

“No, sir. I cannot say with certainty that there are no more attacks. The attacks took place within the first thirty minutes of the polls opening. For all we know, the terrorists could be staggering their attacks. This could continue to take place throughout the entire day.”

Joe not only looked defeated at having failed in preventing these attacks from happening, he seemed apoplectic at the fact that he couldn’t even strike back at the people responsible for this horrific carnage.

“I don’t know if we’ll be ready to deliver our report by tomorrow,” he said.

Ashley scrunched up her face at the comment.

Is he talking about my report? she wondered. She had been close to being done before she’d just uncovered a whole new angle to this plot.

Joe let out an audible sigh as he nodded, more to himself than the person he was speaking to on the other end. “Yes, sir. We’ll personally deliver the report to the White House tomorrow by ten a.m. and will be ready to brief it to the President and whoever you believe should hear it.”

Now Ashley was concerned. If they wanted to brief her report to the President…it just wasn’t ready yet.

“I understand. We’ll plan on being at the White House for the rest of the day, then.…Yes, we’ll be ready to brief the press if the President asks us to.…Yes, sir. I’ll call you if we have anything else new to report to you before the end of the day,” Joe said. Then he hung up the phone.

He looked at Ashley and shook his head. Before she could say anything, he got up and walked over to the window that looked out onto the city. It was a dreary day. Low clouds hung dark and ominously across the city, threatening to unload a torrent of rain or sleet. Ashley imagined that the sky looked how he felt, dark and depressed.

“Who was that on the phone giving you the third degree?” Ashley finally asked, breaking the silence.

Turning around, Joe took a deep breath and straightened his back. “That was the Attorney General. He couldn’t get through to the Director, so I was the next best thing.”

“Where’s the Director?” asked Ashley.

“In a plane, heading down to Orlando with several dozen agents. Apparently, one of the attackers was captured during a shoot-out with the police. He’s injured, but not critically, so the Director is headed there with an enhanced interrogation team and additional agents.”

Ashley shook her head. “Geez, this is terrible. I can’t believe what’s going on.”

Brushing the comment aside, Joe asked, “What did you need, Ashley? You came in here looking like you were ready to unload on me.”

She blushed at the remark, realizing that she had come into his office in a huff-and-puff manner. “I’ve got another crinkle in our report I’m working on.”

“Oh, man,” said Joe. “Please tell me it’s not falling apart on us.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s actually getting more complicated.”

Pointing to the two chairs opposite his desk, he led her over to sit down and talk about it.

“What more have you found?” he asked.

“You remember how the AG and the President had a special EO signed, unleashing the NSA and all of its capabilities to track down the October 31st attackers?” she asked.

Joe nodded. “Yeah. To be honest, I was a bit concerned about taking the leash off the NSA. What did they come up with?” he asked.

“Without exception, all of the attackers—the October 24th group, the Halloween cohort, and I’ll wager the group that’s carrying out the current attack will fall into this group as well—all entered the US using EU passports, German passports to be more precise.” She pulled some papers out of her folder and showed him copies of the passports.

“They could’ve obtained stolen passports or bought them illegally. It does happen, Ashley.”

She nodded. “It does. But what doesn’t happen is that these individuals also used spoofed biometrics.”

He lifted his head in surprise. “Explain,” he ordered.

“The other day, I met with National Security Advisor Robert Grey. He had another person from the NSA, Leah Riesling, brief me as well. She’s apparently their counterintelligence department chief. She walked me through the process of how the attackers gained entry into the country.

“Essentially, what they did was use fake fingerprints that matched the biometrics of German citizens who these passports actually belonged to. The problem is, these German citizens are all currently serving various prison sentences in Germany, so there would be no way they could travel to the US with their passports. Someone swapped out the facial images on the passports with those of the attackers, then gave them fake fingerprints to place over their real ones, kind of like tape. That way, when their fingerprints were scanned, they’d match the fingerprints on the electronic chip in the passports and the German government’s own database, which allows DHS to carry out a one-for-one verification when one of their citizens travels to the US.”

Joe held up a hand. “So, how did the NSA know these were spoofed?”

Ashley explained how the facial images captured at the US port of entry matched several images the DoD had on record as belonging to members of ISIS or one of the other Islamic extremist groups. She showed Joe how some of these individuals had previously traveled through Ankara, Turkey, during the heyday of ISIS, and then a few other times they had been captured by either drone surveillance or other countries’ passport control points.

“Once they knew one of the entries was spoofed, they immediately checked all of the passports of every German, and then every other EU passport holder that entered the US over the last ninety days. That’s how they found the other attackers. It’s also how they found the identities of the Halloween attackers before they were able to carry out their attacks. Once they knew what to look for, they were able to quickly figure out what passports were spoofed versus those that weren’t. The NSA essentially hacked into the German prison system and compared the biometrics of the passports against the people currently serving a prison sentence.”

“If this is true, then the terrorists must have had help from someone in Germany—someone who has some serious pull within their government,” Joe said. He continued to look over the information Ashley was giving him. Much of what she’d handed him was classified top secret/ORCON by the NSA.

“Well, as you know, that EO was only good for a couple of days, so Leah’s group used it for all it’s worth,” Ashley said. “They hacked into the BND system and discovered someone within German intelligence had assisted the attackers with the spoofed biometrics and passports.” There, she’d said it. She’d dropped the bombshell discovery the NSA had just told her about right before the terrorist attacks.

Joe looked at Ashley for a moment, calculating what he’d just been told. She could see the conflict in his face, and she was pretty sure she had an idea of what he was thinking, since she had thought the same things. The electronic evidence the NSA had provided was pretty convincing, but it just didn’t jibe with what they knew of the Germans. It made no sense.

“How does any of this fit with what we know, Ashley?” Joe finally asked. “I mean, what’s the endgame here? The Germans helping Islamic extremists infiltrate the US to carry out a terrorist attack? The Chinese stealing mail-in and absentee ballots, and the Russians carrying out all sorts of cyber-attacks and misinformation campaigns against the country? We’re missing something here, Ashley, and we need to figure out what it is before we provide this report to the President.”

Ashley nodded. They had most of the pieces to this jigsaw puzzle, but they still couldn’t fully decipher the larger image.

*******

Cleveland, Ohio

Senator Marshall Tate’s Campaign Headquarters

Watching the horrific scenes of the attack in Orlando, at Downtown Disney of all places, Marshall couldn’t help but wonder if this was all being orchestrated for his benefit.

Was I wrong to oppose the President in postponing the election? he wondered. All of these people were dead now, and he’d done nothing to stop it.

He shook his head. He knew it wasn’t his fault. It was the FBI and Homeland Security who had failed to identify these attackers and prevent them from carrying out this dastardly attack.

Jerome Powell, his Chief of Staff, walked up and sat down on the empty chair next to him. He muted the TV. “When you win tonight, you’ll have a chance to go after the monsters responsible for this,” he said as he placed a hand on the senator’s shoulder.

Marshall snorted at the comment. “It won’t bring any of the people back who died today,” he retorted.

“No, but it’ll make the rest of the country feel good, and it’ll solidify you as a decisive Commander-in-Chief,” Jerome countered.

“You really think we’re going to win today? Even in spite of everything that’s happened?” Marshall asked.

Jerome smiled at the question. “Of course we’re going to win. I don’t mean to be crass, but these attacks aren’t exactly taking place in Democratic strongholds.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Jerome,” Marshall shot back. “They’re still Americans.”

Not looking the least bit hurt by the rebuke, Jerome replied, “They are Americans—Americans that would have voted against you and, in all likelihood, would have opposed you once you won. I’m not saying it’s good that they were killed. I’m just saying these attacks are going to seriously depress the voter turnout in these districts, and probably the rest of the country. Low voter turnout favors us, Marshall.”

Shaking his head, Marshall shot back, “I don’t even know what to say to that—don’t ever trivialize people like that in front of me again. Do you understand?”

Jerome solemnly nodded.

“I agree we’re probably going to win, but we’re still going to need to deal with the aftermath of this attack. We can’t come across like this helped us and hurt Sachs or it’ll be seen as us supporting or condoning it. That’s a line we cannot cross,” Marshall said with a sternness in his voice that Jerome had rarely heard.

Jerome nodded again but didn’t say anything further. Instead, he got up and made a few calls on his smartphone to get a feel for how the attacks were affecting voter turnout in some of the other key states and districts they were monitoring.

*******

Arlington, Virginia

Pentagon

Secretary of Defense McElroy walked back into the National Military Command Center after receiving an urgent call from the duty officer. It was now 1707 hours, and while no additional terrorist attacks had happened, the country was still reeling from the slaughter that had taken place in the morning.

McElroy identified the officer who’d called him and walked up to him. “What’s going on, General?” he asked.

The Air Force brigadier general had a phone to his ear; he moved it down to his shoulder. “We’ve got a problem up north near the Canadian border, sir,” he said.

“What problem?” McElroy asked, crossing his arms.

The general held an index finger up as he spoke into the phone.

“You tell those pilots if those Fullbacks cross into US air space again, they’re cleared to engage them. We’ve already informed the Canadians and the rest of the world that US air space is closed to anything but military traffic. Any transgression of that will be treated as hostile.”

The general then hung up the phone and turned back to face the SecDef. “Sir, there’s a serious issue.” He paused for a second to take a swig of water. “As you know, the Canadians are hosting a large UN training exercise right now.”

The SecDef nodded. “Yeah, we’ve known about this for the better part of the year. So, what’s going on that’s caused you to call me down here?” he asked, a little irritated that the general wasn’t just getting to the point.

“Well, sir, when we closed US air space after the terrorist attacks and moved the country to DEFCON 3, our air space along the Canadian border has been getting probed on and off all day by several squadrons of Russian and Chinese aircraft. We’ve even had a pair of German Eurofighter Typhoons penetrate our airspace and buzz Fort Drum.”

A look of shock came across McElroy’s face. “When the hell did that happen, and why wasn’t I told?” he demanded.

Looking a bit flustered, the general replied, “Um, that happened about three hours ago, but what’s really caused a problem and a near shoot-down is what occurred ten minutes ago. A pair of Russian Fullbacks, Su-34s, penetrated our airspace in North Dakota and carried out what we can only infer was a simulated attack run on Minot Air Force Base.”

McElroy could feel his face flush red with anger. “Holy crap—that’s a nuke base!” he roared. “Get me the base commander now, and someone else get me the President. He has to know about this!”

A moment later, the red phone was handed to him, and he angrily grabbed the receiver.

“Mr. President, we have a serious problem and I need your authorization to handle it,” he said forcefully. For the next couple of minutes, he brought the President up to speed.

Sachs was furious. “I’m going to place a call to the Canadian Prime Minister and the Secretary-General at the UN right now. I’ll tell them that if any additional aircraft participating in their little training exercise penetrate US air space again, or even come close to one of our military installations, it will be shot down! After all that has gone on today, for them to run military drills unannounced against our military bases…no, Chuck. You tell our fighters to attack any aircraft that penetrate our air space until we downgrade our defense posture. We still don’t know if there are more attacks planned.” The President then hung up the phone, presumably to go chew out the Canadian PM and that pompous UN Secretary-General.

After hanging up the red phone, Chuck signaled that he wanted the phone that connected him to the base commander at Minot. When he finally got through to the colonel, he explained to him in no uncertain terms that if another foreign fighter buzzed his base again, he’d be relieved on the spot and forced into retirement.

The colonel hastily replied, “Mr. Secretary, I have a fleet of B-52 bombers and missile silos, but I don’t have any fighters or air-defense systems here. How am I supposed to shoot down foreign fighters that attempt to fly over my facility?”

That’s a damn good question, thought Chuck angrily.

“Colonel, wait one moment,” he said as he quickly turned to the duty officer. “What’s the nearest fighter assets we have to Minot that can deploy right now?”

Looking at a clipboard that one of the senior NCOs handed him, the general replied, “We have the 366th Fighter Wing out of Mountain Home, Idaho. It’s an F-15E wing. We’ve also got the 388th Fighter Wing out of Hill Air Force Base, Utah. They’re an F-35 wing.”

“Tell the wing commander out of Hill to get some F-35s up there now,” the SecDef demanded. “I want his wing to start providing round-the-clock coverage of the border until told otherwise. Also, tell the wing commander at Mountain Home to get his birds up there too. Those Russian and Chinese aircraft probably won’t see the F-35s, but they sure as hell will see the F-15s. Tell them I want their search radars on to make sure everyone across the border knows we’re on to their little games.” A flurry of activity began to take place.

McElroy thought for a moment. All of this was happening under the auspices of the UN and in full coordination with the Canadians. Crap—there’s Canadians at NORAD, he realized.

“Get me the commander at NORAD,” he barked. “Also, send an alert to our guys over at Eastern Air Defense Sector in Rome, New York. Tell them that until further notice, they’re to lock out their Canadian counterparts. I want them escorted from the facility.

“When all this crap gets cleared up, they can return to work with my sincerest apologies, but for right now, I’m not going to allow the Canadians to see what type of air defense we’re coordinating in response to this aggression being carried out by this UN exercise. The last thing we need is for them to have an inside track into what we’re doing. Is that understood?”

The color drained from the Air Force duty officer’s face. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry—we hadn’t even thought about that. They probably saw our response, or rather lack thereof, when those Eurofighters buzzed Drum and figured they could do the same with Minot. Hell, they’ve had a complete mirror image of what NORAD’s seeing, so they’ve known all along where our fighters are currently positioned.” He let out a stream of expletives. “If that had been a real attack, they could’ve sacked most of our nuclear capability.”

McElroy nodded. “Exactly. Get those links cut off. We can reestablish them after this UN exercise is done, but for the time being, we’re not allowing the nations participating in the exercise to have access to NORAD or know our full capabilities.”

Chuck shook his head in frustration and anger. How much have the Russians and Chinese possibly seen already? he thought.

*******

New York, New York

UN Headquarters

“My apologies, Mr. President. I don’t know what General McKenzie was thinking, allowing his air assets to penetrate US airspace on a day like this. I will speak with him immediately about this,” Johann said as he tried his best to conceal his contempt for the US president.

In a few more hours, you’ll have lost your reelection and we won’t have to deal with you anymore, he thought.

“If your peacekeepers cross our border again, I will order them to be shot down,” Sachs asserted.

“Yes, Mr. President. Again, I am sincerely sorry about this. I’m sure it was a mistake. I doubt General McKenzie would have allowed his forces to run simulated bombing runs against your bases. It was probably a couple of rogue pilots.”

The conversation lasted another sixty seconds before it finally ended. Once it had, Johann let out a guttural laugh of satisfaction.

Then he hoped that McKenzie had gotten the information he’d needed. Those Russians almost blew it for us, he thought.

Lifting his secured phone, he placed a call to the good general.

McKenzie sounded like he smiled when he picked up the phone. “Ah, Mr. Secretary-General. I hope all is well,” he said jovially. He began to chuckle. “I take it you just got a call from the American president?” McKenzie asked between laughs.

“I did indeed. The pompous little idiot berated me for allowing you to run amok with your training exercise. He said to tell you if you try to run practice bombing runs across his border again, he’ll have your aircraft shot down,” Behr replied, a bit amused at the conversation and not taking Sachs seriously for a minute.

A moment of silence ensued before General McKenzie replied, “I think he may actually do that, sir.”

Behr furrowed his brow. “Why do you say that? He’s about to lose his reelection and his country just suffered yet another terrorist attack. He wouldn’t dare.”

McKenzie let out a sigh that carried through the phone. “That’s exactly why he might shoot down one of our fighters. They were just brutally attacked. I was told the death toll has reached almost a thousand. Their military is trigger-happy right now. Not only that, I was told our access to NORAD and the eastern air-defense system was just cut off. The deputy commander at NORAD is a Canadian general, and he phoned me telling me his entire staff was being escorted out of NORAD and would remain cut off until our UN exercise was concluded.”

Behr recalculated. He hadn’t expected that kind of response, certainly not before the election had concluded. “Does this change any of our plans?” he asked, now a bit concerned.

