Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (10 page)

MR. PRESIDENT,
SECRETARY Suthby to see you, sir,” said a dark suited Secret Service agent. 
Another agent stepped into the bustling War Room with the DHS Secretary and his
lackey.

Allen Reed,
III, President of the United States, looked up from his reports spread out on
the massive oval conference table and stifled a tired sigh.  Irked that DHS
hadn't made a full report yet, the President wondered when Hank Suthby would
get around to interrupting the real work if he hadn't had Sheriqua schedule a
meeting.

Around the
well polished table sat the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary of Defense,
the National Security Advisor.   The Vice President was nowhere to be seen.

The Secret
Service man stepped out of the doorway behind the two visitors and shut the
door quietly.  The massive oak door was slightly curved to close flush with the
wood paneled wall.  It made a soft
click
as the latch caught, but
otherwise was totally silent.  The President could tell immediately that
Suthby's undersecretary was impressed. 
Must be his first visit to the
Underworld
, the President told himself with an inner grin. 

“Hank,”
said the President with a sad smile as he stood to walk around the cluster of
lesser officials quietly reviewing reports.  The two men shook hands.  A few of
the Joint Chief’s nodded politely but offered silence as their greeting.  The
civilian department heads continued reading reports without so much as a glance
up.

“Mr.
President—“

“Hank, come
on, now.  You know the rules.  It’s Allen.”

“Yes, sir. 
This is my Deputy, Daniel Jones.”   .

“It’s an
honor, sir,” said Daniel, with just a trace of too much enthusiasm. 

The
President flashed his most famous campaign smile.  “Nice to meet you, too,
son.  Gentlemen, take a seat and let me know where we're at.”   The President’s
reassuring demeanor was a direct contradiction to the controlled chaos of the
room around them.  The last thing he needed was for his predecessor's head of
the DHS to come in here and start trouble this early in the crises. 

Everyone
who was anyone in Washington knew Hank Suthby was prone to over-react.  He was
the favored media-fodder for his administration.  It was commonly attributed to
a side-effect of the mass layoffs resulting from Hurricane Joyce during the last
year of the prior administration.  He was so scared to be seen as doing
nothing,
a la
Katrina, that he had over-reacted. 

Joyce
had been
just as
big a fiasco as Katrina in the minds of anyone who had the sense to pour piss
out of a boot, but the Press lauded him as a savior.  The clean up, the
National Guard mobilization in three states, the supplies, the labor—it had
cost the taxpayers nearly a trillion dollars. 

The Press,
for their part, had done everything in their power to smooth that little inconvenient
truth over so that the administration could enjoy yet another crisis of
opportunity.  Through it all, Suthby somehow retained his grasp on power.  The
President secretly fumed at the man. 

I'm going
to find a way around that roadblock the House Leadership put up to protect your
ass, you arrogant little prick.  Then you're gone. 

As the
President-elect, Allen Reed, always an astute political observer who well knew
the machinations of Washington post sea-change, had wanted all senior cabinet
level officials fired when he took power.  He succeeded in removing every
single post that the last President had managed to appoint to repay political
favors.  There were exactly three people whom President Reed decided to keep,
solely on their exemplary merits.  It was no surprise that they had served in
more than one administration.  

Yet,
somehow, for reasons no one in his party could explain, the House Leadership—unfortunately
under control of the opposing party—had closed ranks around Hank Suthby. 
Perhaps it was a last ditch effort to thumb their noses at the incoming
President.  Perhaps it was just the final childish act of a childish party that
was merely sulking in the wake of three back to back landslide victories for
the President's party.  President Reed dearly hoped it wasn't the case that
Suthby was politically protected because he had dirt on someone.  Those were
the hardest people to get rid of.  But, there was no telling with Suthby. 
That's what made him dangerous.

There was
also no way to remove him as head of DHS without causing all kinds of trouble
for just about every agenda the new President possessed.  If he released
Suthby, the House would block everything his party wanted to accomplish to fix
the mess from 2011 that America was
still
trying to clean up.  It was
maddening. 

But, being
the suave politician that he was, there was absolutely no sign of this
resentment towards the last holdover from the previous, failed administration. 
But Allen Reed was a patient man.  He would win out in the end, just like he
had on the campaign trail where he earned a reputation as a tenacious,
relentless opponent.  He never got excited, never lost his cool and never left
his core values.

All in due
time, you pompous ass.  All in due time
, the President told
himself as Suthby began with simple pleasantries.  He could tell the SecDHS was
trying to work his way to a point of some kind, but the President was damned if
he could figure out where Suthby was going.  The commotion around them
threatened to pull away the President's precious attention.

On the
walls, displays showed views of different cities.  Flames, darkness, mobs in
the streets...scenes of the growing anarchy in America’s largest cities.  Other
displays showed the positions of America’s aircraft carrier battlegroups,
nuclear subs, Army divisions and Marine Expeditionary Units.  Air Force bombers
and fighters had their own screen on the opposite wall.  In this one room,
sheltered deep below the White House complex, the Leader of the Free World
could monitor just about
every
thing at once. 

President
Reed watched closely his two visitors as he led them to a side room that was a
bit more secluded.  He tried not to grin as Hank and Daniel tried to take in
all the sights and sounds.  Barely controlled chaos was still chaos to the
uninitiated.  And there were several very good reasons why the President had
never initialed Hank Suthby. 

It was all
nearly overwhelming and the President figured Suthby and his little lap dog
were probably reaching the stimulus overload that so many bureaucrats attained
in a full-up War Room.   When the sliding glass door slid shut softly, the
noise level dropped to normal and his visitors visibly relaxed.

