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Camp David
14 February
2240 Local Time
“All right, ladies and gentlemen, their deadline is in twenty minutes. What do we know?” Vice President Johnson asked as the audience of cabinet members, senators, congressmen, aides and staffers filed into the conference room. He was standing in the center of the room as the men and women took their seats. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves after taking off his tie, a symbolic gesture Bradley had suggested to show the cabinet members that he was a man of action.
“Sir, we didn’t have very much time, but this is what we have so far,” Director of Central Intelligence Chapman said as he approached Johnson in the center of the room, carrying a folder. Johnson took the folder and sat down as he motioned for Chapman to continue.
“It’s not much, sir,” Chapman said, splitting his attention between the Vice President and the rest of the audience. “We identified five subjects in Gitmo for release and are awaiting your orders. None of these men have any known direct ties to The Islamic State of Uyghur. We used affiliations with East Turkistan Islamic Movement, Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan, and the Islamic Movement in Uzbekistan to narrow down to these men. All were captured in the current area of operations supporting ISIL.”
“Where are they now?” Johnson asked as he put on his reading glasses and thumbed through the dossiers.
“Standing by for transport, sir,” Chapman responded.
“Good,” Johnson replied. “What else have we found?”
“A few hours before the disappearance of Air Force One, PACTEK Systems in Honolulu received an unusual server message from their servers at Midway Island,” Chapman said as he read his notes. “The message came from a person that identified himself as Gary Graves stating that Midway was under attack and requesting the administrator call the Kadena Command Post. At the time, the administrator thought it was one of his coworkers playing a prank on him and did not notify anyone. Our cyber analysts picked it up just a few minutes ago.”
“Who is Gary Graves?” Johnson asked. He pushed his reading glasses to the top of his head.
Chapman flipped to the next page of his notes on the legal pad. “Master Sergeant Gary Graves assigned to the Fourth Fighter Wing at Kadena Air Force Base. He was part of a small maintenance package sent to recover an F-15D that had diverted into Henderson Airfield at Midway the day prior.”
Johnson rubbed his temples and let out an exhaustive sigh. “Are you telling me they have an F-15 fighter jet as well? Chaz?”
The Secretary of Defense stood. “It would appear so, sir. I don’t have the details of that particular aircraft, but I have confirmed with Director Chapman that Graves is legit.”
“So, we could have had warning about this potentially hours before?” Johnson asked.
“Sir, that’s not—”
“Enough,” Johnson said, cutting him off as he held up his slender fingers. “Now is not the time to worry about that. We only have a few minutes before the hour. Director Schultz, what do we know on the investigation?”
FBI Director Dave Schultz stood as the other men took their seats. He was an older man, balding with gray patches of hair on the sides of his wrinkled forehead. He cleared his throat as he gathered his thoughts.
“Mr. Vice President, it’s important to note that the investigative efforts are still in their infancy,” he began. “We have dedicated every available resource and all manpower to the attacks this morning and the on-going events in the Pacific.”
“Noted,” the Vice President said dismissively. “Now what do we know?”
“With the exception of the attack in Taiwan, every attack on U.S. military bases earlier today was carried out by indigenous personnel working as contractors. We are working on checking their banking information to see if they received any wire transfers that could lead us to a funding source,” Schultz said.
“What of the one in Taiwan?”
“Well, sir, that attempt was thwarted with the help of Taiwanese police forces and the Secret Service. The attacker in custody is a Taiwanese citizen. It is still very early in that interrogation process,” Schultz said. The Secret Service Director was still on her way to Camp David. He looked around hoping one of the senior agents she had sent in her place would intervene.
“Go on,” Johnson said, bringing him back into focus. “Hit the highlights, we don’t have much time here.”
“That’s all we know so far, sir,” Schultz replied. “My agents are currently executing search warrants on all of the crew of Air Force One to see what we can learn. I will brief you as I learn more.”
