| |
Camp David
14 Feb
2320 Local Time
“They’re taking a vote right now, sir,” Bradley said as he walked back into the presidential office and closed the door behind him. “Or should I say, Mr. President.”
Vice President Johnson frowned. Although it did have a nice ring to it, he didn’t like Bradley’s cockiness. Bradley had been out polling cabinet members on where they stood. He knew it was likely that Bradley was correct, but he worried that the joy his Chief of Staff was taking in what would be a national tragedy might be noticed.
“Discretion, Marvin,” Johnson said, wagging his crooked finger at his Chief of Staff.
“Of course, sir,” Bradley replied. “But I was just talking to Tim Hoene and he said Senator Wilson is fully on board with declaring the President unable to perform her duties. He even said that Wilson wants to be seen as strongly supporting the integrity of government and will stand with you against these terrorists.”
“Art Wilson’s Chief of Staff told you that?” Johnson asked. He was shocked that their chief political opponent had done such a complete reversal. He wondered if Hoene was baiting them.
Bradley nodded enthusiastically. “The reporter getting shot on live TV was a slam dunk for us. The public outrage is palpable. The media is already calling this the worst terror event in American history, and the President isn’t even dead yet.”
“If an American President is killed and we look like we stood idly by, they will turn on us,” Johnson warned.
Bradley winked. “Of course, sir. And I know you will do everything in your power to prevent that. But the fact remains; it is political suicide to stand against you right now. Especially with a domestic terror threat looming. Every Cabinet Member I checked with spoke highly of the statement you made in there. They crave leadership right now, and that leader is you.”
Johnson rubbed his temples and exhaled. Bradley was doing the same political cheerleader routine he always did. He often wondered how much caffeine and anti-depressants it took for a middle-aged man like Bradley to stay full throttle all the time, especially in the cutthroat world of politics. It was an entirely different beast from the business world.
“I hope we’re not in over our heads here,” Johnson said finally. “This is a big fucking deal.”
“It absolutely is. But we’re on cruise control now and you’re in the driver’s seat, sir.”
Johnson pondered Bradley’s statement. He wondered how history would view him in the next twenty years. Would he be the hero that solidified American resolve and stood down the threat? Would he become a lame duck President stuck in gridlock with Congress like Presidents past? Or would history see him as the villain and crucify him for what he’d done? No, Johnson thought with a smile, history is written by the winners.
Bradley started to ask what was on Johnson’s mind as a knock on the door interrupted him. He rubbed his hands together anxiously as Johnson motioned for him to open the door. He was expecting an aide to tell him that the vote was complete, but was greeted instead by the Director of the FBI holding an iPad tablet.
“Do you have a minute, sir?” Director Schultz said as he held up the tablet. “I think you might be interested in what we found.”
“Sure, come in and have a seat,” Johnson said, regaining his composure. “Have you found out anything about the domestic terror threat?”
“Not yet, sir. But I do have something related to the President’s kidnapping.” Schultz swiped the touch screen and pulled up his briefing, turning it to face the Vice President on the mahogany desk. “As I mentioned earlier, our agents executed search warrants on all of the crew of Air Force One and the Secret Service detail.”
“I remember.”
“Lieutenant Colonel John Jason Waxburn, white male, age forty-seven, assigned as a pilot on VC-25 for the last two years,” Schultz said. He pulled up a personnel file showing a service photo of Waxburn and his duty history. “He was the co-pilot on today’s flight.”
Schultz swiped again, showing crime scene photos of Waxburn’s house. “We’re just getting these pictures in, but so far it’s the biggest lead we have. We found blood and hair samples in various locations throughout the house.”
As Johnson nodded, Schultz swiped the screen, showing a picture of an open freezer with a garbage bag. “This was Waxburn’s basement. There were blood droplets leading down the stairs. This cooler was padlocked. Brace yourself, sir.”
Schultz swiped again, showing the contents of the bag. It appeared to be body parts and two decapitated heads, one belonging to a middle-aged woman and the other to a teenage boy.
