Mike O'Shea, NSA: Saving America

By David Brown

July Fourth celebrations are interrupted when terrorists set off a bomb at the Statue of Liberty and assassinate the president of the United States, setting off a series of events that could take down America for good.
Former NSA agent Mike O’Shea—affectionately known among his friends as “Captain America” for his fierce loyalty to the founding values of the United States of America—is enjoying his entry into the private sector after years of public service. But just a few weeks into his new position, he is enlisted to take on the most important mission of his life: to seek and destroy the homegrown terrorist infrastructure that has infiltrated the United States.
With al-Qaeda and ISIS cells festering deep inside financial institutions, corporations, and, most disturbing, the government of the United States itself, Mike must determine who is friend and who is foe. His mission is clear: saving America. The enemy is a profoundly dangerous and destructive force embedded on U.S. soil and fighting a holy war that is the greatest threat to mankind in this century.
Mike will fight with steadfast courage, but faced with setbacks at each turn, he begins to doubt that the threat can be eliminated. It will take all of Mike’s resources, and his loyal team, which includes a Muslim undercover agent and two Israeli intelligence agents, to face down his most formidable opponent yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Brown
• Release date: Jan 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310882272

David Brown

David Brown is the host of the hit podcasts Business Wars and Business Wars Daily. He is also the co-creator and host of Texas Standard, the Lone Star’s statewide daily news show, and was the former anchor of the Peabody award-winning public radio business program Marketplace. He has been a public radio journalist for more than three decades, winning multiple awards, and is a contributor to All Things Considered, Morning Edition, and other NPR programs. Brown earned his PhD in Journalism from the University of Texas at Austin and his Juris Doctor from Washington and Lee University School of Law. He lives with his wife and two children in Austin, Texas.

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Livingston, New Jersey

9:30 p.m.

MIKE O’SHEA SAID good-bye to his new boss, Jim Murphy, and got into his car for the trip back to New York City. It had been only a few days since he’d accepted his new position as head of security for World Corporation, a multi-international conglomerate focusing on technology that had contracts with several government agencies and subsidiaries in several major cities around the world. Its partners, Isaac Green, Joe Murphy, and Brahim Surin, and recently Susan Kais, were interested in using their connections to promote world peace.

After years in the Secret Service, Mike thought, it would be nice to be in the private sector.

Just one thing to finish up first.

He and his partner, James Brown, needed to make a quick trip to Washington, D.C. They still had some unfinished business at the Pentagon. Instead of flying, they would share the driving for this one. James was waiting for him at the Waldorf Astoria in New York. Mike was on his way there to pick him up now.

He turned on the car radio. What he heard chilled his blood.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a 1010 WINS News Extra. The president and vice president of the United States have been assassinated. I repeat: The president and vice president have been assassinated.

"A missile launched at the Statue of Liberty from an unidentified boat in the New York harbor during the Fourth of July celebrations injured many and left the president and vice president dead. We just received word that al-Qaeda is claiming responsibility. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff has declared a national state of emergency. The country is now officially under martial law."

After a pause, the announcer continued:

"The White House just released this statement: ‘While the president prepared to address the nation at the Statue of Liberty to commemorate Independence Day, there was a loud blast from a missile launched from one of the boats in the New York harbor. They were able to recover and identify parts of the missile. It has been identified as a modified Chinese C-802 missile, which Iran has been supplying Hamas and al-Qaeda.’ We will update you with information as we receive it. Signing off for 1010 WINS…"

CHAPTER 2

10:00 p.m.

THE RADIO REPEATED the same terrible news over and over. Mike stared out the window of his car as he drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

He was used to tragedy. His mother had died of pancreatic cancer when she was thirty-eight and he was just seventeen. His memories of her were now tucked safely away in a special place in his heart where only God had access. A year after losing her, his grandmother, the matriarch of the family and his rock, also passed away. Overnight, Mike’s life as he knew it changed. For the first time in his life, he was alone.

His father was still alive, somewhere. He’d never had a meaningful relationship with his father. He didn’t talk about him much. Once, he’d described his father to his military buddies: Fear was the game my father liked to play, and he was a pro. When he was angry with you, all it took was a stare from his ice-blue eyes, and you would melt into a puddle on the floor.

Unable to live with his father, he’d left home a few weeks after his grandmother’s funeral, with a few items of clothing in his knapsack and little money. He spent the first few nights on a park bench in Prospect Park covered with old newspapers. In the morning, he awoke to pigeons nibbling leftover peanuts at the foot of the bench.

