Chapter 2

 

 

Presidential Transition Team Headquarters, Washington, DC

23 November 2016 – 1730 local

 

The president-elect flipped over the last page of the report. She let the page rest for a long moment before she turned back to the beginning and its blaring red classification header. She put it on top of the other intel summary reports in the stack.

She’d known al-Shabab was active, but not to this extent. While Islamic State or Daesh had grabbed all the headlines, al-Shabab was creating chaos in Kenya, Somalia, and the rest of Eastern Africa. If these reports were right, al-Shabab under the leadership of Ikrima was directly responsible for the deaths of over two hundred people in the last year alone—a fact barely mentioned in the Western press. A US drone strike in March 2016 had set them back, but with this Ikrima character still on the loose, al-Shabab was back in business within weeks.

“That’s quite a story, Jack,” she said. “It’s a wonder we’ve been able to keep it out of the news this long.” The report she’d just read was a wake-up call to the world she was about to face as president. While the 2016 election was coming down to the wire, her predecessor had tried a more direct approach to take out Ikrima. The SEAL raid on the al-Shabab compound not only failed, they’d pretty much gotten their asses handed to them. Four casualties, but no one killed, thank God.

“Yes, ma’am.” He’d sat there still as a piece of furniture for the last thirty minutes while she read the entire file. Thirty precious minutes in her transition team’s schedule was like a week in real life. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving and all she had off was an hour for dinner with her family.

This was the problem with actually winning an election. You never really knew for sure what you’d gotten yourself into until after you’d gotten yourself into it.

And those who wanted to do damage to America didn’t take time off for elections—or Thanksgiving.

A tension headache was building in that familiar spot at the base of her skull. She resisted the urge to close her eyes. No time for that now.

“So how about you tell me what’s not in the report, Jack?”

“Ma’am?” Retired Vice Admiral Jack Daugherty seemed genuinely surprised. He shifted in his chair, careful to keep the expensive charcoal-gray suit from hunching up around his shoulders.

He wears the suit like a uniform, she thought.

The president-elect placed her palms flat on the table and stared into Daugherty’s eyes. “We need to establish some ground rules, Jack. As my Director of National Intelligence, I need you to help me keep this country safe. Anybody can read a report. I need someone who can turn that report into action steps.” She paused and stood, waving for Daugherty to remain seated. Her back was killing her. She walked stiffly to the window where a bitter November rain streaked the glass. Low fog clung to the South Lawn of the White House.

“The challenges are overwhelming right now. We’ve got Putin mucking around in Ukraine, the Chinese are building islands in the South China Sea, Turkey is on the verge of collapse, and God knows if Iran will behave under the new nuclear agreement—at least that one’s up to them. Daesh or ISIS or whatever we’re calling them this week is making hay while the sun shines in Iraq and Syria. The one bright spot in all this mess was that we had al-Qaeda on the run . . . now you’re telling me that al-Shabab in Somalia is dropping al-Qaeda to form an alliance with Daesh? How many Somalis do we have in this country?”

“Approximately a hundred thousand, ma’am, but the majority have no connection with Somalia today—more than half of them were born here.”

“I’m sure Fox News and the Freedom Caucus in the House will share your confidence about our immigrant population, Jack. You and I know it only takes one bad actor—what do you guys call them?”

“HVEs—homegrown violent extremists.”

The president-elect returned to her chair. “So what’s it going to be, Jack? Do you have what it takes to be my DNI?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She studied him again and noted that he met her gaze without hesitation. He would do nicely. Far better than that snake the party wanted her to appoint for Secretary of Defense.

“Good. Then let’s have a real conversation, shall we? Let’s start with this report.” She picked it up and let it fall to the table with a slap. “What’s the moral of the story?”

“Application of force, ma’am,” the admiral replied. “We tried to do this op with the bare minimum of assets, relying on the element of surprise.”

“So what would you have recommended, Jack?”

“Overwhelming force. JSOC, air assault, recon teams in place prior, the full monty. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing it all the way, no pussyfooting around.”

She nodded. “I agree. What about this al-Shabab situation? Where’s the largest Somali population in this country?”

“Minneapolis, ma’am.” He hesitated. “That was also the site of the failed terrorist bombing in September, if you recall.”

Recall? How could she forget? A nuclear weapon on US soil. If that bomb had gone off, she probably wouldn’t be sitting in this chair right now. Thank God that never made the news cycle.

“Alright, Minneapolis and al-Shabab is as good a place as any to start.” She glanced at her watch. “You’ve got another ten minutes. Tell me what you want to do in the great American Midwest.”