“No, not yet at least. It might, depending on whether or not Sachs opts to leave peacefully or will need to be given a swift kick in the backside. I don’t recommend we test their airspace again, though. I think we accomplished what we needed to this afternoon, so there’s really no need to test them further.”

Nodding more to himself than for the benefit of McKenzie, Behr agreed. The two of them talked for a bit more before they hung up. They knew there would be a lot to discuss in the coming days, once the American election had concluded.

Chapter 20

Post-Election Meltdown

November 4, 2020

Washington, D.C.

Nebraska Avenue Complex

Department of Homeland Security

It was 8:22 a.m. by the time DHS Secretary Patricia Hogan had finished reviewing the postelection analysis of the various districts in the swing states that had ultimately decided the election. Her forehead crinkled as she stared at the data with eyes that were bloodshot from lack of sleep. “What am I looking at?” she finally asked. “What’s wrong with this picture?”

Neil Curtis, the chair of the Federal Election Commission, whose team had been up all night and this morning compiling this brief, replied, “We normally don’t go this deep into the voting data, but the party chairs for the states of Florida, North Carolina, Texas, Pennsylvania, and Ohio all sent us some rather disturbing data following the closing of the polls last night. Their concerns were further validated by the RNC’s data and the Sachs campaign data. Based on historical data of past elections, it is very clear that there was a high level of either voter suppression or outright manipulation of votes.”

She lifted her head up a bit. “That’s a big statement to make. How are you guys coming to that conclusion?” she asked.

He bit his lower lip before he answered, “Let me pull up Broward County in Florida for you as an example.”

He turned his laptop toward her so she could see what he was talking about. An image of the county was brought up along with a lot of voter data. “Let me show you this to give you a reference point. In 2012, during the Obama-Romney election, the Democrats won the district with 67.2 percent of the vote while the Republicans received just 32.3 percent. In the 2016 presidential election, the Republicans received 260,951 votes, or 31.2 percent in that county. In the 2018 midterms, that number was 220,012 or approximately 31.3 percent of the vote. While the number was lower, it was still proportional when looked at in comparison to the number of people who voted in the midterms, which is always lower than in a presidential year. You can see from the data. During the last several election cycles, Republicans only went down one percent in their share of the vote.

“Now, this is obviously a Democratic stronghold and the Republicans do not tend to do well in those districts, but historically, the Republicans have nearly always polled around 31 percent of the vote. However, yesterday, the Republicans obtained just 18 percent of the vote in that same district. That’s a full 13 percent drop in just a two-year period.”

She pulled at her ponytail. “Couldn’t that just be attributed to the terrorist attacks that happened in Orlando and Tampa?” she asked.

Neil replied, “It could, if that held true for all voter turnout across the entire state, but not for a single party and not in just four districts in the state. What makes this more problematic, though, is we have seen this same exact trend play out in West Palm Beach, Miami Dade, and Orange County. This drop-off in Republican votes in these Democratic strongholds was enough of a change that it tipped Florida into Tate’s favor.”

“What about the other states?” Patty asked.

Neil nodded. “It’s the same in the other Democratic strongholds in the other four states. A significant drop-off of ten or more percentage points, resulting in just enough votes to tip the states in Tate’s favor.”

He sighed before adding, “I fear that the information about the postal workers intercepting mail-in and absentee ballots in these districts may have actually tilted the entire election in Tate’s favor, and furthermore, there were probably other efforts in place to depress Republican votes that we don’t know about yet. I say that because the number of people who voted Democratic in those districts didn’t increase; Democratic votes didn’t go up in any statistically significant amount from the three previous elections, so it’s not that the Democrats received more votes or people were dissatisfied with Sachs. We’re looking at a few hundred thousand votes in each of these states just disappearing.”

Turning to look out the window in her office, Patty tried to figure out what to do next. They’d known the Russians had interfered in the 2016 election with the dissemination of fake news articles through bots on social media. They’d tried to interfere in the 2018 election, along with China. Now it appeared a foreign power had actually succeeded in suppressing enough votes to change the outcome of a presidential election.

What to do with that information, though? she wondered.

“The President hasn’t conceded the election yet,” Neil said, interrupting her thoughts. “He shouldn’t. It’s clear that, between these terrorist attacks and the evidence we have of the Chinese paying off these postal workers, our election was compromised. This needs to be challenged.”

Patty looked at him for a moment, not sure what to say. She knew he was right; it did need to be challenged.

But how? she wondered. The Supreme Court has been wiped out.

The Sixth Circuit Court wouldn’t allow the President to delay the election to address these issues, so how could they be counted on to act now? She’d have to brainstorm this with the President’s team in a couple of hours when she was set to meet with the President, the AG, and the FBI Director.

*******

Washington, D.C.

White House

The morning was ominous. Dark storm clouds had rolled in during the evening, providing the city with an exceptional lightning show and sheets of freezing rain. The cold torrents of water had pelted the White House, as if sending an unspoken message of things to come. At approximately 11:37 p.m. the night before, the major news networks had called the election for Senator Marshall Tate. With the unprecedented electoral switch of Texas, along with a clean sweep of Ohio, Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Florida, Senator Marshall Tate had won by an enormous landslide in the electoral college.

Senator Marshall Tate had given a victory speech, hailing the win as a step forward for the common man and a rejection of the policies that had harmed the American economy and failed to protect them from international terrorism.

While many people celebrated Tate’s win, the state GOPs and the RNC began to analyze the voting data. They quickly found the same thing that the FEC Chairman had discovered—some group had influenced the election just enough to tip it.

*******

The President sat in the briefing room with many of his key cabinet members and advisors, doing his best to digest the information as best he could. The FBI and DHS had just presented what they all believed was a clear-cut case of foreign manipulation of the vote. The FBI had concluded that the timing of the Supreme Court justices being poisoned was almost fortuitous because it had made it impossible for the President’s case for postponing the election to be heard. When you added in the effects of what the postal workers had done with the absentee and mail-in ballots, and the coordination of these terrorist attacks and massive misinformation campaigns—it was obviously enough to change the outcome of the election.

“This is unacceptable!” shouted the Secretary of Defense as he slammed his fist on the table. “We’ve got proof the Chinese financed these terrorists that attacked us yesterday, proof that they paid these postal workers to carry out this scheme, and proof that, for some unknown reason, someone in German intelligence provided the terrorists with the passports needed to gain entry into the US. Then you add in the shenanigans that took place yesterday with that ‘UN training exercise’ and the Russians weaponizing social media and their misinformation campaign, and I think we’ve been hoodwinked. A foreign power just stole our election.”

A look of sheer horror spread across the faces of the people at the table. The sudden realization of what had happened was finally setting in.

The president shook his head. “The facts are the facts. We have proof of what happened. The question we have to answer now is what can be done about it? The Sixth Circuit blocked our EO to postpone the election. The Supreme Court justices were assassinated, so they can’t hear the case, and Lord knows I can’t just appoint all nine justices overnight. So, what do we do?” he asked in exasperation.

“We take this to the D.C. Circuit,” Attorney General Malcolm Wright responded. “We need them to overturn the election and allow us to postpone it long enough to secure the voting process and know a vote can be held again without foreign interference.”

Rich Novella, the President’s Chief of Staff, snorted. “It’s not that simple,” he retorted. “The perception is going to be that we’re sore losers, that we can’t accept the outcome of the election, so we’re grasping at straws to find a way to say it was rigged.”

“Except in this case, it was rigged,” the Secretary of State shot back angrily.

The Director for National Intelligence, who had largely just stayed quiet through these cabinet briefings added, “I don’t care what the optics are. That’s all being ginned up by the media and this massive disinformation campaign the Russians are running. What we know are the facts.

“The facts show us that multiple foreign powers interfered in our election with the sole intention of replacing President Sachs with a candidate of their choosing. Clearly, this plan has been in the works for many years, and it’s been well coordinated and thought through, judging by the world’s reaction to last night’s results. Just look at how fast the global media and other governments have been dismissive of the intelligence we’ve been presenting to show that this election was being manipulated. You, Mr. President, need to take this bull by the horns and fix this. It’s not going to be popular, and you’re going to get a lot of pushback, but you’re the President. You can’t allow this to stand, or we won’t be able to say with a straight face that any of our future elections will ever be free and fair of foreign interference or manipulation.”

The others in the room sat there for a moment, listening to the sage wisdom of the elder intelligence pro. They nodded their heads in agreement and turned to look at the President, waiting to see what he’d say in response.

Lifting his chin up, the President made his decision. “OK. Then here is what we’re going to do. We’re going to file a brief with the D.C. Circuit, asking that they nullify yesterday’s election and reinstate our executive order that moves the election to January fourth. All voters must either vote in person or request a poll worker to assist them in using the iVote app or in voting with an absentee ballot that will be counted at the time it’s taken. We have to have a way to secure the election and know that it has not been tampered with.”

*******

Three Hours Later

Washington, D.C.

White House

It was 4:47 p.m. Chief Justice Laurence Buckley of the D.C. Circuit looked at the Director of the FBI, the Director for National Intelligence, the Secretary of Homeland Security and the President in a state of shock at what he’d just been told.

Over the last thirty minutes, they had methodically laid out the evidence of the foreign manipulation and interference that had occurred up to that point. It all seemed surreal: a Chinese spy had facilitated the finances for a scheme involving postal workers, and Islamic extremists had infiltrated the country through financing from the Chinese and help from someone in the German BND.

Good Lord, I hope that was just some rogue element and not an official action, Justice Buckley thought.

He hadn’t been all that shocked to hear about the misinformation campaign that had been led by the Russians after the October 24 attacks, but when they’d explained about the poisoning of the Supreme Court justices in order to prevent them from hearing about the President’s executive order to delay the election, a chill had gone up his spine.

And now they want me to hear this case? he thought.

When he thought about the broader picture, Justice Buckley suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. The very fabric of the country was being torn apart right before his eyes, and he felt like there was almost no way to stop it from being ripped apart.

He turned to President Sachs. “Have you told Senator Tate or any other congressional leaders about this or what has taken place?”

“We’ve shared most of this with them when we filed our initial EO to postpone the election, but we haven’t shared what we just showed you yet. We only just pieced it all together in the last twenty-four hours,” Sachs responded.

The President paused for a moment before adding, “We haven’t conceded the election yet, either. We know what happened, but we needed to find out from you, legally, what you believe should be our next course of action.”

Sachs paused for a second. “Look, I know you and I have not always agreed on policy. However, right now, we’ve presented you with verifiable proof that our election was improperly influenced. Votes were actually stolen and suppressed. I can accept defeat at the polls when it’s been done fairly, but if we accept these fraudulent results now, I don’t know that we’ll ever be able to accept a future election as truly free and fair. Do you?”

Lifting his head up, Justice Buckley looked at the ceiling for a moment to think. He stood up but motioned for everyone to stay seated. He paced behind his chair briefly and then looked out the window.

Sachs was right that he didn’t agree with the President’s policies. On a personal level, he really didn’t care for him as a leader at all, and Buckley had definitely used his position in the past to block certain presidential directives that he’d detested. However, President Sachs did have a point about being able to trust future elections.

If I let this stand and do nothing, I will be culpable for aiding in this subversion of our democracy, he realized.

Justice Buckley took his seat again, then looked at the President. “I agree with you. This is unacceptable. There is no way we can say this was a free and fair election, considering the mountain of evidence that you have shown me. I want to have the video and transcripts of all the interrogations and the intelligence that you’ve collected on this up to this point. I need to independently review it myself and incorporate it into my judgment. This will need to be reviewed and ruled on by the full panel of the D.C. Circuit. I will issue a temporary injunction against the outcome of the election while we deliberate, which will halt the transition of power. We will endeavor to have a full decision reached by Friday at noon of this week.”

They all breathed a collective sigh of relief. The AG quickly asked, “Will you want us to present the case to the full panel?”

Buckley shook his head, “No. I don’t want to turn this into a circus. If I allow you to present information, I have to allow Senator Tate’s team to present information also. What I would like is to have access to everyone for questioning by the justices should they need clarification. We’ll start deliberations tomorrow morning. Frankly, having seen the information you’ve shown us up to this point, I don’t see how any of them could rule against us voiding the election and holding a new one on the previous date you had suggested. We may need to get Congress involved and get them to agree to the change also, but if they won’t go along, I believe the judiciary branch can force the issue based solely on the evidence you’ve provided of the interference.”

The group talked for a bit longer about some of the evidence; Justice Buckley inquired about the sources and methods with which they’d obtained the information, and where it had led them. The President also let him know that if the justices needed an elevation in security clearance to fully view the intelligence, he would make sure they had the access they needed.

*******

Later That Evening

Cleveland, Ohio

Senator Tate’s Election HQ

The day after the election was proving to be just as exasperating and frustrating as election day. This should have been a day filled with the joy and excitement of having just won the presidency; instead, it was an anxious day of frustration and waiting. Despite the enormous electoral victory, President Sachs had still not conceded the race. Rumors began to spread that he had not accepted the loss and was scheming to find a way to stay in power.

When the Chief Justice of the D.C. Circuit was spotted entering the White House, the rumors began to spread like wildfire. When Justice Buckley stayed at the White House for nearly three hours, the wait for information became almost unbearable.

“What the heck is going on? Why won’t he just concede and admit he lost?” Jerome Powell barked. He scowled angrily at the TV.

Senator Tate plopped down in the chair next to him. He just wanted to talk about anything else. “Have we determined who we want for some of our key cabinet positions yet?” he asked.

Jerome sighed and nodded. “We should seriously consider Jim Daoud for Treasury Secretary.” Then he passed Marshall a dossier on Daoud.

Jerome had built dossiers on the top five contenders for each of the cabinet positions they’d need to fill. His hope was that if he had these ready for Marshall the day after the election, they could get a jump on announcing their cabinet and get the transition rolling much quicker. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

“Isn’t Daoud the current CEO of UBS?”

“He is,” Jerome confirmed. “He’s done a good job there. He’s been one of Sachs’s most outspoken trade critics. We’ll need his expertise in reversing a lot of these sanctions and tariffs that are now in place with China and the EU. We have to get our economic house restored, and he’s the best guy to do it. He’s well respected in Europe and has a good working relationship with the Chinese.”

“Let me see the list of who you’re considering for some of the other positions.”

Jerome nodded and handed him the list he’d meticulously built over the last few months. Each candidate had been interviewed and vetted secretly before being added.

Marshall raised an eyebrow at the DHS choices. “You still have Riku Tanaka on the list?” he asked.

“He’s been a real asset to us during the campaign. Besides, his technological improvements and upgrades to the department’s IT infrastructure have been incredible. He may be a part of the Sachs administration, but you know as well as I do, he’s a progressive liberal. His personal interests are in bringing the government’s IT infrastructure into the twenty-first century.”

“I don’t disagree with you there,” Marshall said. “I’d still like him to be a part of the administration. I’m just not sure he’s really suited for that type of leadership position. He doesn’t have any political experience, and frankly, he’s a bit of a nerd. No offense, but he doesn’t come across as the type of person we’ll need in that position—not with the type of initiatives we’re wanting to push through. Let’s either leave him in his current position or find a way to put him in charge of the entire government’s IT infrastructure.”

Jerome nodded. “I don’t disagree with your assessment,” he acknowledged. He turned a page. “I think we have some good choices for Secretary of Defense. What are your thoughts?”

Marshall found the names. A smile crept across his face. “I like the idea of Admiral Hill. He’s a real warrior’s warrior.”

“He’s no McElroy, but he did lead the bin Laden raid and SOCOM during the previous administration, so he’ll solidify our defense bona fides,” Jerome asserted. “He should also allay some of the concerns about you being too soft on defense.”

Just as they were about to go over a few more names, one of Tate’s senior advisors, Janey Roberts, walked in, madder than a hornet. “You won’t believe the call I just got!” she exclaimed.

Marshall tried to help calm her down. “Hey, Janey, it’ll be OK. We just won the election—even if that SOB Sachs won’t admit it.”

She softened her facial expression a bit. “Well, there’s a problem with that. I just got a phone call from our friend at DHS. He told me Chief Justice Laurence Buckley is going to issue a temporary injunction against the results, halting the transition while the full panel of the D.C. Circuit rules on whether we won legitimately.”

