A number of nervous faces greeted the entry of an obviously upset VP. As the door slammed shut behind him, he took his seat at the head of the table. Present in the room were a number of presidential appointees, all loyal to the sitting President, but even more loyal to his likely successor, his Rottweiler and surrogate son, Andrew Russell. The VP looked at the attendees with contempt.
“Well?” he asked.
Each of the three attendees sat silently.
“Don’t just look at one another, somebody tell me how they’re going to sort out this fucking mess???!!!!” screamed Russell, slamming the table for effect.
Between the four attendees, they commanded pretty much every member of law enforcement and the military in the country but not one dared return Russell’s glare for fear he picked on them. Russell had, since the day he entered the Vice Presidents office, seven years earlier, rewritten the rule book for Vice Presidents. He was the President’s right hand man and more akin to a Chief of Staff than the normal media friendly political running mate. The President was a thinker, a grand plan dreamer, while Russell was a doer. Many had tried, during the first term, to gain the ear of the President and circumvent Russell; none had survived in politics to tell the tale. The second term had sealed Russell’s power and was, as the election neared, marginalizing the lame duck President for the likely succession of Russell.
Up until just a few months earlier, everything had been running to plan. He had been the natural choice for the republican nominee in the presidential race. That was until Charles Baker had been thrown into the ring. His liberal views were winning over many of the Republicans as they fought a closely contested fight for the Republican nomination. Russell had reached out and offered Baker the VP ticket but Baker had refused, saying ‘thanks but I’m going to give the big ticket a go.’ In the heartland, Russell was fine but on the coasts, Baker was trouncing him. It was close and for Russell, close was too close. Baker needed to be gone. Plans were in play that Baker would never allow to continue. Too much was at stake. The very future of America and her allies required Russell to be in power.
“Jesus, will one of you useless fucks tell me what happened?”
“We’re still trying to piece things together. As for Sam, we have no idea. Our men have gone off the radar. We have a satellite fly-past on Sam’s property in the next few minutes and hopefully that will give us something,” responded Johnson nervously. Turning to face Jim Gates, the Secretary of Homeland Security, he continued. “As for the Chairman, it seems a couple of Secret Service agents appeared and got to him before our operatives could.”
With over 200,000 staff dedicated to the protection of US citizens within the US, Homeland Security was the second most powerful department within the US Government after Defense and had within its remit the United States Secret Service.
“It seems you’re losing your touch, Jimmy boy,” added Johnson, delighted to push the blame for at least one cock-up elsewhere.
“Our operatives have confirmed they were set upon by a secret service agent who had, believe it or not, already fired upon her colleague.”
Russell turned to Gates. “Well?”
“Marx at the Service is surrounded by old guard,” responded Gates shrugging his shoulders. “If he gets a threat against a potential presidential candidate, he’d have to act. What can I say other than if we’d dealt with the brother, everything would have worked perfectly. That’s the problem,” he added, pushing the blame firmly back into Johnson’s court.
“Anyway, none of this solves the problem in hand. What are we going to do?” asked Russell.
“Gentlemen,” Henry Preston’s voice boomed across the room. The Director of National Intelligence was an imposing figure with an even more imposing voice. Glasses vibrated as his bass note tones resonated through the room. As he scrolled through his Blackberry, he continued. “Before we came into the room, I instructed each of the sixteen agencies within my control to leave no stone unturned in their search for Charles Baker. The cover story is that he has been taken against his will and is being held hostage, by a team of international assassins. Any sighting is to be reported to Homeland Security and will be dealt with at the highest level. That is, by us. A news blackout has been imposed, so you won’t hear anything. We’ve suggested Al Qaeda to ensure no reporter interferes. The Patriot Act is a truly wonderful thing. I have asked each department for half-hour updates.”
With every law enforcement and intelligence agency within the US reporting into him, Preston commanded a staggering force.
“It seems the fly-past has occurred and a detailed scan has been carried out on Sam Baker’s property. It’s not good gentlemen. In fact, far worse than any of us could have imagined.” Preston paused as he scrolled through the rest of the information on his Blackberry.
“Preston?” urged Russell.
“Sorry, a lot of techno gobbledygook, basically through various scans, X-ray, infra red etc… they’ve been able to locate a grave with three bodies and in the remnants of a charred cabin, three other remains.”
“Six remains. We only sent four guys,” interrupted Johnson.
“Hmm, this is where it gets a bit messy. In the cabin, two of the remains are adults but the third was an infant and from the comparisons, it looks as though it was just a baby.”
The room went silent as all four computed the information. Taking out a trained operative or even an innocent adult was one thing but a baby was not something even these four would take lightly.
“Oh and a dog,” added Preston. “They found the remains of a dog.”
“And they’re definitely all dead?” asked Gates, a distinct tremble in his voice giving away his feelings.
“I’m afraid so. The satellite can detect a heartbeat and all seven bodies are definitely deceased.”
“So it would appear we’ve killed his partner, wife or whatever, his child and his dog. And to his credit, he has already dealt with the imbeciles we sent to deal with him and him alone.” Russell’s voice rose with every word. He turned to Johnson.
“We agreed to take out the brother because you said it would solve a bigger problem in the long term.”
Johnson opened his mouth to interrupt Russell but a deadly look from Russell made it clear that would not be a good move.
“So far, going after the brother has resulted in two innocent deaths and the failure of the assassination of Charles Baker. It has been a total and complete disaster. Explain to me again why I listened to you?”
Johnson composed himself before he replied, Russell was not a man known for his patience. Whatever Johnson was about to say would potentially be the difference between him remaining in post or having to spend the next week looking over his back and around every corner, wondering how they were going to kill him. He had fucked up but he still believed taking Sam out was imperative; four highly trained killers were testament to that.
“Because you have to trust me when I say you want Sam Baker dead.”
“And why would that be?” asked Russell.
“Because if he were alive, he would not rest until he found his brother’s killers and eliminated each and every person involved. Including the four of us in here.”
“I am the Vice President of the United States of America and soon to be the President. We are talking about one man here. Get a grip Allan. What’s the big deal?”
“Because if I wanted to assassinate the President of the United States, he’d be the one man I’d turn to, to get the job done.”
The words hung in the air as each of the men digested exactly how highly the Director of the CIA regarded Sam Baker.
A rather less indignant Russell eventually spoke.
“So why the hell didn’t you send a better team to deal with him, four amateurs to kill an assassin, are you mad?”
“Of course not, I sent four ex-Special forces killers. They weren’t amateurs, anything but. That’s exactly why we needed to take him out!”
Before Russell could respond, his phone rang.
“Russell,” he announced as he answered the phone.
Gates, Johnson and Preston sat and watched as Russell’s demeanor instantly changed to that of a chastised child. After what seemed a lifetime, Russell spoke.
“Yes, Sir,” he replied and replaced the handset.
Visibly shaken, he turned to his audience. “Guys, I cannot emphasize enough how imperative it is that we find and eliminate the Bakers.”
All were interrupted by a knock at the door as Russell’s assistant entered the room.
“Sir, sorry to interrupt but I have the President holding on line 2. I just realized you had finished the other call.”
All three attendees looked at each other in shock, the question clear in each other’s faces. The VP had just called someone ‘Sir’. They had all assumed he had been talking to the President, the only person the Vice President was ever likely to call ‘Sir’. Who in the hell was pulling the strings and who were they working for?