Blowback, p.33
Blowback, page 33
General Peterson says, “Mr. President, with all due respect, this is a major offensive move. Has it been discussed with the National Security Council?”
“Of course it has,” he says, easily lying.
“And have the leaders of both the Senate and House been informed?”
“An hour ago, of course.”
“Secretary of Defense Williams?”
“I talked to him last night, just as he was getting up in Singapore and heading to Japan.”
General Peterson pauses. “And General Wyman?”
“The Joint Chiefs Chairman was briefed about thirty minutes ago. He told me that our conventional forces are ready to respond if there’s a force retaliation from China.”
General Peterson pauses, and Barrett just knows what’s going on within that four-star general’s mind. The general is concerned about what his commander in chief is about to order, but POTUS has assured him that all the necessary notifications, briefings, and decisions have been made.
Peterson is in a position where he has to believe POTUS is acting under proper advice and authority.
He can’t refuse to obey the orders, can’t excuse himself for an hour or so to make the necessary phone calls to see if the president really has made the necessary phone calls.
Peterson just can’t.
He has to trust the president of the United States. This president is under no media pressure from earlier actions or statements, is high up in the polls, and is not a defeated president looking to lash out at his enemies before departing the White House.
Plus Barrett knows this man. When Barrett was secretary of defense, he made sure that General Peterson—who shares his own concerns about the Chinese—was on a fast career track and would end up in charge of Cybercommand at this vital moment.
The vice president is in a coma, the secretary of state and secretary of defense are both overseas, and the last Barrett heard, the speaker of the House is on an aircraft, heading back to California, to drum up support before she’s expelled from House leadership.
He is utterly and completely alone, and in command.
“Very well, Mr. President,” he says. “Colonel Yankins, please prepare the communications system.”
The colonel takes one of the black satchel-like carriers, unzips it open, and folds it out. There is a keyboard and switches and a small display screen in a rectangular instrument, nestled in gray foam, on the right side. She touches a switch and the keyboard and screen light up. In the other side of the satchel is an accordion-type folder.
This is a cousin of the famous “football,” the communications system that can launch a nuclear strike. That nuclear football is a few yards away, in a hallway outside of this office, in possession of a Marine major. Little known to the news media and elsewhere, a second football was secretly developed two years ago, to address cybersecurity and cyberattacks.
Barrett intends to use that lack of knowledge to his benefit, and that of the country.
General Peterson says, “Case Shanghai, correct, Mr. President?”
“That’s correct.”
“Colonel?”
She opens up the folder, pulls out a letter-sized plastic-protected sheet. It has the logo of the United States Cybercommand at the top, with borders marked in red and black. Various stamps and signatures are at the bottom, along with the bold red words TOP SECRET / SENSITIVE COMPARTMENTED INFORMATION.
General Peterson takes the sheet. “Mr. President, per protocol, I need to confirm that you are cognizant of the cyberattack profile contained in Case Shanghai.”
“Proceed,” Barrett says.
General Peterson clears his throat. “Once we receive the appropriate activation code, Mr. President, our offensive capabilities will commence crippling the command-and-control systems of the People’s Liberation Army, including its five service branches: the Ground Force, Navy, Air Force, Rocket Force, and the Strategic Support Force. Soon after their communications systems are offline, the next wave of offensive operations will attack their military’s infrastructure from electricity to logistical support up to and including POL facilities. Any questions so far, Mr. President?” POL is petroleum, oil, lubricant.
“No,” Barrett says, the excitement and knowledge of what he’s about to unleash practically making his hands nearly quiver in anticipation.
“Following those actions, the third wave will go against the twenty-one government ministries, from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Culture and Tourism. The fourth wave will target the largest banks and financial institutions in China—including all overseas branches—and lastly, all foreign embassies and overseas consulates. Any questions, sir?”
“No,” Barrett says.
Barrett looks over. Carlton Pope stands silently in the corner of the tiny office, arms folded, a pleased smile on his face.
“Sir … for my own confidence level, I just want to ensure that you realize the scope of this attack,” the general says. “By this time tomorrow, the world’s financial systems will be in free fall, there will be widespread panic and disturbances in Chinese urban centers, and the Chinese military and their cyber capabilities will be coming for our throat.”
“I understand, General Peterson,” Barrett says. “Considering we spend about $750 billion on defense each year, including $2.6 billion for cyber defensive and offensive capabilities, I know we will hold our own. As to our adversaries, they are going to learn a quick lesson when they grow too fast, push too much, against us and the standard world order.”
Silence for a few heavy seconds.
Barrett says, “What now?”
From the inside of his uniform jacket, General Peterson removes a piece of blue plastic, about twice the size of a credit card. “Sir, you’re going to need your authorization card. Once the codes are matched and verified, then your orders will be enacted at twelve hundred hours today.”
Barrett also pulls out his blue plastic card, known for some reason as “the biscuit.”
“Any questions now, Mr. President?”