“Jesus,” Johnson gasped as he covered his mouth.
“His wife and son, sir,” Schultz said. “They were decapitated and their legs, arms, and digits were hacked.”
“Who would do this?” Johnson asked. “This is heinous.”
There was a bit of a relief as Schultz swiped to the next picture on the tablet. There was an image of a bloodstained hatchet leaning against a clothes washer. “Our initial assessment is that this is the murder weapon or was at least used to dismember the bodies. It was found behind the washer and dryer you see in the picture.”
“You think the pilot killed his own wife and child?”
“It is one theory, yes, sir,” Schultz replied. He swiped to a picture of a Quran and rolled up prayer rug in what appeared to be a closet. “We also found this in the bedroom.”
“A Quran?”
“Yes, sir, and we found this piece of paper folded inside it. We’re having the handwriting analysts work on it right now,” Schultz said, swiping to a piece of loose-leaf paper with what appeared to be verses written out.
“What does that say?” Johnson asked, straining to make out the words on the screen.
“The first says, ‘And kill them wherever you find them, and turn them out from where they have turned you out. And Al-Fitnah is worse than killing.’ And the second, ‘As to those who reject faith, I will punish them with terrible agony in this world and in the Hereafter, nor will they have anyone to help.’”
“Al-Fitnah?” Bradley asked.
“It means ‘disbelief.’ These are passages from the Quran commonly used by militant Islamists,” Schultz replied. He swiped to another picture of a loose-leaf paper. “There was one more verse written on the back and it read, ‘Let those fight in the way of Allah who sell the life of this world for the other. Whoso fighteth in the way of Allah, be he slain or be he victorious, on him We shall bestow a vast reward.”
“So, basically, kill the non-believers and if you go down in a blaze of glory, you’ll get your virgins whether you’re successful or not?” Johnson asked.
“It is in line with the statements of The Islamic State of Uyghur we’ve seen so far, sir,” Schultz said.
“So, the pilot for the world’s most powerful person converted to militant Islam and diverted the plane to a place where terrorists could take over? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Director?” Johnson asked.
“We’ll know for sure once we finish going through this crime scene and get handwriting samples for analysis, but it is a very real possibility, sir, and that’s why I wanted to bring it to your attention. Either Waxburn converted and killed his wife and son as non-believers before carrying out this martyr mission, or someone is trying very hard to make it look like he did. Either way, there’s a very real possibility that other people within the crew of Air Force One have been similarly influenced.”
“What is your personal opinion, Director?” Johnson asked. “Do you think he killed his wife and son and diverted Air Force One?”
“Well, sir, there’s no doubt that Air Force One was diverted. Whether he was coerced or did it of his own free will is another story, but I think the evidence suggests he was at least involved in that part. As a husband and a father, I find it hard to believe that someone would do this to their own family, but...”
“But what?”
“Occam’s Razor, sir. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one, and given the current evidence – regardless of how sick or bizarre it may be – the simplest explanation is that Waxburn murdered his family after converting to Islam and is working with the group that currently has President Clifton,” Schultz replied.
“Of course, we will explore all other theories as we find more evidence,” Schultz added.
“I would expect nothing less, Director,” Johnson said before another knock on the door caught his attention.
Bradley opened the door. A young blonde aide whispered something in his ear.
“They’re ready for you, sir,” Bradley announced as the girl excused herself. “The vote was unanimous.”
“Alright then,” Johnson replied dryly. “Director, do you have anything further?”
“No, sir. We are still analyzing the recent videos and compiling the data in the investigation. We’re calling out every agent to track down this threat here as well. I will keep you updated as I know more.”
“Thank you, Director,” Johnson said.
Schultz stood with the Vice President and excused himself. When the FBI Director cleared, Bradley whispered, “This is it, Mr. President.”
Johnson tightened his tie and pulled his coat from behind his chair. He walked out with his Chief of Staff as the realization hit him. He was about to be officially sworn in as the next President of the United States.