“Thank you, Director,” Johnson said, looking at his watch. “Chaz, give me the quick run down.”
“The U.S.S. Michael Murphy is still the closest U.S. ship to the suspected location of Air Force One,” the Secretary of Defense said as one of his aides handed him a file. “We have U-2 spy plane missions flying overhead in the next three hours to get real time imagery of the situation on the ground and we are working to redirect satellites as we speak. Tier One assets are being relocated for a possible rescue mission once we give the go ahead, but I think caution is—”
Before Hunt could finish, a young male staffer burst into the conference room and headed straight to Johnson’s Chief of Staff. The room fell silent as the two whispered to each other before Bradley stood and turned on one of the 50” LED TVs. He turned on one of the twenty-four hour news channels.
A file photo picture of Air Force One was displayed on the screen as the newscaster looked solemnly at the camera. “Again, we are getting unconfirmed reports that Air Force One has gone down somewhere in the South Pacific. There is currently no word on the fate of the President or crew,” the male anchor said.
Johnson stood and walked toward the screen as he shook his head angrily.
“Our sources within the White House have confirmed that the President’s aircraft was en route to Honolulu when contact was lost just over an hour ago,” the man said. “Now we turn to defense analyst and former fighter pilot Jenna Davidson for more, Jenna.”
“Will someone please tell me how this is on the news?” Johnson asked angrily as he turned back to the cabinet members. There was a stunned silence as the female analyst rattled off theories on the TV behind Johnson. “Anyone at all?”
“Of course not!” Johnson barked, shaking his head. “I can’t believe in this time of crisis someone in here would be playing politics and leaking information to the press before we have a handle on the situation, I just—”
“Sir,” Bradley said, tapping his shoulder and pointing at the screen behind him. The analyst and news anchor had been replaced with a still image of The Islamic State of Uyghur flag. Moments later a woman holding a microphone appeared on screen. Behind her was the same flag as before with the President in one chair and her Secretary of State in the other.
“I... I’m Miriam Kagel reporting live,” the heavyset blonde said as tears rolled down her bruised cheeks. “At... the... the trial of the United States of America for war crimes against humanity,” she said, apparently reading cue cards behind the camera.
“What is this? What’s going on?” Johnson demanded. “Is this live?”
“Sir, it appears that they’ve hacked the news feed of the network,” Chapman interjected as he conferred with his staff. “We’re trying to shut it down now.”
“Please help me,” the girl said, breaking script as she broke down. A masked man stepped into the frame with a handgun pointed at her temple. He pulled the trigger, spraying blood everywhere as she collapsed.
There was a collective gasp in the room as they watched the reporter being executed on live television. The group sat in stunned silence as the masked man in all black stepped in front of the camera. The Secretary of State and President sat tied to chairs and gagged behind him. Their eyes showed the fear and panic almost everyone in the room echoed.
“The United States government has been committing genocide in the Middle East for nearly two decades now,” the man said calmly in his thick Chinese accent. “You have backed the criminal regimes of Bashir Assad in Syria, installed your puppet governments in Afghanistan and Iraq, and murdered freedom fighters in cold blood. This will stop today.”
“Your President will stand trial for the war crimes committed by the American government against the people of the Islamic State. The murder of thousands of innocent women and children by the infidels in our Holy Lands will not go unpunished. Allah wills it,” he said.
“To ensure a fair trial, I hold in my hand a detonator to a nuclear device,” he said as the camera zoomed into a trigger he held in his hand. “If your government should attempt to send your cowardly military here, I will detonate this device. None of us fear death, for Allah is great!”
“Your government would be wise not to test me or my Holy Warriors. We are many throughout your country and we have already shown our capability across your illegal military occupations in Asia. There are many great warriors with similar devices in your cities. Any attempts to interfere or intervene in this trial will result in the immediate execution of your president and all who support this terrorist regime,” he continued. “If the American people want peace, they will call their leaders to withdraw from the Holy Lands and discontinue American aggression and imperialism across the world, to immediately release and cease the torture of all Islamic State Freedom fighters, and to recognize the Islamic State as a sovereign nation.”