Barrett smiles in triumph. “No. Proceed.”
CHAPTER 121
LIAM GREY IS sitting on a chair in the living room of the safe house, as Chin Lin sits next to Benjamin Lucas on the couch and tries again to reach her contact at Walter Reed Hospital.
Two earlier calls went to voicemail and as she makes the third call, Liam says, “You have a backup plan if you can’t get through?”
Lin says, “Yeah, calling in a film crew from SABC and make a live broadcast from this place’s dirt driveway. Shut up, will you?”
Benjamin says, “Please, Liam, let her work.”
Work? Liam thinks. Damn Chinese intelligence officer is playing dial-a-spy and for all we know, it’s still part of a ploy, a setup.
The phone starts to ring and Liam says, “And how did you happen to get in possession of this vital information, Lin?”
“Stole it from my father.”
“Stolen or given?”
“Stolen,” she says. “I hate him for what he’s doing to my mother, not paying attention to her when she started feeling sick.”
The phone rings again, and again, and is picked up. “Hello?” a male voice says. “Who’s this?”
“Charlie!” Lin says, and Liam is impressed at how her voice rises in both pitch and excitement. “This is Sally Yoo.”
“Um, hey, Sally, you know … I really don’t feel comfortable talking to you on my regular cell. Is something wrong?”
She says, “Charlie, please, I have something important to tell you, something that must be passed on to someone in authority at Walter Reed. Can you do that?”
“Depends, I guess, Sally,” he says. “What is it, and who do you want to get it?”
“It must be given to the most senior person in strict confidence, do you understand? It can’t be traced back to me.”
Liam thinks, Right, traced back to one Sally Yoo, who probably only exists in a computer file somewhere in Beijing.
“Gee, Sally, you’re starting to scare me. It’s nothing illegal, is it?”
“Oh, Charlie, it’s so very important to you and your country,” she says. “This information has to be given to whoever’s in charge of the medical team taking care of Vice President Hernandez.”
Charlie doesn’t answer.
“C’mon, Charlie, I’ll make it worth your while. Twice the monthly payment next week?”
A sigh. “Okay. That’d be great. I thought for sure that the Yankees would win yesterday and—”
Liam glares at Lin as she says, “You know I don’t understand baseball. Are you ready to take notes?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. I’ll take it slow. Here we go …”
Liam listens in amazement as Lin describes in slow and steady detail how Vice President Laura Hernandez was poisoned, what she was poisoned with, and what steps need to be taken to free her from her coma.
When Lin appears to be finished, Liam mouths, Make sure he’s got it. And have him read it back to you.
“Charlie, did you get that last bit? Can you read this back to me?”
The cell phone’s little speaker hisses.
Benjamin slowly gets off the couch and mouths, Need some water. Be right back.
He limps off to the small kitchen.
Lin says, “Charlie, you still there?”
Nothing.
Lin examines the screen and says, “I’ve been disconnected.”
Liam’s throat tightens. “Call him back. Now.”
Her fingers work and she looks up at him, face worried. “I can’t get a signal.”
Liam pulls his own phone out.
No signal at all.
“Benjamin!”
“Yo!”
“Pick up the house phone. Tell me if you’ve got a signal.”
A few seconds pass.
“Not a thing.” Benjamin limps in, sipping from a glass of water.
He stops.
“Hey, Liam.”
“What?”
“We got visitors.”
Liam gets up and looks out the main window of the small farmhouse.
Three black Range Rovers are parked on the dirt driveway, just beyond the gate; armed men with helmets, black jumpsuits, and ballistic vests are jumping out, taking position.
Lin says, “Oh, no.”
“Well?” Benjamin asks.
Liam says, “If you ever wondered what it felt like to be with Davy Crockett at the Alamo, you’re about to find out.”
CHAPTER 122
BUT BEFORE GENERAL Peterson can proceed as ordered, there’s a knock on the door, and another, and the door swings open.
Barrett’s chief of staff, Quinn Lawrence, steps in, looking concerned, his face pale.
“Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but you’ve got an urgent message,” he says.
“Quinn,” Barrett says, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I know, sir, but Deputy Secretary of Defense Kim wants to talk to you. He says it’s extremely important.”
“It’ll have to wait,” Barrett says. “I’ll reach out to him when I’m available.”
“Mr. President, I really must insist,” he says. “The deputy secretary is desperate to talk to you.”
“And I’m telling you he’ll have to wait.”
Barrett watches and is stunned as his chief of staff apparently grows a pair.
He walks up to his desk, picks up the phone, and says, “With all due respect, Mr. President, you’ve got to take this call. The Chinese embassy and its consulates are burning their papers. Chinese military forces are on the move. The situation is precarious.”
Barrett watches in amazement as his chief of staff actually puts his hand on one of the telephone handsets at his desk. Barrett gets up from the couch and slaps his hand over Quinn Lawrence’s. It feels soft and flabby and he again wonders why he had placed such a cipher in a position of power.