Marshall almost exploded. “What do you mean if we won it legitimately? He’s the one not accepting the results.”

Jerome placed a hand on Marshall’s arm. “Hang on, sir. I’m sure there’s a way around this. Let’s make a few calls and find out what’s going on.”

The next twenty minutes went by in a flurry of activity and phone calls. They started calling in all sorts of markers and chits with people across the government and the judicial branch to find out whatever they could about what was going on.

Chapter 21

Election Interference

November 6, 2020

Vinton, Louisiana

Interstate 10

Dusty Hampton never grew tired of driving this particular route along I-10. He loved seeing the variation in trees and vegetation along this stretch of road. He’d pick up a load in San Diego, and then haul it across the country to Florida. He never asked what was in the trailer, though he knew better than to ask. When you hauled for USA Trucking, you accepted that you hauled some interesting items. Most of his hauls involved picking something up at a military base, government facility or some defense contractor building. On occasion, he’d haul something that required special markings on his trailer, but even then, he knew once he hooked up the trailer, the owner would place a special lock and seal on the trailer that could be undone only by the receiving party.

As he got closer to Vinton, Louisiana, he remembered the little diner he had stopped at a few weeks back and made a point of pulling off to grab himself another beer and one of those incredible Billy’s Longhorn ribeye steaks.

He slowed down and took the appropriate exit from the interstate. He turned left and drove under the overpass to the familiar truck stop, the Longhorn Truck and Car Plaza. He found a spot in the back of the parking lot reserved for rigs like his. Securing the truck, he made his way inside and found a seat.

He shook his head as he looked up at the TV. Same time, same station, he realized. Duck Dynasty reruns were playing once again.

He saw the same waitress from last time approach him. She brought a glass of water and a menu and placed them on the table.

“Can I get you anything else to drink while you look over the menu?” she asked with a warm smile.

“I’ll take a Miller Lite, and I know what I want. I’d like to get the ribeye with a baked potato and the seasoned rice,” he replied. He wanted to get his order cooking. He was hungry.

“How would you like your steak cooked?” she asked.

“Medium rare, please.”

“OK, hun. I’ll be back with your beer in a minute,” she said and walked off to grab him a cold one.

A man walked up to one of the waitresses and asked if they could change one of the TVs over to Fox News. Apparently, there was some big announcement being made at 5 p.m. A minute went by, and then the TV switched over to the news station.

Dusty saw one of the news anchors talking with a guest before the broadcast broke away to the White House briefing room. A judge walked up to a lectern, flanked by the Director of National Intelligence, the Director of the FBI and the DHS Secretary.

They’re bringing out the big guns for this announcement, thought Dusty.

The judge cleared his throat. “I’ll be brief with my remarks,” he began. “The others here will be able to provide more clarity on what has transpired. What I’m here to tell you is that the D.C. Circuit, with the exception of one justice, has determined that the 2020 election had been tampered with beyond the hope that it could still be considered a free and fair election.”

Several people in the restaurant gasped.

“The Director of National Intelligence, along with the Director of the FBI and the Director of Homeland Security, has presented enough evidence showing direct foreign intervention in our election that we feel the President’s initial executive order to postpone the election until it could be properly secured from foreign interference should have been upheld. As it stands, the results of Tuesday’s election were grossly influenced by several foreign nations, particularly China, Russia, and Germany.”

He paused for a second before he added, “It is in light of this evidence, and the fact that this election had been compromised before it was even held, that we have issued a ruling voiding Tuesday’s election results.”

Dusty heard a loud murmur from the reporters in the briefing room.

They must be practically jumping out of their seats to shout questions at him, he thought.

Justice Buckley held a hand up to forestall the inevitable barrage with which he was about to be assailed. He added, “Because the election was compromised and should not have been held, the D.C. Circuit is reinstating the President’s original executive order, moving the election from this past Tuesday, November fourth, 2020, to Monday, January fourth of 2021. The FBI, along with Homeland Security, have determined that this should give the government enough time to ensure the integrity of the election. With that, I’ll hand it over to the FBI and others to provide their brief of what transpired during this past Tuesday and why this course of action had to be taken.”

Dusty sat silently in the diner, a bit dumbfounded by what he had just heard. He looked around and saw a lot of others feeling the same way. Some were obviously angered by the announcement, while others were glad to see something being done about what they perceived as an illegitimate victory by the Tate campaign.

A moment later, the waitress brought him his beer. His food came another fifteen minutes after that. Meanwhile, the news conference droned on, with each person giving an account of what transpired during the last six weeks of the campaign leading up to and including the various terrorist attacks. It was mind-numbing to think that this had all been orchestrated by a foreign power, a direct interference in the US election. Not only were votes stolen, a multitude of terrorist attacks were carried out against the country, all in an attempt to distract from the voter scheme and sow fear and chaos in the electorate leading up to election day.

I sure hope someone’s going to pay for this. This isn’t right, Dusty thought as he sat through the rest of his dinner, watching and listening to what was unfolding in Washington.

*******

Cleveland, Ohio

Senator Tate’s Campaign HQ

Marshall Tate sat in his overstuffed leather chair, infuriated by what he’d just heard. The Chief Justice of the D.C. Circuit had just voided his presidential victory.

Damn Sachs! He found a way to subvert the will of the people, he thought angrily.

He turned to look at his Chief of Staff and senior political advisors, who were staring at the TV, mouths agape. “Can we get another court to dissent with their ruling? There has to be a way for us to get this overturned,” Marshall asserted.

Jerome sat back in the chair, slumping his shoulders. A moment later, he suddenly sat straight up. “What if we get the governors to side with us and not recognize the authority of the D.C. Circuit?” he posited. “We could also get the Speaker of the House to join us. Certainly, she’d agree with us that this election was won fair and square.”

Janey Roberts nodded. “We need to get the Speaker of the House to remind the court that only Congress has the authority to set and change the dates of the election. The President and the courts have no constitutional say in the matter, which is why the President’s EO was shot down in the first place. If she asserts her authority in this matter and then we get several of the governors to side with her, I think we can make the case publicly that you are the President-Elect and that come January 20th, you will be President, not Sachs.”

Marshall agreed. He reached for his smartphone and placed a call to the Speaker of the House. It took him a few minutes to finally get through. When he did reach her, he didn’t have a chance to plead his case.

“Marshall, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now. I’m on my way to the White House, along with the majority leader and minority leader of the Senate, to be briefed by the directors of the FBI, homeland security and national intelligence.” She paused. “When I finish the meeting, I’ll reach out to you and let you know how I think things will shake out.”

Logically, it had made sense what she’d told him, but emotionally, it enraged him that she wouldn’t immediately announce her support for him and denounce the court ruling. They needed a solid front if they were going to challenge the court ruling.

*******

It was nearly midnight by the time the Speaker called him back.

“Marshall, I’ve seen the intelligence,” she began, “and it does appear that your win was certainly at least in part because of the interference of multiple foreign actors.”

“What?” he said, exasperated.

“Look, based on the information I just saw, I can’t back your claim to challenge the court ruling. I have to support the new election date.”

She disconnected the call and his stomach sank. Marshall fell back into the leather chair, dejected and deflated. Now what? he wondered.

“What did she say?” asked Janey, who was leaning forward, obviously waiting with bated breath.

Marshall looked up at her. “She said she wouldn’t support us,” he said, speaking softly. “She said the intelligence was pretty convincing that a foreign actor had intervened in the election.”

Janey shook her head in disgust. “That traitor. I’ll see about that,” she said angrily. She stood up and walked away in a huff. He could hear her making some calls, presumably to some friendly congressional leaders who might be able to convince the Speaker to change her mind.

Jerome entered the room just as Janey walked past him. He gave Marshall a quizzical look but didn’t say anything as he sat down next to him. “I think I have a workaround for us,” he announced.

Marshall turned his head, all ears at any way out of this conundrum.

“The governor of California, along with the state party chair, is going to file a brief to the Ninth Circuit in an attempt to get them to overrule the D.C. Circuit’s decision. The governor of California is also going to have his Secretary of State certify the results. I’m in the process of getting the other Democratic secretaries of state to do the same thing. I believe if we can get enough of the governors and secretaries of state to back you as the President-Elect, we can still make this happen.”

Marshall looked at Jerome with newfound respect. He knew his Chief of Staff was an accomplished lawyer, but it hadn’t even occurred to him to try and have the secretaries of state attempt to certify the election as an end around the courts.

“Jerome, if we get all of the Democratic secretaries of state to certify the election, will that be enough electoral votes for us to still win?” asked Marshall.

Jerome shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Florida, Texas, and Ohio all have Republican secretaries of state. They won’t go along with that. I think our best bet is that while we work this angle, we work to unseat Congresswoman Miller as Speaker of the House and find someone who will back our claim that the election was legit and doesn’t need to be redone. I don’t know, Senator—all of this is a gamble. We’re in uncharted waters here. We’ve never had a situation like this before.”

The rest of the evening was spent talking with the various governors, secretaries of state, the Senate minority leader and several congressional leaders. They finally got momentum behind the movement to issue a leadership challenge against Speaker Miller the following morning.

The one thing they all knew they didn’t have on their side was time—the longer the D.C. Circuit’s decision was left unchallenged, the harder it would be to overturn and still keep the people with them. As it was, there were unprecedented protests taking place across the country, denouncing the judges’ ruling in nearly every major US city.

Chapter 22

Power Grab

November 10, 2020

Sacramento, California

Governor Gary Lawson felt like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. The last three days had been horrific on the nation, and his state in particular. Since the Chief Justice of the D.C. Circuit had announced they’d invalidated the results of the election four days earlier, nearly every major city in California had been experiencing some sort of mass protest. It had been getting so bad he had nearly called in the National Guard.

I still might have to if things don’t calm down, he thought.

Just two days earlier, an en banc of the Ninth Circuit Court had heard the challenge to the D.C. Circuit and issued a ruling countering their proclamation that had voided the election. An en banc of the Second, Third, Sixth and Seventh circuits also sided with the Ninth in their ruling, overturning the D.C. court’s ruling. In the absence of a Supreme Court, the chief justices of the five circuit courts issued a statement that their collective conclusions overrode the decision issued by the D.C. Circuit, and thereby ordered the fifty secretaries of states to move forward with certifying Senator Marshall Tate as the 46th president of the United States.

That same day, Congresswoman Harriet Miller of his home state had been deposed as the Speaker of the House when she’d refused to side with Senator Tate. She was quickly replaced by the House Judiciary Chairman, Timothy Borq from New York, who immediately sided with the circuit judges and further stated that only Congress had the authority to change the date and time of presidential elections. As such, he declared that Congress did not recognize the President’s executive order to change the date of the election as lawful. He declared that the election that had just been held stood.

Following that whirlwind of activity, the Democratic governors had collectively agreed that they would support the Ninth Circuit’s decision and that of the new Speaker of the House, despite the outcries by Republicans, the D.C. Circuit justices and the President.

Governor Lawson sipped on his cup of coffee as he mulled over the tumultuous events of the last several days. Then he turned his attention back to preparing for his speech later that day. This could be one of the most important speeches of his political career. He was about to fire a shot across the bow to the current administration—a shot meant to get them to stop this self-created constitutional crisis they were brewing and work together in moving past the election and healing the country.

*******

As he listened to the loud chatter taking place in the pressroom just a few feet away, Governor Lawson suddenly felt hot, sweaty, and extremely nervous. He steeled his nerves, though, and nodded to his press secretary, who held the door open for him. He quickly entered the room and made his way to the lectern. The conversation quickly quieted down. Lawson nodded to a few friendly faces and flashed that million-dollar smile he was so well known for.

He cleared his throat. “The last week—no, the last six weeks—has been an incredibly trying time for our country. Our nation was attacked multiple times by terrorists and more than a thousand of our fellow citizens were killed. Many thousands more were injured. In that same timeframe, our nation took unilateral military actions in the peaceful tiny nations of Kosovo, Macedonia, Serbia, and Bosnia, without coordinating with our European or NATO allies. I recently spoke with the Chinese consulate, who told me the Sachs administration abducted a Chinese businessman in Macedonia who is even now being held in a CIA black site without charges or access to a lawyer.

“President Sachs’s administration failed to protect us from these recent terrorist attacks. Rather than admit that failure, they have lashed out militarily to distract from their failings. When it became apparent in the polls that President Sachs was going to lose, he concocted this ludicrous claim that the Chinese had somehow stolen absentee and mail-in ballots in five states. Conveniently, those were the same five states he needed in order to win. He tried to use his powers as President to override the Constitution and the Congress and postpone the election. When that scheme failed, and he lost the election, he cried foul, citing, once again, Chinese interference. He then convinced several judges in the D.C. Circuit to side with him and overturn the election.”

He shook his head in frustration and anger. “Fortunately, an en banc ruling from the Second, Third, Sixth, Seventh, and Ninth Circuits put this mockery of our laws and this fruitless power grab to an end and overruled the D.C. Circuit. I am proud to report that these justices, along with the newly elected Speaker of the House of Representatives, Tim Borq, have reaffirmed what we all know to be true. Senator Marshall Tate was duly elected to be the 46th president of the United States.”

Gary paused for a second as some applause broke out in the briefing room before he raised his hands briefly to calm them.

“As governor of California, I am calling on President Sachs to recognize the results of the election. I am calling on his human decency to accept the results, to honor his duly sworn oath to our Constitution and to allow President-Elect Tate to begin the process of transitioning the government from one party to the other, just as the President before him had done.”

Puffing his chest out a bit, Lawson added, “Whether President Sachs acknowledges the results of the election or not, come January 20th, 2021, the government of California will only recognize Marshall Tate as the legitimate president of the United States, and I call upon my fellow governors and citizens to do likewise. As governors and leaders of our states, it’s imperative that we set the example. Even if President Sachs will not adhere to the will of the people and peacefully leave office on the twentieth, we governors should move forward, acknowledging who we know to be the rightful 46th president, President-Elect Marshall Tate.”

*******

Washington, D.C.

Robert F. Kennedy Building

Department of Justice

Deputy Director Joseph Latrell of the FBI let out a deep, long sigh as he rubbed his temples. He reached for his half-empty mug of coffee. Lifting it to his lips, he immediately spat the contents out back into the cup.

Crap, coffee’s gone cold, he realized.

Snickering at what had just transpired, Attorney General Malcolm got up and walked to the edge of his door. He stuck his head out into the room adjacent to his. “Linda, can we get another fresh pot of coffee brought in?” he asked.

“Another pot’s on the way, Joe, so hang in there,” Malcolm said with a smirk.

Joe smiled. “Thanks, General. I don’t think I’ve had more than four hours of consecutive sleep a night in the last two months.”

Malcolm nodded. “I feel the same.” He let out a deep sigh. “So, tell me, do we have enough evidence to proceed with bringing the postal workers and the foreign spies to trial?”

A couple of the prosecutors who would be heading up the case put their pens down for a moment as they looked at Joe to hear what he had to say.

Looking at the group gathered around the conference room table, Joe nodded. “I believe my agents have collected more than sufficient evidence to obtain a conviction of all of the postal workers. I also believe we’ve got enough evidence to make the charges of providing material support and aid to foreign terrorists stick to the foreign agents we’ve apprehended.”

Smiles slowly crept across the faces of the prosecutors. Joe realized they were probably salivating at the prospect of putting these people behind bars.

“How many foreign agents did we apprehend in total?” asked Malcolm.

Ashley Bonhauf, Joe’s Deputy Assistant Director, replied, “We arrested nine Chinese nationals the NSA, CIA, and FBI had confirmed were deep cover officers for the Ministry of State Security. We also arrested two German nationals here in the US and indicted five others who are currently in Germany. Those are individuals the NSA identified as having provided the terrorists with the fake travel documents that enabled them to gain entry into our country.”

“What about the Russians? What do we have on them?” asked one of the prosecutors.