At first he had nothing to do but think about his life. He’d let his mind wander to happier times. Some of the best happened at Coney Island in the summer. At that moment, he felt as if his life was like one of those roller-coaster rides he used to love.

The ride up was always slow, and he would smile and laugh with his girlfriend Barb, giddy with anticipation. When he reached the top, he felt amazing. He wanted to stand up and yell, I’m king of the hill! But before he could, the conductor suddenly flipped a lever, and in a matter of seconds, fear evaporated the air from his lungs and he was down again. The sudden stop at the bottom, a pause for him to catch his breath, and then, Let’s do it again! And the ride would start all over again.

CHAPTER 3

Lincoln Tunnel

10:15 p.m.

THE LINCOLN TUNNEL was in sight. The traffic was thick and heavy. Slowly he made his approach.

A loud rapping on the car’s window got Mike’s attention. He rolled down the window. He recognized the uniform of the National Guard.

Can I see your identification, sir?

Mike pulled out his driver’s license and handed it over. The soldier walked a few feet away with the ID in his hand and talked into his two-way radio. A few minutes later he was back.

Sorry to hold you up, Mr. O’Shea. We’re ordered to check everyone’s ID going into the tunnel. Al-Qaeda announced their next targets are tunnels and bridges, so we’re on high alert.

I understand.

The left lane is open for official vehicles. You’ve been cleared to proceed through it.

Mike was pleasantly surprised. He’d expected to be stuck in line for at least an hour. Airlines and bridges were backed up due to the recent developments. He remembered the words of one of his new bosses, Isaac Green, when they left each other the other day:

"Mankind is still worlds apart."

He drove into the empty lane, wondering, Who gave me clearance? The drive through the tunnel took three minutes. As he exited, he came to a full stop. In front of him police cars flashed red, white, and blue. He opened his door and was greeted by a man in a dark suit.

Agent O’Shea, pleasure to meet you. I’m Don Volker.

What’s going on?

I’m from the Directorate of Plans, Training, Mobilization, and Security in Tacoma, Washington.

Mike nodded in recognition. The DPTMS was a top-secret special operations unit. From the Joint Base Lewis-McChord, right?

Yes, sir. I’ve been assigned to take you to Tacoma. We have a helicopter waiting at the downtown heliport to take us to our plane at the McGuire-Dix Air Force Base in New Jersey. From there we’ll head to Tacoma.

My partner is waiting for me at the Waldorf.

Mr. Brown is already at the air base waiting for you.

Who issued this order?

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

What about the president’s funeral? I should be there.

It’s up to the chairman, but I’ll put in a call. Let’s get going.

CHAPTER 4

Heliport, Downtown Manhattan

10:45 p.m.

MIKE WAS FAMILIAR with the sound of a Black Hawk helicopter’s blades. He’d heard it many times before. The chopper lifted off as Mike snapped his safety belt on. The route took them over the Statue of Liberty as they headed to Fort Dix and the McGuire Air Force Base in southern New Jersey.

Smoke from the missile attack was still visible. After a glance at the carnage, Mike closed his eyes. He was immediately transported back to his most memorable experiences with the Black Hawk.

He’d enlisted as soon as he could after he left home. A park bench was no way to live. Years later, as an NSA observer assigned to the UN mission, he was watching the body of Staff Sergeant William David Cleveland being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu after the Somalia militia had shot down two Black Hawk helicopters.

What a foul-up. When former President Clinton failed to make those responsible pay for the act, Mike realized something. Politicians promise you anything to get your vote, but when you need them? No one’s home.

You wouldn’t find anyone more loyal to America and the American people than Mike, but he never again took anything a politician said at face value—which had saved his skin more times than he could count.

He shook his head to shake off the images of the past. A moment later he was asleep. Mike awoke as the Black Hawk’s wheels touched down a few yards from a C-12 Huron twin turboprop plane on McGuire Air Force Base.

CHAPTER 5

McGuire Air Force Base, New Jersey

11:20 p.m.

MIKE DISEMBARKED FROM the Black Hawk first, then Don Volker, followed by three Special Forces noncommissioned officers carrying sidearms. They boarded the C-12 immediately. James was there, waiting.

James grabbed Mike’s hand to shake it. Mike, you alright? You’re white as a ghost.

What the hell is going on? Two presidents killed in this short period of time? And on our watch?

All I know is that this order was given by the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Martin Chandler. We’re meeting up with him at the base in Tacoma. I’m sure he’ll explain everything.

Mike settled into his seat. Let’s hope so.