Because of this day, he reminds himself. Where he had to make this important decision on his own, with no naysayers, no backbiters present.
Barrett says, “Quinn. Take your hand away or I’ll break it. Got it?”
It seems like Quinn Lawrence is about to tear up. Barrett gently lifts his hand a few millimeters and Quinn’s hand follows, and then his chief of staff steps back.
Barrett smiles with reassurance. “Quinn, it’s all right. Go back and tell the deputy secretary of defense that I will get back to him in due course.”
Quinn looks to the quiet Carlton Pope standing in the corner, and to the two silent and uncomfortable Army officers. Like he’s looking for reassurance or support.
But he gets nothing.
“It’s important,” he says. “It’s very, very important.”
“I’m sure it is,” Barrett says. “Now. Leave me be.”
Quinn turns and leaves the office. Barrett sits back on the couch, across from General Peterson and Colonel Yankins.
“General,” Barrett says. “Where were we?”
CHAPTER 123
WITH A FIRM and determined voice, General Peterson says, “Are you ready to proceed with the authorization?”
“Yes, General, I am.”
“Sir, would you please activate your authorization card?”
“With pleasure,” he says, picking up the blue plastic card. Another one in his possession is red, marking the one to be used for the nuclear football. He snaps it in half, revealing a stiff sheet of white paper. It has the correct month and year, and the dates running down in a column to the left. Each date has a row of letters and numbers to the right.
General Peterson does the same with his own blue plastic card. Barrett says, “Today’s date is the twelfth.”
“Confirmed.”
“Today’s code is one niner alpha alpha eight six bravo yankee two.”
General Peterson says, “Confirming, one niner alpha alpha eight six bravo yankee two.”
“Confirmed.”
“Mr. President, what is the challenge word?”
“General, the challenge word is Potomac.”
“I confirm,” he says. “Challenge word is Potomac.”
General Peterson lowers the card.
“Sir, according to procedure, I now need you to officially issue your orders.”
With his voice strong and unyielding, Barrett says, “General Peterson, at twelve hundred hours today, you will issue orders to execute Case Shanghai.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, no hesitation.
And in another surprise, Colonel Yankins speaks up. “Mr. President, I—”
“Colonel, that’s enough,” Peterson says.
“No, no,” Barrett says. “Let her speak. Go ahead, Colonel Yankins.”
Her eyes flicker right to her superior officer, and Barrett knows what she’s thinking: she’s about to commit career suicide, but she has to say something.
He knows what she’s going to say, but feeling generous, he lets her say it anyway.
“Mr. President, I … excuse me for being so up front, but I want to make sure you’ve thought through the major impacts this decision will have not only on China and the world economy, but also on the United States,” she says, voice nearly shaking. “It has the possibility of causing irreparable harm to our economy … and our way of life.”
Barrett says, “I’ve thought it through. And have had in-depth discussions with the secretary of the treasury and my council of economic advisers, and I’m assured that we will be able to ride out the Chinese response with minimal impacts.”
He waits a moment, then says, “I’m taking on this heavy responsibility, Colonel Yankins. The Chinese government takes the long view, planning ahead fifty years or a century. We act now, before they are in a position to cripple us, we can knock them down for a hundred years, letting those who succeed me have opportunities and chances to make sure they never threaten us again.”
The colonel’s voice is quiet. “I see, sir. But it seems the Chinese are already on the move.”
Barrett says, “They are always on the move against our nation. In attacking the United States, they are attacking me, personally. And I won’t let that stand. The American people elected me to keep them safe. I will do anything and everything to make that happen.”
CHAPTER 124
CARLTON POPE IS walking back to his office, feeling tingly, excited, looking forward to the events later this day. For years he’s been treated like crap, from reform school to the Army, until that day in Kosovo when he was in serious hack, and the former Army officer back there had saved him. From that moment Pope had worked tirelessly for Barrett Keegan, following his orders, following that man’s dreams, and spilling lots of blood in the process.
One of his burner phones starts vibrating in his suit jacket pocket and as he goes into his office—usually the one closest to the Oval Office is reserved for the chief of staff, but not in this administration—he closes the door behind him and answers the phone.
“Pope.”
It sounds like the caller is outside. “This is Morgan. Metro Police.”
“Yeah?”
“Your target is mobile. Said she was heading to work.”
Good, Pope thinks. If she’s at Langley she can be ignored, allies of Barrett can screw up her communications, and she can be kept occupied with memos to be signed, reports to be read, meetings that need to be attended.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
Morgan says, “Do you want me to go on, or keep on cutting me off?”
“What?”
“She told my idiot lieutenant that she was going to Langley. She’s not going to Langley, or any other place in Virginia. I’m following her right now.”
Pope says, “Where is she headed?”
“Don’t know,” he says. “But I’ve got a guess.”
“Tell me.”
The Metro cop on his payroll says, “Pennsylvania Avenue. Looks like she’s going to visit your boss.”