“The trial begins tomorrow,” the man said before the screen cut back to The Islamic State of Uyghur flag. Seconds later, a stunned pair of anchors appeared on the screen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there are no words that can adequately describe what we just witnessed,” the anchorman said softly.
Johnson reached up and turned off the screen. He looked back at the group. The generals were conferring with Secretary Hunt on military options while others in the room were talking to their aides, but the majority of people sat watching Vice President Johnson, speechless at what they had just witnessed.
“Mr. Vice President, I recommend we take a vote now to invoke the Twenty-Fifth Amendment,” the Speaker of the House said, his voice shaking. “The President is obviously incapable of performing her duties at the moment and we have a major terrorist threat within this country.”
Johnson looked around the room, watching the cabinet members nod in agreement. He made eye contact with Senator Wilson and said, “I just want what’s best for the country.”
“The country needs leadership right now,” the Speaker replied. “Strong leadership.”
“Then I will leave you to discuss the matter and take a vote,” Johnson said.
Everyone in the room stood as Johnson walked out with Bradley in close trail. They returned to the office. Johnson let out a sigh as he sat back in the big leather chair.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Johnson admitted as Bradley closed the door behind them and sat down across from the Vice President. “Wow.”
“You did great, sir,” Bradley said enthusiastically. “You’re about to be the next President of the United States.”
“He shot that poor girl on live TV,” Johnson said as he shook his head. “The American people are going to want a war.”
“Then we will give them a war,” Bradley replied. “War is good for the economy and American unity. You will be a great wartime President, sir.”
There was a knock at the door. Johnson leaned forward and motioned for Bradley to open it. DCI Chapman entered as Bradley opened the door and ushered him in.
“Do you have a minute, sir?” Chapman said with a frown on his face.
“What do you have, Director?” Johnson said, gesturing for him to sit.
“I’ve been looking at the initial reports from my cyber analysts, and this just doesn’t sit well with me,” Chapman replied. “I don’t think we’re dealing with Islamic radicals here.”
“What do you mean? Who are we dealing with?” Johnson asked skeptically.
“I don’t have anything concrete, sir,” Chapman said. “But this whole thing makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It’s not adding up.”
“Spit it out,” Johnson said impatiently. “What do you think is going on here?”
“Sir,” Chapman said as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and lowered his voice. “I think we need to seriously consider the possibility that this is a state-sponsored event.”
Johnson exchanged a look with Chapman and then laughed dismissively. “State sponsored? By whom?”
“The Chinese, sir,” Chapman said sheepishly. “In the last few years, they have upped their clandestine operations significantly, and we have very strong intel suggesting that they felt we crossed a line with the Taiwan issue.”
“So, the Chinese kidnapped the President and committed an act of war to get their way?” Bradley interjected incredulously.
“The level of sophistication we’ve seen so far exceeds any capability we’ve ever observed from any radical Islamic group, including threat nations like Iran and North Korea. We’re talking about high-level hackers, complicated communications jammers, and military grade weaponry,” Chapman responded while ignoring Bradley.
“Couldn’t they have taken the equipment from the Chinese?” Johnson asked.
“It’s certainly possible,” the country’s top spy admitted. “As I mentioned, this is just a theory. The level of sophistication and organization doesn’t sit well with me. I think there is something more going on here.”
“I will take it under advisement, but what you are saying would kick off the next world war,” Johnson said. “This is not something I will even consider without absolute proof.”
“Yes, sir,” Chapman replied.
“And I don’t want the media or God-forbid the Chinese getting wind that we’ve even discussed this, so this doesn’t leave this room, understand?” Johnson asked.
“Yes, sir,” Chapman replied submissively.