Smiling, Ashley responded, “With regard to the Russians, we arrested five individuals in Chicago. These guys were running some sort of server farm, which we have identified as one of the primary sources that were propagating the distribution of the terrorist videos and other fake news and articles that have been bombarding social media. It was actually a rather complex operation they were running.”

Malcolm shook his head. “So, we have the Chinese, who provided the financial means for these terrorists to attack our country, along with other material support. The Germans, or at least a rogue element in their government, provided them with the travel documents to get through our security and into the country, and then the Russians took the videos of the attacks and weaponized them on social media in what I can only call an attempt to hack people’s minds and turn every one of us against each other. Does that about sum it up, Joe?”

Joe smiled. “That’s about the most concise analysis I think I’ve heard, Mr. Attorney General.”

Malcolm grunted, more to himself than anyone else. “Then here’s what I want from the FBI, Joe. I want you to essentially write up what I just said, lay out the case as best you can, and present that in a briefing tonight at five p.m. We have to get the rest of this information out to the public and keep them informed. Things are starting to spiral out of control, and we need to keep the public on our side.”

A moment later, everyone’s phones began to buzz. Looking at his own phone, Joe saw a short message that said he needed to turn on the news immediately.

He quickly grabbed the TV remote and flipped it on. Everyone in the room then watched as Governor Gary Lawson unloaded on the administration and then announced that come January 20th, his state would no longer recognize the Sachs administration’s authority or power.

What the hell? thought Joe.

Turning to one of his aides, Malcolm asked, “Why weren’t we told the other circuits had issued a ruling countering the D.C. Circuit? When did this happen?”

At that moment, another aide walked in hurriedly with a stack of papers. “Mr. Attorney General, I just received these rulings from the Second, Third, Sixth, Seventh, and Ninth Circuit Courts, invalidating the D.C. Circuit’s ruling,” she said, out of breath and apparently oblivious to the fact that they had just heard the same information in an ongoing news conference the governor of California was still holding.

He reached for the papers. “I want to read the full text of the rulings for myself,” he said. He began flying through the paperwork; Malcolm had achieved a reputation for speed reading and somehow catching all the nuances of legalese at the same time. When he had finished reading, he placed the papers on the table for the others to read as well.

Looking at the AG, Joe asked, “What do we do now?”

*******

Washington, D.C.

White House

It was nearly 9 p.m. by the time the President was finally able to convene his key cabinet members. They were still trying to digest what the en banc rulings of the five of the thirteen circuit courts meant, and if what they ruled was technically legal.

“What we need is a Supreme Court to make a final, nonpartisan ruling, but that is clearly not going to happen. So, what do we do instead?” asked Sachs.

“You declare martial law, and we move forward with your original intent of holding the presidential election on Monday, January fourth,” announced the Attorney General. “If people still want to vote against you, then they can, and it’ll be fair and free from foreign interference.”

His statement caught many by surprise.

“Do you realize the firestorm such a proclamation is going to rain down on this administration?” said the Treasury Secretary, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how it’ll affect the markets once the President says this?”

“What alternative do we have?” asked Patty Hogan, running her fingers through her hair. “If we don’t stand up to this now and restore order in the country, then we’ll never recover. As it is, we have mass protests and rioting taking place in nearly every major city in the country. We have to regain control of the situation now, before it spirals any further beyond our ability to control it.”

Clearing his throat to be heard, the Secretary of Defense added, “Let’s not forget that a foreign power not only interfered in our election, they also facilitated multiple terrorist attacks inside our country. Under the previous Bush doctrine, we would be bombing these countries for their part in this attack against our country.” Secretary McElroy paused for a moment as he surveyed the room, looking each of them in the eye for the briefest of moments before continuing. “This—what’s happening right now—is exactly what the enemy wants. They want us to doubt ourselves; they want us to capitulate to public pressure and accept that they have won.”

McElroy then slammed his hand down on the table, jarring everyone. “We cannot allow this to stand! If we have to declare martial law to gain control of the major cities and ensure we have a free and fair election, then by God, we need to do it.”

The others in the room sat there for a moment, letting his words soak in. Several of them nodded in agreement. A few of them had looks of concern written on their face.

The President took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. The country was at a crossroads. They could either accept a foreign power had influenced and changed the outcome of their election, or they could do something about it.

Sachs turned to the AG. “If we’re going to move forward with declaring martial law, then I need solid legal cover from your office on this. I’m going to need the full support of the DOJ in defending this to the hilt. I’m also going to need you to make sure the FBI is staying on top of any additional election meddling and going after it as soon as they see something amiss happening.”

The President then turned to look at his Homeland Director. “Patty, I’m going to need your organization’s help in managing this process. Things are going to get dicey. These are uncharted waters we’re headed down. It’s going to be imperative that all of us work together on this. We’re going to take a lot of heat in the media, so we need to stay strong and unified. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Patty responded.

The next few hours went by in a blur as the AG began the process of getting a legal brief ready to support the President’s order authorizing the declaration of martial law.

*******

Kosovo

Camp Bondsteel

“Make sure the prisoners are properly secured,” yelled one of the military police guards. He watched as one of his comrades attached the four-point harnesses to the terrorist leaders.

The rotor on the Osprey slowly began to spin. It would be a short helicopter ride to Pristina International Airport, where a C-17 Globemaster was fueled and waiting for them. The prisoners, along with most of the soldiers of this impromptu task force, were heading back to the US. They were going to make one refueling stop in England, and would then continue on to Pope Field, formerly Pope Air Force Base, before being absorbed and managed by the Army.

With all of the hoopla going on about detaining the prisoners in Kosovo, and the fact that they held no additional tactical-level intelligence, it was determined by the Department of Defense that they would be moved back to the US. They’d then be handed over to the Department of Justice to be formally charged and prosecuted for their part in the three different terrorist attacks leading up to the presidential election.

Lieutenant Colonel Seth Mitchell was exhausted. He’d been gone from his family now for almost a month. In that timeframe, his vehicle had been blown up, an ambassador had been killed right in front of him, two of his friends had been injured, and he’d killed three people. They were terrorists, but still, those were three additional lives he’d taken. Leading the interrogation of several high-profile prisoners for the Army had also opened an old wound. After the debacle in Yemen four years ago, he’d hoped he would never have to set foot in an interrogation booth again.

Sitting on the opposite wall as the prisoners and their guards, Seth was busy getting himself strapped in when Smith plopped himself down next to him, strapping himself in for the ride as well.

Seth looked at him with a quizzical look.

“Yeah, I figured I’d catch a ride back to Indian country with you guys,” said Smith.

Seth’s left eyebrow raised. “Indian country?” he asked, just loud enough to be heard over the increasing pitch of the engines.

Smith smiled wide. “Yeah, Indian country. That’s what us spooks call America. We’re not allowed to play inside the States, so we call it Indian country to remind ourselves that we’re operating on enemy territory when we’re home.”

“And you wonder why I didn’t want to join you guys?” Seth asked jokingly. “I like my Sunday afternoon football games, getting pizza with the family, and trips to Disney World.”

Smith laughed. “Ah, it’s not that bad, Seth. We still get to come back to the land of milk and honey. We just have to remind ourselves that we’re not allowed to operate there.”

The Osprey then lifted off, giving them a bird’s-eye view of the small military base as the aircraft turned to head toward the airport.

Leaning in to be heard, Seth asked, “So what happens when we get back home?”

Smith shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea, my friend. Things appear to be going to hell in a handbasket back home. What I don’t understand is how did all of this happen? Someone, or some group, appears to be coordinating a grand scheme to tear our country apart.”

Seth nodded. “They certainly have. I just hope the powers that be can find a way to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

The two of them rode in silence for a few minutes until they approached the airport. For a small airport, it was a beehive of activity. The Air Force had flown in four C-17s to pick up as much of their equipment and people as possible. The NATO KFOR commander, a German brigadier general by the name of Dirk Klauss, wanted them out of the country as quickly as possible.

When their Osprey had landed, they escorted their prisoners to the back of one of the C-17s and began to load them into the cavernous bay of the giant cargo plane. The rest of the soldiers of their little task force filed in as they sought to fit as many people as possible in the plane for the ride home.

The other C-17s were being loaded up with their up-armored SUVs, communications equipment, weapons and other equipment they had brought with them. The three remaining Apache helicopters, along with the three other Ospreys, would be outfitted with drop tanks and additional fuel for their long flight back to Romania. The goal was to have the vast majority of their equipment and personnel completely out of Kosovo before the end of the day.

*******

Six hours into their flight home, Brigadier General Lancaster motioned for Seth to come stand by him and Chief Moore, who were both standing around near the front of the C-17. When Seth approached them, he saw by their expressions that they were clearly concerned about something.

“Why the long faces?” Seth asked innocently enough. He lifted his arms above his head as he tried to stretch his aching back.

Leaning in, Lancaster said, “I just spoke with General Royal on the secured sat phone. Tomorrow morning—” He stopped and look at his watch. “Scratch that. In nine hours, the President is going to hold a press conference along with his directors for Homeland Security, DOJ, FBI, and SecDef. They’re going to announce Executive Order 2021. It’s a declaration of martial law. They’re going to enforce the D.C. Circuit Court ruling that voided the November election and will hold a new one in January.”

“Martial law?” Seth asked skeptically.

The general nodded but didn’t say anything further.

“Have things really gotten that bad back home that they have to do this?” asked Moore.

“I don’t have all the details, and frankly, I’ve been too busy with what we’ve been doing to really be keeping up with what’s going on,” Lancaster replied. “What I did glean from General Royal is that with the Supreme Court justices gone, there is no consensus among the courts with what to do about the election. It’s clear a foreign power interfered, but the side that won doesn’t want a redo. Right now, they won—even if it was with help from an outside group. It’s hard to admit that you won that way, and what if the redo of the election overturns that result and you end up losing? You’d forever feel like you were robbed of your victory.”

“Look, I have no idea how any of this is going to play out for us when we get back. What I do know is we did our job in finding these terrorist bastards and getting the decision makers the best possible information to make a decision. What they do with it beyond that is none of our concern. When we get back to Bragg, I’m going to make sure everyone is put in for a valor medal, especially you, Mitchell. We wouldn’t know half of this conspiracy if it wasn’t for your interrogation of these monsters. Plus, you have another Purple Heart coming to you from that IED that nearly killed you.”

Seth shook his head. “You don’t have to do that, sir. Like everyone else, I was just doing what I get paid to do. If it’s all right with you guys, I just want to go sit down and try to digest everything you all just said. I’m not sure how I feel about this. Martial law…it just seems wrong to me.”

With that, Seth headed back to his seat to mull over what he’d just been told. They had another six hours until they landed. Six more hours and he was back home in America. If things worked out, he might even be able to see his family before the end of the day.

Chapter 23

Martial Law

November 11, 2020

Cleveland, Ohio

Senator Marshall Tate’s Residence

It had been a long and grueling couple of days, so Marshall had taken the rare moment to sleep in past 7 a.m. and leisurely read a book for a few moments. Today was, after all, Veterans Day. The only thing he had on his docket to do was a wreath-laying ceremony at the local Veterans of Foreign Wars memorial in town. Aside from that, his transition team had a number of folks they wanted his input on before they submitted them to the Senate minority leader to begin the process of coordinating their nomination package with the majority leader, a prospect none of them looked forward to after a brutal election where an en banc group of justices had to determine who won the presidency.

The most important thing they’d have to address once he took office was selecting nine Supreme Court justices. Obviously, he’d love nothing better than to place nine liberal-leaning judges on the bench, but with a Republican-controlled Senate, that would be impossible—not to mention incredibly unpopular. He’d have to pick at least four conservative-leaning judges, but he’d make sure the makeup of the new court was decidedly liberal.

Elections do have consequences, he thought.

At 8:06 a.m., his smartphone began to blow up with text messages before vibrating, letting him know someone was trying to call. He snatched the phone, ticked off that someone was bugging him this early on his one morning off. The caller ID told him it was his Chief of Staff, Jerome Powell.

“This had better be good,” Marshall said in a tone that betrayed his frustration.

“We have a huge problem, Marshall,” said Jerome. “I’m on my way over to your house, but you need to get dressed. Turn on the news if you can. Sachs is making a major announcement.”

“Fine, OK,” Marshall conceded.

Fumbling his way out of bed, Marshall reached over to grab the TV remote, turning it to MSNBC. He got up to walk over to the bathroom and begin his morning routine. With the TV blaring, he made it over to the toilet before he heard the familiar voice of President Sachs utter the words martial law. He stopped dead in his tracks. Despite having to urinate, he immediately turned back around and turned the volume up on the TV.

“It is with great hesitation that I issue this proclamation, but after advice from the Departments of Justice and Homeland Security, and in light of the unprecedented court ruling led by the Ninth Circuit, there was no recourse left to us other than to declare martial law, thereby suspending the power and authority of the Ninth Circuit.

“This will allow us to move forward with securing our electoral process and holding a new election on Monday, January fourth, 2021. As such, under the authority of the 2012 and 2018 National Defense Authorization Act, and DoD Directive 5525.5, I am issuing Executive Order 2021, moving the country to a state of martial law until Tuesday, January fifth, 2021. At the conclusion of the presidential election, the state of martial law shall be lifted and a return to civilian rule shall be implemented.”

Marshall let out a stream of obscenities.

“Now that the United States is under a state of martial law, as the Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces, I am suspending the en banc ruling by the Ninth Circuit and moving forward with the voiding of the election results of this past Tuesday. I’d like to remind you that it was determined that substantial levels of foreign interference changed the outcome of the election. Per my original executive order regarding the postponing of the election, all absentee and mail-in ballots will be suspended. All persons wishing to vote in the presidential election will have to vote either in person or via the iVote app. If you require assistance in either using the voting app or casting your ballot, then you have sixty days to request the assistance of a poll worker, and one will be made available to help you.

“Despite the nation being under a state of martial law, I don’t believe it’s necessary to deploy our armed forces into the countryside or the cities, unless a situation of great civil unrest warrants it. I have instructed the Secretary of Defense to minimize the use of the military on our soil as much as possible. I want to assure you, my fellow Americans, that your day-to-day lives will not change. There is no need to worry or fear that this is a takeover of your government or country—it is not. If I lose the election on January fourth, I will accept that loss, and I will do my utmost to help ensure a quick and smooth transition of power to my successor.

“It is imperative that our elections be fair and free of foreign interference. That was not the case of this past election, and if we are to trust future elections, we have to know that a foreign power was not involved in the direct suppression or outright theft of votes. There can be no finger placed on the scales of our Republic. I will now step aside and allow the Attorney General to speak more to the legal case and justification for why we have declared a state of martial law. He will also tell you about the prosecution of more than five dozen individuals who participated in this scheme.”

Marshall was about to let out another storm of curse words before his wife walked in, shocked to see that he already had the TV on and was watching the broadcast. Before she could say anything to him, he threw the remote at the TV, causing it to crack. Without a word, he headed into the bathroom to resume his routine of getting ready for the day.

*******

“Is there still any cheese pizza left?” asked Jerome as he got up to walk over to the counter, where five pizza boxes were still sitting.

He spotted one piece and quickly angled for it before anyone else had a chance to grab it. While he was there, he also added a slice of sausage pizza to his plate as well. He looked down at his selection and recognized that he’d pay for his choices tomorrow morning at the gym, but right at that moment, with all that had gone on that day, he just didn’t care. He just wanted comfort, in any form that he could find it.

Janey looked at the two pieces of pizza on his plate before commenting, “Really, Jerome? That’s like four pieces you’ve had. I thought you were trying to eat better.”

He shot her a dirty look. “I’m stressed. I eat poorly when I’m stressed.”

She shook her head. “I think you’re going to get fat in this job, then. You’re about to walk into the most stressful year of your life.”

Jerome picked a slice of pizza up and scarfed down a couple of bites without replying.

“So, the governors of California and New York are in agreement?” asked Marshall, who had stayed out of the banter between his staff. “Are they going to ignore the President’s decree for a redo of the election?”