There was
coffee, tea, and sweets laid out on the low table in front of the seats the DHS
men and the President took.  Apparently, only the coffee had been touched by
anyone in the room.  President Reed could see Suthby wasn’t in the mood to
drink and eat.  He could tell Hank wanted to jump right in with both feet—exactly
the attitude the President repeatedly said he wanted from his people. 

“Sir—Allen. 
As you know, we have been hit by multiple terror cells that—,” Suthby began
awkwardly.

“Hank, I
know all about this kind of stuff from the military,” the President said with a
tired smile.  At least something had gone right.  “What about it?”

“We have
some information on that as well.  Sir, this is very scary stuff.  I think...” 
He glanced at Daniel.  "I think the terrorists may be behind the riots, or
at least involved in some way."

The
President’s eyebrows went up.  “Really?  And how does DHS know this?  I would
think the FBI—”

“Sir, it's
all circumstantial at this point, but nothing else makes since.  They must have
planned some sort of massive coordinated attack.  Mr. President, this one’s too
be big to be coincidence.  We’re talking the wildfires, the riots, the attacks
on our power grid, all going off within 12 hours of each other.  They have to be
tied together. 
Have to
.”

Reluctantly,
the President put all the pieces together and realized that Suthby made sense,
in an awkward, bungling manner.  He closed his eyes and leaned back in the
leather chair.  He hadn't gotten any sleep during the long night. 

Why the
hell did no one else put this all together?  Why does it have to be Hank Suthby
that gets the credit?  Dammit!
the President fumed.  His face was a
mask of concern that hid his inner rage that the little weasel from DHS would
get the glory from putting it all together.

“God help
us…how did they do all this?  How did they get the information to pull it off? 
Another damn leak…” fumed the Commander in Chief. 

Suthby
nodded vigorously.  “Someone
has
to be helping them.  I see no way that
the average Joe-Terrorist could get the kind of information necessary to bring
down our power structure like they did.  They way they hit the main grid hubs,
the way that cascaded
just
right to knock out the lesser stations.  This
is just too detailed for anything else.  This isn’t a leak, sir, this is
treason
.”  
Suthby sat back with a sigh, but a strangely contented face. 

He knows
he's got the upper hand on me on this one.  You son of a bitch,
the
President's inner voice growled.  The two men looked at one another in silence.

“I can’t
imagine how this could happen…” mused the bewildered President.  Then, “Hank,
how the hell do
you
know about this?  Why hasn’t anyone else found out? 
CIA should be all over this.  Or NSA for cryin' out loud.”

“I have
a…uh..." Suthby suddenly looked flummoxed.  "Well, let's say I have a
gift for conspiracy theories.  You kind of have to, if you want to survive at
DHS."  Suthby shrugged.

“Conspiracy
theories?” groaned the President, leaning back in his chair, hands going for
his forehead.  He sat there a moment, contemplating what the fallout from word
of this conversation getting out would look like. 
The man's unstable.  This
is ridiculous. 
Leaning back in, he said, “Have the terrorists gone public
with this?”

“No.  I
just put it all together about a half hour ago.  So far we've received no
confirmation of any attacks by any known terrorist organization."

“Sir, we
need to assume everyone is suspect until proven clean, for the time being.  We
need to get the warning out to the Vice President and the members of Congress,”
blurted Daniel.  Suthby leveled a withering glare on his younger Deputy.

“No—Dan,
right?"  The President continued without waiting for the reply, hand up to
forestall further comment from the undersecretary.  "We can’t do that.  My
opponents in Congress will go right to the press.  They’d cause a panic and
make things ten times worse, all to score a few political points."  He
turned back to the head of the DHS. 

"Hank,
think about it—at the very least, my esteemed colleagues from across the aisle
will have a field day with this.  We figured out the details of the worst
attack on American soil since 9-11 through a
conspiracy theory
?”  The
President rubbed the sides of his head and closed his eyes.  He opened one eye
and fixed it on Hank.  "I know that won't keep
you
up at night, but
it's a consideration I have to take in mind right now."

"But,
sir, this is hardly the time to worry about politics," began Hank.

The
President stood up, silencing further discussion.  Hank and Daniel stood too. 
"Hank, I'm the President of the United States of America. 
Everything
I do, say, and imply, is political whether I want it that way or not. 
However," he said and put a mollifying hand in the air.  "I'll take
this into consideration, but honestly, I'd like to see you focusing more on how
to
fix
the situation.  This is just like Joyce all over again, on a
national scale."  The more the words came out, the more angry became the
President. 

"Seriously,
Hank, what the hell are you doing—
conspiracy theories?
"  They
walked out into the main War Room.  Most commotion slowed.  Whenever the
President entered the room, people paused to see what would happen.  When no
pronouncements were made, the pace picked back up.  More reports were called
out, screens flashed with information, phones rang and people argued.

Hank Suthby
looked crestfallen briefly and the President loved to see it.   Then the wily
appointee redoubled his efforts to impress his boss. He spoke up loud enough
for everyone to hear.  He was such an amateur at theatrics. 

“I’ve got
some more bad news, Allen," as if they were carrying on an important
conversation from the private room.  He paused to allow everyone to listen in
on the details.  "Rioting in the major cities is not slowing down.  In
fact, it’s getting worse in many places.”  Hank opened his briefcase and handed
over a printout.

The Chief
of Staff
of
the
Army,
General Robert Stirling couldn't help but overhear and frowned.  He stood up
and joined the President.  “Wait a minute—just wait one
damn
minute. 
General Hunt informed me not an hour ago that the California National Guard
have successfully contained the riot in San Francisco.”