President Orren Harris looked up from his daily briefing paperwork and removed the round, Truman-esque glasses from his face. “You want to run that by me again?” he asked, leaning back in his simple desk chair. After six months, he had still not requested funds to finish furnishing the new Oval Office in the Underground. He swore an oath to the American people that he would put his own creature comforts last and not worry about the way the Oval Office looked until the new Capitol and White House was reestablished on the surface, in Denver.
“Sir, Senator Tecumseh is missing.”
The president stood, placing both hands flat on his desk. He leaned toward his chief of staff. “Is this verified? What do the British have to say about it?”
“There’s some kind of disturbance going on in Edinburgh.”
“Someone’s trying to disrupt the summit?” asked the president.
His chief of staff nodded. “Our British counterparts are still trying to sort things out, but it appears to be some sort of concentrated attack on the Scottish National Parliament Building. The situation is very much dynamic at the moment, sir.”
The president picked up his glasses and stepped away from the desk, examining a map of the world displayed on the screen behind him. “Do we know who’s behind it?”
“We have some theories,” the chief of staff said, shuffling through stacks of paperwork in his hand.
“I’m not interested in theories, George. If we don’t have facts, then tell me what your gut says.”
“The Council.”
The president turned and arched an eyebrow. “I was led to believe we had pretty much wiped them off the face of the earth. How is this possible?”
Chief of Staff Revellue nodded. “Your coalition has met with astounding success, sir, there’s no denying that. Our allies in Europe have done a fine job dismantling the rest of the Council’s network. But they’re still very much alive and well in Asia and the Southeast Pacific. We’re doing our best, but China is still suffering in the grips of the flu and they’ve never been one to cooperate with us. Especially not with the North Korean crisis.”
“You’re telling me there some sort of East Asian influence in all this?” the president said, turning back to the map.
“Not necessarily, sir,” Revellue replied cautiously. “NSA has picked up some interesting transmissions. Highly encrypted, utilizing sourcing we’ve only seen one other time.”
The president put his hands on his hips. “Well, don’t keep me waiting; spit it out already.”
“Jayne Renolds.”
President Harris stared for a second, but not at Revellue. He slowly sank into his chair, exhaling. “Jayne Renolds,” he whispered, as if the name itself might invoke the bogeyman. “So she’s finally come out of hiding, has she?”
“We have no hard proof of it, but my hunch is…yes.”
The president drummed his fingers on the big desk, thinking. After a long moment, in which his chief of staff shifted his weight on his feet several times, the commander-in-chief finally spoke up. “It makes sense. She would have the most to gain in all of this. We already know of the Council’s involvement with North Korea—we just don’t have the proof we can take to the U.N. yet.”
Chief of Staff Revellue nodded. “And because of that, we have no way of legally delaying the vote, short of using our veto power.”
President Harris shook his head. “I seem to recall you telling me that would be a terrible move, under the circumstances.”
“I think those were my exact words, sir, yes.” The chief of staff frowned. “If they can disrupt this vote, it will essentially force our hand.”
The president grunted. “Shit or get off the pot—I get it.”
“Taking out a sitting United States Senator.…that goes a bit beyond the pale though, doesn’t it?”
The president frowned. “I have learned that nothing goes beyond the pale with that bitch. She killed a President of the United States.”
“The illegal president of the United States.”
Harris glanced up at his chief of staff. “George, the legality of Barron’s term in office is something for scholars to argue. We damn near had an outright shooting civil war because of her. As far as the American people are concerned, Barron was legitimate.” He shook his head. “How the hell it got that far I’ll never know, but there it is. I’m not going to waste time arguing technicalities and whether or not he was actually constitutionally appointed or not…it’s behind us,” he said, waving one gnarled hand. “The man’s dead, his family’s dead—let them rest in peace. However…the woman who killed him…”
Chief of Staff Revellue flipped open a folder. “We’ve already got her at the top of our Most Wanted list. The current manhunt makes the one for bin Laden look like someone searching for a lost child in a supermarket…”
“Whatever it takes, she must be brought to justice.” President Harris rubbed a hand across his jaw. “But Senator Tecumseh worries me. He’s one of the new bloods…a celebrity.”
“Not to mention one of your chief supporters.”
“I assure you, I’m well aware of that fact,” the president mumbled. “Beyond all that, he’s a good man. We need to do whatever we can to help him. Is there any indication that he’s been targeted specifically?”
“At this point, the British are being kind of closed-mouthed about it. We’ve re-tasked some satellites and picked up some disturbing images,” the chief of staff said, handing over a glossy 8 x 10 photograph.
The president adjusted his glasses and peered down at the photograph in his hands. “What am I looking at here? Looks like something off Google Maps.”
Revellue grunted. “In a way it is—Google uses the same kind of satellite. What you’re looking at is an extensive traffic accident. It just happened—perhaps less than an hour ago—we don’t have an exact timeframe, but the smoke indicates that the wreckage is fresh.”
“It looks like someone drove a dump truck through a building.”
“Near as we can tell,” Chief of Staff Revellue said, “that’s just about exactly what happened. But what interests NSA the most are the two vehicles across the street from that. See how one of them is smashed up against the building there and the other is parked at an oblique angle?”
“I do.”
The Chief of Staff nodded. “NSA analysts—and CIA agrees—that was set up to make a safe zone for survivors. They’ve taken a look at all the data we’ve been able to gather, and near as they can tell, there was definitely a gunfight here.”
“Then the dump truck ended it…I can see that.”
“The problem is, we don’t know who was where. Around the same time that the Scottish National Parliament building was locked down, the GPS trackers in the senator’s vehicle went offline.”
The president looked up from the pictures in his hands. “Then how can you be sure that these vehicles were part of his convoy?”
“Because about ten minutes ago, whatever device that had been jamming the GPS signals went offline itself. That vehicle right there,” Chief of Staff Revellue said, leaning over the desk to point at the black sedan parked next to the one crumpled against the wall, “is Senator Tecumseh’s vehicle. It appears the dump truck took out whatever device was jamming his GPS signal.”
“Was this by accident or chance?” asked the president, looking down at the photograph again.
“Impossible to tell sir. Without feet on the ground, we’re forced to allow the Brits to spoon-feed us on this one.”
“How soon can we have someone over there?”
“State is still working out the details, but I have an FBI special forensics unit on hand and ready to go.”
“Send them,” the president said.
“But sir, State says—”
“I know what the State Department says—they want us to wait and talk through everything, they want us to be patient, with this vote coming up we’ve got to cross our ’T’s and dot our ‘I’s…I know.” The president put the photographs down. “But I also know a sitting member of the United States Senate has come under attack, and could very well be dead. We don’t know where he’s at or what’s happened—and dammit, I’m going to find out. I am sick and tired of people taking shots at this country and this government. Send the forensic team.”
“Consider it done, sir,” Chief of Staff Revellue said, pulling out his cellphone.
“And while you’re at it, make it clear that we’re not afraid to send some muscle to back them up.”
“Muscle? Sir, we’re going to have to clear that through the British—”
“I understand, but get the ball rolling. I want the message received in London, loud and clear: if you can’t keep our people safe, then by God, we will.”