Jerome shoved another bite in his mouth before he explained, “Not just California and New York. We spoke with all the Democratic governors, and they are all in agreement. They insist the President doesn’t have the authority to redo the election just because he doesn’t like the results. The Speaker of the House is also on our side now, which means the majority of Congress is with us. Even now, the House is moving forward with a bill that would curtail the funds going to the DoD. Without all that money, it will significantly reduce their ability to enforce martial law.”

Marshall sighed. “What happens next, then? If all these states are not going to recognize Sachs’s authority to do what he’s doing, where do things go?”

Janey picked up this question. “We’re working on that. Right now, the plan is to hold some sort of unifying press conference in a couple of days with the governors and yourself. We want to let the Sachs administration know that we aren’t going along with his call for a new election. The governors are going to say that they won’t work with the administration to hold a new election, and that come January 20th, they will no longer acknowledge President Sachs as the duly elected president—they will only acknowledge your authority, and they are encouraging the other states to do so as well.”

Marshall nodded in approval. “Then the die is cast,” he said. “We’ll move forward with the transition and continue on as if today’s proclamation never happened.”

Jerome and Janey nodded.

Marshall added, “We need to formulate our cabinet quickly. We’ll need to let the world know who’s going to be in our leadership team and move forward with preparing the new government. We have to make things appear as if everything is normal, as if it is Sachs who is living in this alternate reality and not us.

“Get with the major networks, and let’s make sure we can get them on board with us as well. It’s going to be important that we message this right, that we make it look like Sachs is the one acting irrational and out of sorts. If we can create the right message, the right image, I think we have a shot at turning this to our advantage.”

Chapter 24

Homecoming

November 13, 2020

Tampa, Florida

Seth pulled up to the driveway of his home on Davis Island, excited to see his wife and four kids. It had been nearly a month since he’d seen them, and so much had happened in that time, both for him and his family. His son had lost another tooth, and his daughter had broken her wrist and was having to sit out of gymnastics until New Year’s.

After putting his truck in park, he hopped out, grabbed his go-bag and walked up to the front entrance. He fumbled with his keys briefly until he got the right one. After he unlocked the door and walked in—to his surprise, he found no one was home.

They must have gone out to eat or out to the store, he reasoned.

Regardless, he took a moment to walk around the house, soaking in the feeling of being home. When he made his way to his bedroom, his oversized king bed was beckoning to him. Seth dropped his bag on the floor near the closet, took his blouse and trousers off and climbed in. He figured he’d catch a short nap while he waited for his family to return.

When he awoke, it was dark out. He instinctively checked his watch and noticed it was 4:21 a.m.

Oh wow, they must have seen me sleeping and just left me alone, he thought.

It was the first good night’s sleep Seth had had in a month. He turned to the side and placed his feet on the floor, stretching his back and arms as he yawned. His wife stirred from her slumber and rolled over.

“Welcome home, sleepyhead,” she said coyly as she moved over closer to his side of the bed. She clearly had more of a physical welcome home on her mind after not seeing him for nearly a month. “The kids are still asleep,” Dana said with a wink.

Later that morning at breakfast, his kids regaled him with all he had missed the last thirty days, bringing him up to speed on everything that had transpired.

“Are you home for a while now or do you have to go away again?” asked his son. His daughter slowed her eating to wait and listen for his response.

Seth wasn’t sure how to respond at first. “As far as I know, I’m home for a while. As a matter of fact, my boss gave me the next four days off work. I was thinking that maybe this weekend we could all take a trip over to Disney.”

Cheers went up from his son and daughter. They loved hanging out with all the characters. Buying a Disney annual pass had been a great idea when they’d first moved to Florida—it had allowed them to tour the park without feeling rushed, like they had to pack everything in at once.

The rest of the weekend went by quickly as he did his best to spend as much quality time with his kids as possible. Seth did his best to forget the last month and what he knew was going to continue to be a time of turmoil and strife for the country. At that moment, he just wanted his kids to enjoy one last fun family vacation before the craziness of what the Sachs and Tate factions were about to unleash on the country.

*******

November 17, 2020

Washington, D.C.

White House

“We have a problem, Mr. President,” Malcolm Wright announced. He was the first person to speak during what was becoming a daily emergency cabinet meeting.

“Explain,” replied Sachs.

Every eye turned to the Attorney General.

“Of the twenty-three Democratic governors, twenty-one of them are backing Senator Tate and have openly stated they will not acknowledge your authority as President come January 20th. Likewise, they are not going to allow a redo of the election to take place in their states on January fourth. That said, two of the Democratic-controlled states—Kansas and North Carolina—have broken with them and are siding with you. Additionally, the state legislatures in Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, and Virginia have broken ranks with the governor and are siding with us. They have all said that whether the governor goes along with holding a new election or not, they will do everything in their power to help facilitate it.”

Patty Hogan from Homeland Security interjected, “We actually have a bigger problem than that, Mr. President. We have a massive image problem developing. Senator Tate and his acolytes in the media are doing their best to portray this as a power grab by you in light of your electoral loss. They are completely ignoring the evidence the FBI and DNI have presented that shows direct foreign interference. Just the other day, when I was a guest on CNN, they wouldn’t even acknowledge the Chinese involvement in the postal worker scheme or acknowledge that it had even happened. It’s as if they have deliberately moved in the direction of creating a false reality, as if we didn’t capture a known Chinese spy operating in the Balkans or arrest more than half a dozen conspirators here in the States.”

“I think we may have another issue we need to discuss as well,” added the Secretary of Defense.

Everyone turned to look at him. They were all getting a bit of whiplash.

How many fires can we possibly have at once? Sachs asked himself.

McElroy lifted his chin, as if steeling himself. “We have a twofold problem right now. The first is domestic, so I’ll deal with that one first. You’ve already heard that we have twenty-one state governors who are not going to acknowledge you as President in a couple of months. Some of these governors are starting to put their National Guard units on alert for possible activations.”

A murmur went across the room.

“Excuse me, did you say some of them are alerting their National Guard units?” asked Sachs, leaning forward. “What exactly are they alerting them to do?”

McElroy took a deep breath before he responded. “I’m honestly not sure. Right now, they’re saying it’s to help quell some of the protests and rioting that have taken place in some of their cities. To me, that’s a legitimate reason. However, my concern is they are looking to activate these units now so they can have them mobilized and ready should that governor feel like he may need them come January 20th.”

The President held up his hand. “Need them for what? What do they possibly think they are going to do with these forces? Depose me? Capture Washington, D.C.? Who the hell do these people think they are?”

The President continued to fume for a minute. Everyone else was silent, apparently still trying to digest what McElroy had just said. This was more than just a PR issue or a problem with optics—it was the first visible sign that the union might not hold.

Finally, Sachs asked, “What if we federalize these forces? Shift them away from their home states so they wouldn’t be under any direct influence or control of the governor? Is that possible?”

“We could, but we’re running into a financial problem,” said McElroy. “We don’t have the necessary funds for the Pentagon. As you know, we’re still working off a continuing resolution right now. We were unable to get a budget finalized before the end of the fiscal year, so Congress gave us a ninety-day CR to get us through the election and into the lame duck session.”

Rich Novella, the President’s Chief of Staff, jumped into the conversation. “We haven’t even heard a peep from Congress about the budget. The Senate has put together a budget that funds the government through the fiscal year, but the House has yet to send us anything. My bet is whatever they send us, they are going to tie to you accepting the results of the November election and turning things over to Senator Tate.”

“Great, one more thing to look forward to with Congress,” said Sachs. He knew his face betrayed the fact that he’d rather have a root canal than work with this body of polarized legislators. “When is that meeting with the new House Speaker?” he asked.

Rich looked down at his calendar. “Tomorrow at nine a.m..”

Grimacing, the President just shook his head in frustration. Looking at his staff, he said, “OK, people. Let’s continue with business as usual. Tomorrow, I’m going to need the Office of Management and Budget Director and the Treasury Secretary to be here at eight a.m. We’ll game plan how we’re going to handle Congress.”

Sachs turned to the SecDef. “Chuck, I know you said the other problem you wanted to talk about was outside our borders. Let’s hold off on discussing that until tomorrow while we get this domestic issue sorted. Perhaps we’ll have a better picture of what’s going on outside our country at that point.”

McElroy nodded, and with that, the President ended the meeting.

Chapter 25

Negotiation

November 18, 2020

Washington, D.C.

White House

“Mr. President, it’s a pretty straightforward funding bill. We’re even throwing you a bone by funding nearly all of your top priorities and the rest of the government for the remainder of the fiscal year,” said Congressman Tim Borq, the new Speaker of the House.

Sachs grunted. “You’re trying to hold a gun to my head, Borq, and you know that.”

Borq leaned forward, an almost evil smile on his lips. “If you don’t sign this bill, then we will move forward with impeaching you over this whole state of martial law you’re trying to impose on the country,” he said.

The President was unmoved. He crossed his arms and stared at Borq with a level of eye contact that would have made almost anyone uncomfortable. “Perhaps you don’t fully understand how martial law works, Mr. Speaker, but right now, I am the head of the government and the military. Congress’s only role right now regarding our armed forces is to advise—you have no consent authority. You have no authority to threaten me with impeachment, and furthermore, you’d never get seventeen Republican senators to go along with your little scheme.”

Borq turned beet red. “You are not a dictator, an emperor that can just wield power as you see fit!” he exclaimed.

“And you cannot come into this office and demand that I accept the results of an election that we both know beyond the shadow of a doubt was rigged by a foreign power. I’ve declassified the intelligence of this scheme, and I plan on fully releasing that information at the end of the day, so all of the American people can see exactly what’s gone on. If your cronies don’t accept the fact that a foreign power directly manipulated our election and support my efforts to hold a new, secure election, then I will have you all arrested for fomenting insurrection against the federal government.”

“You can’t do that!” Borq shot back angrily.

“Oh, really?” asked Sachs. “I have twenty-one governors telling me they aren’t going to cooperate with the new election. As a matter of fact, all twenty-one governors have said come January 20th, they will not even recognize me as the lawful president. I am this close,” he said as he moved his index finger and thumb to within an inch of each other, “to declaring those states in open insurrection to the federal government and ordering their governors arrested and charged with treason!”

The President took a deep breath, changing his tone of voice. “What I’m seeking from you, Congressman, is either a budget for the remainder of the fiscal year or a six-month CR to see us through this constitutional crisis your party has engineered.”

Borq shook his head in disgust. “You think you’re so powerful, do you? We’re done here!” He stood up and began a hasty exit.

Before he could leave, Sachs shouted after him, “You’d better watch what you say, Borq, or I’ll have you brought up on charges of sedition and treason!”

He saw the congressman pause for a moment, but then he continued on. The two other Democratic congressional leaders who’d sat in on the meeting looked at each other in shock. Then, without saying anything, they shuffled out of the office as if they were holding their tails between their legs.

The Republican lawmakers that remained sat there in a state of shock at what had transpired. The President walked around his desk to take a seat at his chair while the remaining lawmakers and others stayed seated. He closed his eyes briefly as he lifted his head to the ceiling, taking in several deep breaths to calm his nerves. When Sachs opened his eyes again and looked at them, he had a burning fire in place of what was once uncertainty.

He turned first to his Chief of Staff. “Rich, get me the AG. I want him to issue an ultimatum to these renegade governors and the Speaker of the House—they are either going to comply with the written orders of the federal government, or I am going to declare their states in open insurrection against the federal government. They will be arrested and charged with sedition and treason.”

The Senate majority leader stood up. “Mr. President, I know you are angry, but I urge you to use some restraint right now. Things are tense, I know, but we can work through this. We have to calm things down,” he implored.

The President shook his head. “You’ve seen the intelligence; you know what took place. Our Supreme Court justices were assassinated to place us in this exact situation. No, we’ve placated them long enough. The law and the Constitution are on my side. These renegade governors and members of Congress will either adhere to my authority under the Constitution or they will be brought to heel. We cannot allow this open insurrection to take root and spread. We have to stomp it out now!” Sachs slapped his palm down on the desk for added emphasis.

The Senate majority leader slumped back in his chair, looking deflated and defeated. He looked up at the others in the room. “In my heart and mind, I know you’re right—we have to stop this from spreading. I just fear we are igniting the first spark of a new civil war that will ravage this great nation.”

*******

Sacramento, California

Governor’s Mansion

Specially made breakfast pastries, gourmet coffees and other breakfast items were set out across the exquisitely set table in the formal dining room of the California governor’s mansion. The delicious spread was the centerpiece of a meeting of all the Democratic governors and some of the political heavyweights of the party. They were there to discuss the President-Elect’s one-hundred-day game plan for the country. Then they would confer their support for many of his cabinet picks and jockey for other, lesser political appointee positions that would need to be filled once he was sworn in.

The laughter and banter were loud and joyous. Glasses of champagne were poured to go along with their breakfast. It was a time of celebration, of optimism and high spirits.

Governor Gary Lawson was enjoying a conversation with President-Elect Marshall Tate, who was seated next to him. They talked about making California’s environmental laws and standards the law of the land for the rest of the country and how they would look to model the rest of the country around the progressive policies that had been remaking California into the green powerhouse it had become. They also gloated amongst themselves about the ultimatum the Speaker of the House was presenting to the President that morning.

While the governors were collectively finishing their breakfast and jovial conversations, Jerome Powell silently walked up behind the President-Elect and whispered something in his ear. Marshall jerked his head around hard with a stern look on his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. He can’t be serious,” Marshall retorted.

Jerome solemnly nodded, then handed him a smartphone. “The Speaker of the House is on the line,” he said.

Marshall got up from his chair and walked over to one of the windows overlooking the garden outside.

He listened intently, saying very little. After a moment, he hung up the line and put the phone in his pocket, but he continued staring out the window.

Governor Lawson approached him cautiously. “Is everything all right, Mr. President-Elect?” he asked.

He turned to face Lawson. “It will be, but I need to make an announcement to everyone,” he said. He moved back to his seat, grabbed the sterling silver knife from his place setting and gently tapped it a few times on the rim of his champagne glass.

Governor Lawson noticed that the President-Elect suddenly pulled back his shoulders, standing as tall as possible.

I do the same thing when I want to convey a position of strength, Lawson thought.

The room quieted down, and Marshall cleared his throat. “As you all know, this morning, the Speaker of the House went with the rest of the congressional leaders to meet with President Sachs to discuss the federal budget, the last major piece of legislation Sachs should have to sign or oversee before he leaves office.”

Many of the governors nodded. No one had been happy when Congress had conveniently pushed through a continuing resolution to fund the government past the election rather than pass an actual budget.

“Congressman Borq presented Sachs with two choices. One was for him to accept the results of the election and begin the process of stepping down and handing the reins of power over to me. If he accepted this course of action, then the House would pass a new budget that included every final pet project Sachs wanted funded, including his blasted border wall. If he refused, then they were going to move forward with passing articles of impeachment in the House over his overreach of executive power by instituting martial law. This, of course, would take place once the House returned from the Thanksgiving break, so the President would have a little more than a week to think about it.”

Marshall held a hand up to forestall any questions. “We all know that measure would never pass in the Senate, but it would send a message to him and, more importantly, the American people and the rest of the world that his reckless decree of martial law and his unwillingness to leave office didn’t go unchallenged.”

Some applause broke out among the governors and the others who’d been invited to this private get-together. Marshall raised his hands again, doing his best to calm them down.

With a more serious look on his face, he added, “As you may suspect, the President did not agree to Speaker Borq’s terms. Furthermore, he told Speaker Borq to relay to us that if we don’t cooperate with the feds with this redo of the election on January fourth, he will hold our state governments in a state of open insurrection against the federal government. He also said he will issue warrants for our arrests if we interfere in this process or do anything to impede the federal government from doing its job.”

Curse words and mumbling turned into a soft roar.

Before Marshall could continue, the governor from Rhode Island interrupted. “Can he really do that? I mean, what does that mean if he declares my state in open insurrection against the federal government?”

“It means he can order our arrests and dissolve our state government. He can assume de facto control of your state,” answered the governor of Nevada.

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Slamming his hand down on the table so violently that it knocked a couple of glasses over, Governor Lawson shouted, “This is madness! He’s not an emperor or dictator. He can’t just threaten us with arrests for treason or demand that we adhere to his orders like this. Enough is enough—you have to do something!”

Everyone looked at Marshall.

“I think we need to seriously consider the possibility that we are going to have to forcefully remove Sachs from the White House. It’s clear he’s not going to accept the outcome of the election. With him declaring martial law, he can effectively turn the military loose on us, and there isn’t a thing we can do about it.”

“Forget that! I’m going to activate my National Guard force,” shouted the governor of Oregon angrily. “I’m also going to order my state police and guard units to begin evicting all federal agents from my state.”

Holding a hand up as he stood, Governor Lawson asserted, “If we’re going to do that, then I recommend we collectively try to organize this kind of effort, so it happens all at once. If we’re going to stand up to this tyrant, then we need to do so together, in unison, or we’re going to get isolated and arrested.”

“I have another idea,” Marshall said, obviously trying to regain control of the situation. “I’d like to place a call to the UN Secretary-General. I’ve met with him on a couple of occasions, and over the years I’ve developed a bit of a friendship with him. Perhaps we can get the UN to issue some sort of declaration of support to our cause, and maybe that’ll help get Sachs to back down. We don’t want to see this whole effort blow up in our face, so I think we all need to tread carefully.”

The rest of the meeting went by in a far less celebratory mood. The governors discussed how they’d work to secure their states from a federal takeover, and what possible legal actions they could take with the courts that might aid them as well.

*******

New York, New York

United Nations Headquarters

The first major snowstorm of the season was pummeling the city, blanketing the downtown with a fresh layer of snow. The large fluffy cotton balls floated down in a torrent now that the sun had finally slipped below the horizon and the evening darkness had enveloped the city.

Looking out the windows in his office, Secretary-General Johann Behr almost didn’t notice his smartphone vibrating on his desk. Snapping out of his trance, he reached over and grabbed the phone.

“SG Behr speaking,” he said with an air of confidence.

“Mr. Secretary, it’s good to hear your voice. I have a piece of urgent news I needed to share with you.” Behr recognized the voice of General Guy McKenzie. His colleague’s tone caused him to sit straighter in his chair—this must be important.

“We have a meeting in two days—couldn’t it wait until then?” Behr asked.

“No, it cannot,” McKenzie responded.

Johann sighed. “Is it safe to say over the phone? You know how the Americans like to snoop on these sorts of things,” he asked, hoping that their encrypted phone was out of the reach of the NSA.

A moment of silence ensued. “It’s as secured as we can make it,” the general finally said. “Maybe the NSA can crack it, but they won’t be able to do it right away. What I have to tell you is important and it can’t wait.”

“Fine. What is it, McKenzie?”

“You know we’re almost three weeks into our training exercise with our new UN force. At this juncture, all the military units that are supposed to be participating in the exercise have already arrived and have been running through their specific roles. However, a convoy of Chinese-flagged ships just arrived at the global container terminal just outside of Vancouver earlier this morning. While this is a routine affair for large cargo carrying shipping containers arriving from China, they usually don’t show up carrying hundreds of armored vehicles and tanks.”

Johann raised an eyebrow at the comment but said nothing.

“Six of the ships that arrived in the harbor are vehicle carrying transports. They were completely full of armored personnel carriers, infantry fighting vehicles and main battle tanks. In addition to the vehicle carriers, the shipping container ships are packed to the gills with munitions and supplies. Was there a new force arriving from China that’s going to join us, or did these guys just arrive a few weeks late to the party?” McKenzie asked. His tone indicated that he was not pleased with the situation.

A slight smile crept across Johann’s face. He knew what the Chinese were doing, and he was glad they appeared to be holding up their end of the bargain thus far.

“General, thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Behr responded. “I think I know what happened, and this is completely my fault. After the Chinese assigned a contingent of forces to your training exercise and our new UN standing army, they came back to me and said they would like to contribute a much larger force. In fact, they want to have a substantial force of theirs on a continual rotational basis. They feel this will help provide their forces with some real-world experience. President Chen also wants to use them to help improve China’s image abroad as a humanitarian force. He told me his intent is to have a contingent of his armed forces assigned to the UN standing army for periods of fourteen months. Two months for training, and then twelve full months for deployments wherever the UN decides to send them.”

Johann heard some heavy breathing on the other end, and it didn’t sound pleasant. “Mr. Secretary, while I am appreciative of any member state wanting to contribute forces to this standing army, as the overall military commander of said force, I need to be kept informed of what units and nations are going to participate in it and for how long. I can’t properly train or develop a plan for how we are going to integrate this force if I don’t know what forces I have to work with.”

Johann nodded, despite the fact that McKenzie wouldn’t see his response. “You’re right, General. That was my fault for not informing you sooner. This decision by the Chinese president was made eight days ago and I must admit, I’ve been incredibly preoccupied with the situation going on in America. As you know, that renegade president of theirs has declared martial law. He’s all but suspended their Congress while he moves forward with a new election in January—one he says will be ‘fair.’” Johann made air quotes around the word fair for himself.

“Fine. It’s neither here nor there,” McKenzie retorted. “What I need to know is how many Chinese forces are being assigned to my control and what unit is in the harbor? I need to know where to place them in the training exercises we still have left to run through. For the moment, I haven’t authorized their disembarking because I didn’t know anything about it and my own government has raised all sorts of alarm bells on this sudden group of Chinese soldiers and equipment suddenly showing up. We’re lucky as heck the Americans haven’t caught wind of it yet, or they might cross over into our waters and prevent them from unloading their equipment.”

The thought of the Americans moving in to stop that shipment caught Johann by surprise. He hadn’t considered that. His shoulders shook involuntarily for a second. “If I am not mistaken, the Chinese originally sent you parts of two mechanized infantry brigades and an aviation brigade. President Chen told me those units belonged to the 39th Army Group. He went on ahead and sent the rest of the army group and will assign them to the UN for a duration of their fourteen-month tour. Once that term is met, they’ll rotate another army group to the UN, so we’d have another fully functioning army group at all times.”

McKenzie let out a whistle that did not transfer through the phone well. Johann held the receiver away from his ear for a second. “Do you realize how many soldiers they just sent us?”

To be honest, Johann had no idea. He wasn’t a military man.

“No, but I suppose you’re about to tell me.”

“At the beginning of this exercise, the Chinese had contributed 3,500 soldiers. Basically, it was elements of two different combat brigades, as you said earlier. They were going to compose a large part of the UN’s actual combat fighting power. This new lot of equipment and soldiers, however, is going to swell that number to 45,000 soldiers. Obviously, that many troops aren’t on the cargo ships, so do you know when or how they are going to arrive?”

“I’m not sure,” Behr admitted. “I think the soldiers were supposed to be flown in via commercial flights.”

McKenzie sighed again. “I don’t suppose the Chinese told you when they’re supposed to arrive? This is another major thing that’ll need to be coordinated with the Canadian government.”

“I’m sorry, General. I appear to have really dropped the ball on this with you and making sure the Canadian government was kept in the loop on this,” Behr apologized. “I’ll find out and get back to you before the end of the day. My gut says they’re probably going to arrange to fly into one of the Canadian Air Force bases so as to not make a scene at the airports. In the meantime, can you work with the port on getting their equipment offloaded and sent to wherever you want them to send it for your exercise?”

“Yes, I’ll work on getting that taken care of,” McKenzie said, still obviously peeved. “One other thing, sir. When we meet in a couple of days, we really need to talk about appointing an actual United Nations Minister of Defense. As much as I hate adding a layer of bureaucracy to anything, this is the type of coordination that really should be handled by someone with the expertise to do it and not be thrust blindly upon you. It’s putting you in a bad position, and it’s leaving me uninformed of what’s going on at a time when you and I both need to be focused on our own individual tasks that lie ahead.”

Johann smiled at the suggestion. He hadn’t even thought about that, but it made a ton of sense. He wrote a quick note to himself to start work on that right away.

A short pause took place before the general added, “What’s going on with the Americans to the south of us? I’m reading a lot of unusual activity taking place down there with their government.”

Smiling at the chaos happening, Johann replied, “Nothing we hadn’t accounted for, General. All appears to be moving according to plan. Just make sure you get those additional Chinese forces integrated with your force and ready for a peacekeeping mission should one be necessary. Also, before I go, I was told the Germans, French, and Russian governments were going to send additional fighter aircraft over to participate in your second training exercise. They said they were excited to be able to truly have some practical experience going up against some frontline Russian and Chinese aircraft, and the Russians and Chinese appear just as eager to go up against NATO planes.”

The two of them talked for a bit more before they ended their call. They had a face-to-face meeting scheduled in a couple of days, where they’d hash out some more details of how well the new UN force was working together and what changes needed to be made to make things run more efficiently.

*******

Two Days Later

Johann stood up from behind his desk as he walked around to greet his newly arrived guest. With a broad smile, he said, “Welcome, Mr. President-Elect. It is good to see you again. It’s been too long, my old friend.”

The two of them shook hands and smiled as a photographer snapped a few photos of their official handshake. Once the formalities were done and the functionaries had left, the two of them moved over to a pair of comfortable couches in front of a large window that overlooked the city. The view revealed that a fresh layer of snow had fallen over the last couple of days, covering the city and the harbor in a beautiful, shimmering white blanket.

Joining the Secretary-General and the President-Elect were the newly appointed UN Minister of Defense, Manuel Philippi, General McKenzie, the overall UN military commander, and two notetakers. On the US side was Tate’s chosen candidate to become Secretary of State, Robert Ross, a man who had been an Undersecretary of State during the Obama administration. Then there was retired admiral David Hill, who would become Tate’s Secretary of Defense, Page Larson, who would become the National Security Advisor, and of course, Jerome Powell, who would remain his Chief of Staff. In addition to Tate’s crew, the Speaker of the House, Tim Borq, and Senate Minority Leader Isaac Rosenbaum were present as well. Noticeably absent from the meeting was the US ambassador, who hadn’t been told about this private meeting.

Tate leaned in. “We have a bit of a problem right now, and we’re wanting to know if it might be appropriate and helpful to involve the United Nations,” he began.

Johann smiled and nodded. He could appreciate the delicate nature of the situation the President-Elect had found himself in.

“I agree, Mr. President-Elect. This issue brewing in your country has caused a great deal of concern with many member nations of the UN. I’ve been contacted by numerous members, asking how they should respond to the latest rants from President Sachs. This declaration of martial law has a lot of people concerned about what is going on inside America,” Johann explained.

The American delegation nodded in affirmation.

“Sachs is out of control,” asserted Speaker Borq. “In the last two days, he’s threatened to arrest the governors of more than twenty states. He actually did arrest thirty-two of my own colleagues when they called for a vote of impeachment. Not coincidentally, these arrests have also removed my majority in the House to secure a successful vote of impeachment. Sachs’s party is fully behind him, so I can’t count on any of them splitting with their party to vote with me on this—not to mention, we’d need more than fifteen of his members in the Senate to vote to remove him, and that is also unlikely to happen.”

Leaning in, the newly appointed UN Minister of Defense, Manuel Philippi, asked, “If you can’t impeach him, and your courts can’t remove him, then why don’t you wait out the rest of his term? He will officially leave office on January 20th of this next year, oui?”

Jerome sighed loudly. “Technically, that is true. However, President Sachs has declared martial law. He has voided the results of the last election and is currently moving forward with his original order for a redo of the presidential election on January fourth. Right now, twenty-two of our fifty states are not going to comply with his order.

“That could change, of course, if Sachs follows through on his threat to declare those states in open insurrection against the federal government. If he does that, then he can take direct control of the state governments or appoint someone in the interim to run the state until he lifts his order for martial law.

“In that situation, I suspect those states will hold a redo of the presidential election. But who’ll be able to say with certainty that it’ll be a free and fair election? He’ll have soldiers guarding the polling stations and his own people overseeing the ballots for security purposes. It’ll put a question mark on whether it was truly legitimate.”

Leaning back in his chair, Johann crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling for a moment before settling his gaze back to the people in front of him. “What exactly are you wanting from the UN?” he asked.

Now it was Marshall’s turn to lean in. He fixed Johann with his gaze. “What we’d like is for the UN to issue some sort of statement condemning the Sachs administration’s use of martial law as a blatant power grab and attempt to stay in power. We’d like the UN to communicate that you support and validate the past election results showing that I won and am the President-Elect, that come January 20th, the UN will recognize me as the legitimate president of the United States and not Sachs.”

“And what do you propose we do if and when Sachs ignores that statement?” asked General McKenzie. “He hasn’t exactly been a big believer or follower of the UN during his time in office.”

“If he doesn’t comply with the UN request or our pleas that he peacefully leave office and hand over power, then we’d request a UN peacekeeping force to aid in a peaceful transition of American power from Sachs to myself,” Marshall explained as he smugly sat back in his chair.

For his part, McKenzie ran his fingers through his hair, analyzing what Marshall had just said.

Then he looked at Admiral Hill, a man he had served with in the past during his many deployments to Afghanistan. “You know a UN peacekeeping force in America would not be received well. As a matter of fact, we’d be viewed as invaders and most likely attacked. How do you propose we make this work?” McKenzie asked.

Hill thought for a moment, then pulled out a legal pad, opening it and searching for some piece of information. “Right now, we are preparing to have more than a dozen states mobilize their National Guard units. Those units will be under the control of the state government until January 20th. Your actions would hopefully prevent Sachs from trying to federalize those units.

“Once President-Elect Tate is sworn in, they will fall under his national control. If the Sachs administration has still not yielded power, then I will be making a plea to all active-duty units and commanders to acknowledge President Tate as their Commander-in-Chief and not Sachs. I fully recognize that many units will not come over to our side, but the ones that do will bolster our National Guard forces. Even within the guard, I suspect we’ll have a high percentage of desertions, but the units that do remain will be our nucleus. Those units, plus your UN force, should be more than enough to convince Sachs to stand down and relinquish power. If he still won’t leave office, then we’ll look to move quickly and secure the major cities and the capital region with your help.”

Pausing for a moment, Admiral Hill added, “I firmly believe when Sachs or the units that feel like they are caught in the middle are faced with the choice of actually firing on their fellow Americans, they will see reason and yield. If they don’t, then we need to be prepared to unleash holy hell on them and get them to submit quickly before we allow Sachs or his military cronies to mobilize their forces.”

The military men talked for a little while longer, explaining the nuts and bolts of how this would all work out, discussing what UN forces were currently available and how they could be integrated with the US forces on Tate’s side. Everyone hoped it wouldn’t come down to an actual military conflict, but if it did, it was Hill’s hope that they could end it quickly and restore order to the country and its duly elected president, Marshall Tate.

Chapter 26

Global Interference

Arlington, Virginia

Pentagon

Secretary of Defense Chuck McElroy read over the most recent intelligence summary of the newly created UN force carrying out its first training exercise. The more he read, the more he didn’t like it.

What in the world are they up to? he wondered.

When he read the NRO report on the group of Chinese freighters in Manzanillo, he nearly blew a gasket. There was no logical reason for the Chinese sending an army group to Mexico.

Why would the Mexican government allow the Chinese to offload such a large force in their territory?

McElroy stood up and immediately headed down to find the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He needed another opinion on this. Something wasn’t adding up.

The SecDef burst into General Austin Peterson’s office unannounced and walked over to the general, who was just finishing a phone call with someone. As Peterson placed the receiver down, McElroy shoved the latest summary from the national reconnaissance office in front of him.

Peterson nodded. “I was just on the phone with the defense attaché office in Mexico City. He told me that yesterday he was informed by his counterparts in the Mexican military that they had opted at the last minute to participate in this UN training exercise. He said the Chinese were going to practice deploying a large force to a ‘mock UN mission’ and would then go back home in a few months.”

It was clear to McElroy that these guys were up to something nefarious, but he wasn’t sure exactly what. “Something isn’t right with this UN force up there in Canada. I understand the Canadians are big participants in the UN and all, but this is an awful lot of foreign troops all showing up in Canada for a ninety-day training exercise—and now this sudden participation by Mexico and the appearance of Chinese soldiers on our southern border? The DIA just sent over a report last night that said two additional German airwings arrived at CFB Bagotville while three Russian airwings arrived at CFB Cold Lake. What is going on up there in Canada, General? Since when did NATO members allow Russian and Chinese air force units to take up residence at their military installations?” demanded McElroy.

“I wonder if it has something to do with this,” said General Peterson. He plopped a four-day-old newspaper down on the desk. It had been folded over to a story a few pages back and was accompanied by a picture of Senator Marshall Tate shaking hands with the UN Secretary-General Johann Behr during the Senator’s visit to New York earlier in the week.

Suddenly it all made sense. McElroy had the most sickening feeling start to set in. He picked up the paper and quickly read through the article. “You don’t think all of this is because of the Senator, do you?”

“I don’t have enough information to make that assessment yet, but it does seem ironic that a massive UN training exercise just happened to be taking place in Canada right around the time of our presidential election. It’s even more coincidental that all three of the nations being implicated in this foreign interference of our election also have substantial numbers of forces participating in this training exercise.”

“How big is that UN force right now?” asked McElroy.

Furrowing his forehead, General Peterson looked for a report somewhere on his desk. After finding what he was looking for, he quickly scanned through it until he spotted the information he was seeking on the second page.

“From what we’ve been told, there were forty-two nations participating in the exercise. In all, the participating members sent roughly 68,000 soldiers to the exercise. However, if we factor in this new Chinese force, it probably brings their numbers closer to 100,000. Plus, they have a lot of their combat equipment and dozens of fighter wings present, so it’s not just ground soldiers,” Austin said as he read from the INTSUM before him.

The wheels began to spin inside McElroy’s head, and he sat there for a moment, not saying anything. Then he looked up at Austin. “How did we manage to allow such a substantial multinational force to assemble so close to our border without us even participating in it to keep tabs on what they’re doing?”

Peterson snickered. “How many UN operations has the President let us participate in since he took office?”

The SecDef shook his head. “Good point.”

“Still, what are we going to do about it?” McElroy asked. “I mean, what if Senator Tate and company met with the UN leader to ask for his help? They have a freaking army of nearly 100,000 soldiers carrying out a training exercise in Canada for crying out loud.”

“I don’t know, sir,” General Peterson replied. “As long as they stay in Canada and Mexico and don’t look to be moving toward our border, I wouldn’t be too concerned. That said, I think it might be wise for us to go ahead and put a few contingency plans in place in case we suddenly have to shift some forces around. I think our show of force with our fighters on election day put a real damper on whatever they were trying to do because they haven’t flown a single fighter within fifty miles of our border since then. They’ve mostly stayed way up north at their fighter training base at CFB Cold Lake, way out in the middle of nowhere.”

The SecDef nodded. “You’re probably right, General. I don’t want to spook the President any more than he already is. Do you believe we should move the country back to DEFCON five or stay on four?”

They had already moved the country down a level two days after the election, once it was clear there were no further terrorist attacks. The increased defense setting had placed a lot of military units on alert and grounded civilian air travel for forty-eight hours.

“Until we know for certain what’s going on up there in Canada, I say we leave it at four,” Peterson directed. “We can come down to peacetime levels once everything with the election is finally sorted and that force begins to head back to their member states. Speaking of elections—what are we going to do about the East and West Coasts? I’ve heard grumblings that the governors in Washington State, Oregon, New York and a few other states are considering activating their National Guards to prevent Homeland Security from moving forward with the January fourth election.”

McElroy sighed. The rumor mill had really started to run amok. “I’ve heard the same reports. I talked with Patty over at Homeland and Malcolm over at DOJ. They said some of the local FBI and Homeland offices in those states have been getting a lot of harassing calls from the public and some of the state government workers. Patty was telling me that she heard from some FBI agents that the California State Police might be ordered to remove them from the state. I have no idea how they believe they can do that, but I wouldn’t put anything past Governor Lawson. The man believes California is the model for the rest of the country, so Lord only knows how far he’d be willing to push things.”

“I’d like to see him force the issue at our bases,” Peterson said, crossing his arms. “What’s he going to do, have the state police show up at Pendleton and tell the Marines to go somewhere else?” He shook his head. “I just don’t see the point. Unless these guys are willing to start a shooting war, we’re going to have a new election on January fourth. They need to be focused on turning out their voters and not trying to foster an insurrection.”

While the two of them were talking, an aide walked in. “Excuse me, sirs,” he said, clearly a little out of breath. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s apparently a big announcement being made in New York right now by Senator Tate and Congressman Borq that you should both hear.”

The aide walked over, grabbed the TV remote and changed the screen over to the press conference that was clearly well underway.

“President Sachs lost the election,” Congressman Borq said. “Instead of accepting that loss, he has ginned up an elaborate excuse. Five of the US circuit courts have ruled that he lost and that he does not have the constitutional authority to change the date and time of the election—only Congress has that authority. Furthermore, when the President was given a lawful court order that he disagreed with, he declared martial law and suspended the court ruling through executive fiat.

“Just the other day, when I was meeting with President Sachs at the White House, he told me that if Congress and the state governments didn’t get on board with his new election in January, he would declare those states in open insurrection against the federal government. He would issue arrest orders for sedition and treason to any governor who failed to adhere to his orders. Just yesterday, more than thirty congressional members of the Democratic caucus were arrested on charges of sedition and are even now being held in federal custody by the FBI because they moved to file a resolution to impeach the President.”

General Peterson shot McElroy a nervous glance.

“President Sachs, through martial law, has essentially made himself a dictator,” Congressman Borq continued, “an American emperor answerable to no one. That is not how our government is supposed to function. As the Speaker of the House, I will not stand for this. However, I am powerless to do anything about it because, under martial law, Congress only has the authority to advise, not consent to whatever it is the President does.

“It is with a heavy heart that I stand here today with our true President-Elect, Senator Marshall Tate, and ask that the United Nations consider a motion to censure President Sachs and to demand that he relinquish power to President-Elect Tate come January 20th. No one wants a conflict, but President Sachs is steering our country on that dangerous course. I call on all Americans to voice your concerns to your elected officials and demand President Sachs accept the results of the November election and recognize Senator Marshall Tate as our next president.”

“Holy crap—he’s going to start a civil war,” McElroy muttered, more to himself than anyone else in the room.

“I have a bad feeling about this UN force, Chuck,” announced Peterson. “I think we’d better start chopping some orders to get some forces moved around. We may need to deal with some of these governors. We’d also better work on getting these state National Guard units federalized ASAP. We need them reporting to us, not the governors.”

“I have to call the President,” said McElroy. “We need to get over to the White House and figure out what we’re going to do.”

The two of them gathered up some of their notes and other items they thought they might need and headed over to the helipad. There wasn’t time to wade through Washington traffic; they needed to get to the White House as fast as humanly possible.

*******

Washington, D.C.

White House

Situation Room

“What the heck are they doing, Chuck?” demanded the President.

“I think they’re trying to box us into a corner, Mr. President,” explained the SecDef. “We either yield to their demands or they’re going to push for a conflict.”

The FBI Director quickly added, “I’ve been receiving calls from all the field offices in roughly twenty states. They are being told that they have forty-eight hours to vacate the state—all the agents and their families. If they don’t, they’re being told that they will be forcibly removed by the state police or local law enforcement.”

Patty Hogan from Homeland chimed in. “We’ve gotten the same calls. Our ICE, DEA, ATF, and other Homeland offices are being told the same information. It looks like they’re going after all of the federal law enforcement agencies at once.”

“This is ludicrous!” shouted Malcolm Wright, the Attorney General. He slapped his hand on the table in frustration. “You need to declare these states in open insurrection and suspend the Posse Comitatus Act immediately. You also need to federalize their National Guard units. We can use them to put this insurrection down and arrest these treasonous bastards.”

General Peterson held his hand up. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Let’s work on federalizing their guard units and getting them on our side first before we look to suspend the PCA and try to bring in federal troops. Once we cross that Rubicon, there’s no going back. We need to keep these guard units and the general population on our side, not theirs.”

The President nodded. “Thank you for that, General. You’re right, of course. Please move ahead with getting the guard units federalized, and we’ll take it from there. I don’t want this to spiral out of control or turn into an armed conflict. We all need to tread carefully here. A single incident could set things off in a direction none of us want to see. As to the UN, I want our ambassador to do what he can to block whatever resolution the UN tries to push through. Also, let them know that we’re watching that UN training exercise closely. Remind them that invading America is not as easy as they may think.”

“I don’t think anyone is talking about the UN invading America,” McElroy stated cautiously. “I think they’re going to issue some sort of resolution condemning you, but I don’t think they’d be foolish enough to think they can use that peacekeeping army they are training. Our little show of force with the Air Force a few weeks ago was a good reminder to them to not mess with us.”

The President sighed. He didn’t want to admit that the SecDef was right, but he usually did a pretty good job of keeping his notorious temper in check. “OK, everyone. You all have your orders,” Sachs said. “Let’s reconvene tomorrow with some updates and hope that somehow we can avert whatever crisis appears to be teeing up.”

Chapter 27

Ultimatum

Ottawa, Canada

Flanked by the Canadian PM, the President of France, the Chancellor of Germany, the President of the EU, and nearly a dozen other European leaders, Johann Behr stepped up to the microphone to make the most important speech of the twenty-first century. The crowd began to hush, and dozens of cameras flashed as he took to the podium.

“People of the world, and more importantly, people of America—we must stand together in times of strife and adversity. We must continue to stand up for what we believe is right, even when what we believe is right is not popular. In the 1930s, the world stood by as a madman—a madman that, I might add, was duly elected by his people—came to power in Germany. Within a handful of years, he moved the country away from democracy and became a dictator. It is a sad part of my home nation’s history, and it is something my country has been atoning for ever since.”

He paused for a moment. “Four years ago, America elected a man to office with no political experience to fix the ills of the nation and return it to its former greatness. That man has blamed America’s ills on a myriad of nations and groups of people. He has withdrawn America from the treaties designed to save our planet from environmental catastrophe. That man has also diminished America’s support and commitment to NATO and largely withdrawn the United States’ military from Europe. Sachs has supported and praised the dictatorship regimes flourishing in the Middle East, and in Asia. He has now moved to make himself an American dictator, a leader answerable to no one. Sachs lost his reelection but rather than accept that loss, he has found a way to lay blame for that loss on China, Russia, and even my own home nation of Germany.”

Secretary-General Behr shook his head. “No, my friends. We cannot allow this to happen. Not again. Not on our watch. In 1930s Germany, the world did not have the internet; we did not have social media to raise the alarm to what was taking place in Germany before it was too late. Now that we do, we can’t allow the same thing to happen again, less than a hundred years later. The world can’t be held hostage to the political choices of the 28 percent of Americans who vote in your primary elections. The world cannot be held hostage by your electoral college that disproportionally discounts the value of a vote in the most populous states in your country by those in smaller states. The world can’t afford to stand by and allow a dictator to take the reins of power in your country and control your nuclear arsenal. As the Secretary-General of the United Nations, I call on everyday Americans to stand up to tyranny and know that the rest of the world stands with you. We support you.”

Johann paused as he looked to the other world leaders flanking him before he returned his gaze back to the cameras. “Congressman Borq, the Speaker of the House, has expressed to me that he believes President Sachs is going to mobilize the National Guard and potentially suspend a law that prevents him from using federal soldiers on American soil to arrest his political opposition and imprison those who disagree with him.

“Because of this credible fear and threat of political reprisals, the Canadian government has offered President-Elect Marshall Tate and his political supporters safe haven in Canada while they prepare to form their government, free from the threat of imprisonment by President Sachs. Furthermore, President-Elect Tate has requested that if President Sachs does not relinquish power and leave office on January 20th, 2021, a coalition, under the authority of the UN, be sent to Washington, D.C., to forcefully remove him from office if need be. After consultation with many of the key contributing nations to our recently created permanent UN peacekeeping force, we have all agreed to support President-Elect Tate’s request.”

Even through the TV cameras, the gasps from the reporters in the crowd were audible.

Behr ignored the reaction. “Effective immediately, we are establishing a UN peacekeeping mission called Operation Restore Order, which will work with President-Elect Tate to assume control of the US government and restore order to the major cities and states within the country. I want to stress that this is a peacekeeping mission; this is not some UN invasion of America or an attempt by the UN to establish some sort of One World government. This is a mission to restore order to America and return its government back to the people.

“The Prime Minister of Canada has offered to have his nation lead this force and has offered its ports and other facilities to the UN to be used as needed for this mission. I also spoke with the leaders of China and the European Union, who have said they will provide the funding necessary to support this peacekeeping mission and any expenses it may incur.”

He paused again. “Had the world taken this kind of action in the 1930s, the world could have prevented a madman from taking control of Germany and leading the globe into the greatest conflict and loss of life of the twentieth century. We cannot stand by and allow that to happen again. With that, I’m going to step aside and let President-Elect Marshall Tate say a few things to his fellow countrymen.”

Senator Tate walked up to Johann with a grim look on his face as the two of them shook hands briefly.

“I will keep my comments brief,” Tate began. “I call upon President Sachs to free America from martial law and accept the results of the election. My fellow Americans, I call upon each and every one of you to rally behind me and support my effort to restore our country’s democratic roots. Together, we can regain the freedom that makes the United States so great.”

*******

Washington, D.C.

White House

President Sachs sat there in the Situation Room with his senior advisors as they watched the UN press briefing continue to unfold in stunned shock.

“Turn it off. We’ve seen enough,” barked the President to the person controlling the monitor.

Once the screen had been silenced, Sachs turned to his advisors. “What do we do now?”

The Attorney General leaned forward. “We have to act. Tate and those who are backing him have pushed for a conflict from the get-go. We have undeniable proof that the Chinese paid these postal workers to steal absentee and mail-in ballots. We have proof of Russian influence campaigns on social media throughout the election. We have proof that German intelligence, or at least factions within their government, provided the terrorists with the fake passports to gain entry into our country. Now, even despite having presented that proof in court, to the American people, and to Congress, we have people in both parties that will not accept it.”

Sachs interrupted, “That’s not entirely true, Malcolm. Congresswoman Harriet Miller sided with us.”

“That’s true, but then her party deposed her with the support of nearly thirty Republican congressmen,” retorted Malcolm. He shook his head in disgust. “Something isn’t right with this, Mr. President. There has to be more behind all of this, because there is no way this is all just happening in the last three or four months. This is a global coup to remove you from office and insert a candidate of someone else’s choosing.”

“I don’t usually buy this conspiracy crap,” General Peterson said, “but I also don’t buy coincidences either. For nearly two years, the UN has been moving toward creating this permanent peacekeeping force. During that time, Canada has offered up their facilities to both train and house it. The Chinese—who’ve had a limited peacekeeping presence in the past—jumped all-in when it was announced. Of all countries, the Russians jumped on board with this, and God only knows why nearly all our NATO allies who used to perceive Russia as their most dangerous existential threat have welcomed them with open arms. Then this newly created peacekeeping force just so happens to assemble for its first-ever training exercise weeks before our presidential election. Now Mexico joins in at the last minute?”

The AG looked like he was about to speak, but Peterson held up his hand. “I’m not done yet. When we got hit with a terrorist attack, we traced the attackers back to the Balkans. We just happened to catch a lucky break and capture a Chinese citizen, who broke and admitted he was working for the Ministry of State Security, and we linked him to the very terrorist groups that attacked us. Then the countries that have always been friendly and cooperative with us suddenly turned on us when Germany, Russia and China applied pressure on them.

“Somehow, we’re supposed to believe all of this isn’t a coincidence? No, the AG is right. Something is afoul and someone or some group wants you, Mr. President, removed from office at all costs. I’ve been trying to do my best to stay on the sidelines, to not get involved in politics, but I’m not going to sit idly by and watch my nation be torn apart by a foreign power and then invaded by a UN peacekeeping army.”

The president quickly pounced on his comment. “What are you suggesting we do, General? I feel like no matter what decision I make at this point, there is no win. I don’t want to see people hurt or killed, but what can we do to stop this madness from spiraling out of control?”

General Peterson took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out. “We prepare for war. We prepare to fight for our country and everything it stands for. Everyone in this room knows you’re not a dictator. You’ve done everything you can to stop these terrorists and protect our nation. You’ve brought this conspiracy to the courts, to the American people, and to our political parties. You’ve been transparent in this process, yet forces beyond our control have continued to circumvent every attempt we’ve made at a peaceful resolution to this constitutional crisis. At this point, I believe that a conflict is exactly what this cabal has wanted from the beginning—a chance to invade our country with at least some support from our own people.

“I recommend that we issue our own ultimatum to the UN. We tell them that if they attempt to step foot on US soil, they will be met with force. We also tell Canada that effective immediately, we are going to enforce a blockade of any additional military forces from Europe or Asia bound for Canada. We will not allow their nation, their facilities, to be a springboard from which to attack America.”

Placing his hand on the general’s arm, McElroy said, “General, you’ve provided some good counsel and advice, but this is a political decision that needs to be made by those of us appointed by the President and confirmed by the Senate.”

General Peterson bowed slightly, as if ceding the floor to the others in the room.

“The SecDef is right,” Sachs agreed. “This is a political decision that needs to be decided by us, not the military. I mean no disrespect when I say this, but I would like to clear the room and just have the AG, Homeland, FBI, and secretaries of State and Defense stay behind. We have a lot to discuss. I’d like the rest of you to please excuse yourselves at this time. You can go up to the kitchen and grab some food or take a smoke break, but stay close. When we’ve decided what to do next, we’ll call you all back in here, so we can go over the decision.”

The room cleared quickly, leaving just the President with his closest advisors.

Patty Hogan spoke first. “The general’s right. We have to move quickly on this. Things are going to spiral out of control quickly now. Hell, there’s probably rioting already taking place in some of the cities.”

“Chuck, you’re the military man. What do you propose we do?” asked the President. “How do we handle this without creating a world war?”

McElroy grimaced. “General Peterson’s right. I don’t know how our intelligence agencies missed this or how we didn’t see this coming, but clearly, there’s been a concerted global scheme in place for some time to remove you from office. When everything else had failed and your support among the people stayed strong, this group moved forward with a more direct plan to get rid of you. Now that we know what their endgame is, and how they plan to achieve it, we can move to squash it.”

The FBI Director interjected, “I’ve had to do an emergency evacuation of nearly 1,500 FBI agents and their families from twenty different states in the last twenty-four hours. Things are already getting out of control in the major cities and this speech the UN leader and Senator Tate just gave is throwing gasoline on the fire. You need to deploy either the National Guard to regain control or send in the regular Army.”

“How many of these National Guard units are going to be loyal to the federal government versus their home states, though?” asked Patty. “I’ve already had a mutiny of over a thousand federal law enforcement agents across a collection of agencies within DHS that said they will not recognize me as the DHS Secretary or you as President come January 20th.”

The FBI Director’s mouth was agape. “When did this happen?” he asked nervously. “What did you tell them when they told you this?”

“First thing this morning,” Patty replied. “It’s why I think this whole thing is nothing more than a conspiracy to get rid of Sachs. As to what I did with them—I had them put on administrative leave while I work to get them fired.” She puffed her chest out a bit, proud of her decisive action.

The President shook his head in dismay. “Let’s go ahead and get the National Guards mobilized, along with the Reserves. If we’re going to use the Guard, then we need to make sure we shift them around. We can’t have Florida National Guard units patrolling or guarding facilities in Florida. I want them sent to different states and cities if we’re going to use them in a civilian law enforcement capacity. Let’s also do our best to make sure we keep the National Guard focused on law enforcement while we keep the federal soldiers ready to deal with this UN force.”

Sachs shifted in his seat. “Chuck, talk to me about how’d we’d enforce a blockade of this UN force. My understanding is that some of these nations have naval ships participating in this exercise. What are we going to do if say the Germans or Chinese assign warships to protect troop transports or freighters trying to bring more soldiers and equipment to Canada?”

“We warn them to turn around and back off,” McElroy responded matter-of-factly. “It’s not like any of these nations’ navies can really stand up to us in a shooting war. We have eleven carrier strike groups plus our marine amphibious assault ships. If that wasn’t enough, we have fifty attack submarines, another four guided missile subs and fourteen boomers. If we want to blockade Canada, there isn’t a thing the rest of the world’s navies can do to stop us.

“Saying all of that, though, I recommend we immediately pull our overseas forces back to the US, especially our forces stationed in Europe and Asia. If this turns ugly, we aren’t going to be able to support or help any of our overseas bases should they get attacked and I don’t want any of our boys being trapped or forced into a bad situation—especially in Asia with China.”

“You mean pull the remaining forces we have out of South Korea and Japan?” Sachs asked skeptically.

The SecDef nodded. “The South Koreans can take care of themselves, especially now that the North Korean situation has been handled. While the Japanese are not participating in this UN peacekeeping force, I don’t want our forces there being targeted by the Chinese or the Japanese being put in the situation where they’d have to intern our forces for fear of a Chinese attack.”

Sachs shook his head. “It’s practically December, Chuck. How are we going to evacuate our people from Japan, Korea and Europe before January 20th?”

“We have a pretty big sea and airlift capability, Mr. President. As long as the Brits don’t side with this nonsense, we’ll be all right. We can use our bases there to help with the logistics in Europe. As to Asia: again, Japan isn’t part of this UN charade, so we shouldn’t have problems from the Japanese.”

The President caught the Secretary of State staring off into space, deep in her own thoughts. “Haley, do you have any thoughts on how we should proceed? You’ve been rather quiet.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I was stewing on what General Peterson said about all these coincidences happening, all conveniently around the time of our presidential election. Sir, these countries that we’ve linked to either the terrorist attacks or the election interference all have a couple of things in common.”

“What’s that?” asked the AG.

“They’ve all either been targeted with sanctions by you or have been forced to accept new or revised trade deals that have cost them dearly,” the Secretary of State explained. “Prior to you becoming President, China had an annualized economic growth of 9 percent for nearly fifteen years. In the last four years, that growth has been cut down to 4 percent. They’ve gone from having $635.4 billion a year in trade and a $375.6 billion trade surplus with the US to $440 billion in trade and a surplus of $180 billion. They’ve lost hundreds of billions of dollars in trade with us, and it’s hurt them economically. The technology sanction you imposed has also completely cut them out of the 5G market in the US. That alone cost them probably close to two or three trillion dollars in revenue over the next ten years.”

“I can see that angle with the Chinese, but where do the Germans, French or Russians fit into this?” asked Patty.

“China, Russia and France are all permanent members of the UN Security Council,” Secretary of State Kagel explained. “As to Germany, they essentially run the EU—well, them and France. Your trade policies have curtailed the EU significantly and your withdrawal from the Paris Climate Accord really turned the Europeans off. They really feel like you’ve doomed the world to an unstoppable climate disaster. Let’s also not forget that Johann Behr was the German Foreign Minister before he became the UN Secretary-General.”

Sachs leaned in. “You really think all of this turmoil being created in our country is over money and trade? Retribution for me putting America’s interest first instead of the world’s?”

Secretary Kagel nodded. “I do. I know that may be hard to accept, Mr. President, but you’re not from the world of politics or intelligence. You’ve upset the global apple cart. These are powerful forces you’ve gone against.”

“It’s just money—they can always make more,” Sachs shot back angrily.

Kagel shook her head. “It’s not just about money, Mr. President. It’s about power; it’s about regime survival and shaping the future. Your energy policies are crushing the Russians. They’re a petrol state, a one-resource economy that now has to compete against American shale and natural gas resources that they can’t even imagine. In Germany and France, they are so heavily burdened by their nanny state policies that your new trade deal with Britain after they left the EU really undercut their trade balances.

“The Germans have been supporting most of Europe for nearly two decades; that new trade deal you rammed down their throats is going to hurt them. Then there’s China—all the Chinese care about is regime survival. They have over 1.6 billion people—that’s 1.6 billion people that are consuming more resources than they can possibly grow or mine themselves. Then you factor in the trade deals that have laid off tens of millions of people and the regime is facing the reality of massive protests and food riots. They can’t survive another decade if you balance our trade deficit with them or cut them off from being able to steal our technology.”

She let out a sigh. “I hate to say it, Mr. President, but, yes, it is all about money, trade, and most importantly, power.”

Sachs stared at the ceiling for a moment.

All I wanted to do was protect our people and give the little guy a fair shake, he thought.

“OK. Let’s assume that’s what this is about,” the President said. “Who can we count on as allies right now?”

Secretary Kagel leaned forward. “Right now, I’d say no one. I think the UK is going to sit on the sidelines and see how this plays out. That’s probably a good thing because if the Labour government was in power, they’d probably be jumping on board with this UN peacekeeping nonsense. I’d like to say most of Eastern Europe is probably on our side, but they won’t get involved militarily. They’ll offer tacit support, but they’ll look to stay out of it. The Middle East…that’s going to become a mess. Unless the Israelis work something out with the Saudis and the Egyptians, they’re going to be on their own. In Asia, Japan and South Korea will look to sit things out. Neither of those nations want to draw the ire of China, especially when they know they won’t be able to rely on us to help them because we’ll be bogged down dealing with our own problems here. For the moment, Mr. President, I’d say we’re on our own.”

The SecDef nodded. “We need to focus on using the oceans to our advantage. While this UN force in Canada is a threat, we can isolate them with our Navy. Once we cut them off from their supply lines in Europe and Asia, we’ll be able to pick them apart. I can’t see this confrontation lasting more than a few weeks if we’re forced to actually fight.”

“OK, then, let’s bring the others back in and formulate a plan to get things rolling. If these turncoat allies want to play hardball, then let’s show them what’s what.”

He turned to the Secretary of State. “Haley, tomorrow I want you to announce our withdrawal from NATO, as well as our withdrawal from the Five Eyes. I want everyone cut off from our shared intelligence apparatus. I also want the NSA completely turned loose on the rest of the world. I want to know what every government is saying, thinking, and planning to do to us.”

He shifted to face the Secretary of Defense. “Chuck, order our Navy, air and ground forces from around the world back home. Do it as quickly as possible, too. I don’t want our guys to get stuck should these countries decide to play hardball with our withdrawal.”

McElroy nodded and mumbled, “This is going to create one heck of a power vacuum around the world.”

“Forget them. The world’s been playing us long enough. We’re bringing our forces home. If these UN turncoats decide they want a fight, then we’ll give them a fight they won’t soon forget.” Sachs slammed his fist on the table.

The President looked at McElroy, the man who’d have to execute his orders. A wicked grin began to spread across his face.

“Yes, Mr. President,” he said.

From the Authors

Miranda and I hope you’ve enjoyed this first book in our Second American Civil War Series. The next book, Peacekeepers, is already available for preorder. Simply click on the link here to reserve your copy.

While you are waiting for the next book to be released, we do have several audiobooks coming out. The first four books of the Red Storm Series have been released: Battlefield Ukraine, Battlefield Korea, Battlefield Taiwan, and Battlefield Pacific. The last two books are still in production as of the publishing of this book but will be released soon. We did hit a snag with the production of the last audiobook in the World War III series, but we are in the process of recasting for that book as well.

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You may also enjoy some of our other works. A full list can be found below:

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Iraq Memoir 2006–2007 Troop Surge

Interview with a Terrorist

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World War III Series

Prelude to World War III: The Rise of the Islamic Republic and the Rebirth of America

Operation Red Dragon and the Unthinkable

Operation Red Dawn and the Invasion of America

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Traitors Within

The Red Storm Series

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Battlefield Korea

Battlefield Taiwan

Battlefield Pacific

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My Daddy has PTSD

For the Veterans

I have been pretty open with our fans about the fact that PTSD has had a tremendous direct impact on our lives; it affected my relationship with my wife, job opportunities, finances, parenting—everything. It is also no secret that for me, the help from the VA was not the most ideal form of treatment. Although I am still on this journey, I did find one organization that did assist the healing process for me, and I would like to share that information.

Welcome Home Initiative is a ministry of By His Wounds Ministry, and they run seminars for veterans and their spouses for free. The weekends are a combination of prayer and more traditional counseling and left us with resources to aid in moving forward. The entire cost of the retreat—hotel costs, food, and sessions, are completely free from the moment the veteran and their spouse arrive at the location.

If you feel that you or someone you love might benefit from one of Welcome Home Initiative’s sessions, please visit their website to learn more: https://welcomehomeinitiative.org/

We have decided to donate a portion of our profits to this organization, because it made such an impact in our lives and we believe in what they are doing. If you would also like to donate to Welcome Home Initiative and help to keep these weekend retreats going, you can do so by following this link: https://welcomehomeinitiative.org/donate/

Abbreviation Key

AG              Attorney General

BND             Bundesnachtrichtendienst (German intelligence agency)

BRAC           Base Realignment and Closure

CG              Commanding General

COCOM         Combatant Command

CONUS         Contiguous States

CPA             Certified Public Accountant

CR              Continuing Resolution

DEVGRU       US Naval Special Warfare Development Group (SEAL Team Six)

DoD             Department of Defense

DOJ             Department of Justice

EO              Executive Order

HQ              Headquarters

HRT             Hostage Rescue Team

ID              Identification

IED             Improvised Explosive Device

ISB             Islamic State of Bosnia

ISK             Islamic State of Kosovo

ISS             Islamic State in Serbia

IT              Information Technology

J2              Intelligence Officer

J3              Operations Chief

JSOC           Joint Special Forces Operations Command

JWICS                  Joint Worldwide Intelligence Communications System

KFOR           Kosovo Forces

KHS             Kosova Hacker’s Security

KIA             Killed in Action

MANPAD       Man-Portable Air-Defense Systems

MMO             Massive Multiplayer Online

MUP             Serbian Ministry of Internal Affairs

NCO             Noncommissioned Officer

NMCC           National Military Command Center

NORAD         North American Air Defense Command

NRO             National Reconnaissance Office

NSA             National Security Advisor OR National Surveillance Agency

ODA             Operational Detachments-A (“A-Teams”)

OGA             Other Government Agency (CIA)

ORA             Other Reporting Agency (refers to CIA members who are not on official cover)

ORCON         Originator Controls Dissemination and/or Release of the Document (US government classification control, which means that you must ask the person who provided the information to you for permission to disseminate it further)

PMC             Private Military Contractor

QRF             Quick Reaction Force

RAF             Royal Air Force

RNC             Republican National Convention

RSO             Regional Security Officer

SAC             Special Agent-in-Charge

SAD             Special Activities Division

SCIF           Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility

SF              Special Forces

SG              Secretary-General

SIGINT       Signals Intelligence

SITREP       Situation Report

SOCOM         Southern Command

SSE             Sensitive Site Exploitation

SVTC           Secured Video Teleconference

TDY             Temporary Duty

TEDAC         Terrorist Explosive Device Analytical Center

WTO             World Trade Organization

UK              United Kingdom

[1] https://foreignpolicy.com/2017/06/09/the-thucydides-trap/amp/

Table of Contents

The Thucydides Trap

Prologue

Chapter 1: Beginnings of Mischief

Chapter 2: Electronic Misbehavior

Chapter 3: Election Shenanigans

Chapter 4: Unconventional Warfare

Chapter 5: Social Call

Chapter 6: Election Preparations

Chapter 7: United Nations Mandate

Chapter 8: Chaos

Chapter 9: Trojan Horse

Chapter 10: Dynamic Raid

Chapter 11: Going Postal

Chapter 12: Dominos Falling

Chapter 13: Raider-One, Raider-Two

Chapter 14: Thunderclouds

Chapter 15: Supreme Court

Chapter 16: Race Against Time

Chapter 17: Birth of a New World Order

Chapter 18: Fate of the Republic

Chapter 19: Election Day

Chapter 20: Post-Election Meltdown

Chapter 21: Election Interference

Chapter 22: Power Grab

Chapter 23: Martial Law

Chapter 24: Homecoming

Chapter 25: Negotiation

Chapter 26: Global Interference

Chapter 27: Ultimatum

From the Authors

For the Veterans

Abbreviation Key