He stared out the window. It was going to be a long flight.

Saturday

July 5, 2014

CHAPTER 6

Lewis-McChord Air Base, Tacoma, Washington

3:00 a.m.

JAMES, WAKE UP. We’re about to land.

James rubbed his eyes. I’m up, I’m up.

Mike held out a cup of coffee. Black, no sugar, right?

Thanks, Mike. Did you get any sleep?

Maybe a couple of minutes. Crazy thoughts kept running through my mind.

James took a sip of his coffee. Like what?

Like why did Chandler give the order to have us fly out here?

James shrugged. I don’t have a clue how he thinks.

One thing’s for damn sure. He can’t be trusted.

Don came up to them. We have to go.

Keep your cool, Mike, James said softly as they exited the plane.

FOUR military police cars were waiting. On the side of the cars was painted the crest of the 508th battalion, with a bear in the middle and the motto SINE PRAEJUDICO—Justice without Prejudice. The 508th was responsible for detainees, or what used to be referred to as POWs and now were called EPWs—enemy prisoners of war.

Mike had had dealings with some of these men. He had been involved in several clandestine operations that captured al-Qaeda terrorists who mysteriously disappeared after being captured by Special Forces. In reality, they were confined until they could be shipped to the Guantanamo base in Cuba. Before Gitmo, they were first brought here to Tacoma to be interrogated.

In less than ten minutes they arrived at Building 2008A, where the Security Division was located. Military police were stationed everywhere. Mike had the feeling he was walking into the lion’s cage and the ringmaster was about to make him jump through hoops.

As he entered the building, Mike was surprised to see Secret Service agents standing around. He searched for a familiar face. There weren’t any.

General Chandler was waiting for them as they were escorted into a room at the end of a corridor. One large round table, six wooden chairs, two bottles of water, a stack of paper cups, a brown manila envelope, and the general sat there. He stood up and extended his hand.

Good morning, Mike, James. It’s nice to see you. Please have a seat.

Mike had no patience for niceties. Why the hell did you fly us out here?

James grabbed his arm. Take it easy, Mike.

Look, Mike, said the general, I don’t have much time. I have to fly to Japan as soon as we’re done here. I’m meeting with our allies and the heads of governments in the Pacific region to discuss the situation with Taiwan. The Chinese have stepped up their aggression.

I don’t give a damn about your meeting. I want the truth: how the hell do you let al-Qaeda get to our president like this? And I want an explanation for why you ordered a hit on the last president in London at the Dorchester Hotel. It’s been four weeks, and I still haven’t gotten answers.

Four weeks ago, Mike had received intel that the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—General Martin Chandler—had arranged the assassination of the previous president at the Dorchester Hotel in England. The president was there to meet with the Chinese ambassador regarding Taiwan. Somehow they had found out that Mike knew who was responsible for the hit, and Mike had been lying low.

After accepting the job at World as head of security, he decided to go back to Washington to tie up loose ends, and this was one of them. He wasn’t going to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, and he wanted them to know it.

James grabbed Mike’s arm. Let the general speak.

Mike took a breath and sat down.

The general spoke. I know you’re angry. That’s one of the reasons I had you flown out here. You have a lot of legitimate questions. I’ve prepared a statement outlining why I gave the order to assassinate the last president at the Dorchester. I’ll just say this: some information came to light that proved that the president had become a danger to the American people. Impeachment wasn’t an option; he had too many allies for us to go down that avenue. We came to realize there was no other way. Without action, the consequences would have been devastating.

He pointed to the brown manila envelope sitting on the table. Inside this envelope are the details and reasoning as to why I took the actions I did. You’re the only ones I trust with this information. I know that by giving you this document my life is in your hands. You’re angry and your first instinct will be to go to the press with this and make this public. He paused. I sincerely hope you won’t do that.

The general slid the envelope across the table.

Mike looked at James as he took the envelope and put it into his pocket. This doesn’t explain the most recent events. What the hell happened yesterday at the Statue of Liberty?

The general stood up from his chair and slowly opened the door directly behind him. Mike watched impatiently. What now?

Gentlemen, the president of the United States.

Almost as if on automatic, James and Mike pushed back their chairs with one motion and stood at attention, raising their right hands in salute. The president, looking very much alive, shook their hands. Mike could barely contain his shock.

Please be seated, said the president. I know you must have many questions on your minds. But my time is short. I’m being moved clandestinely to the bunker under the White House as soon as it can be arranged. The vice president is waiting for me there.

Mike and James looked at each other.

Yes, he’s alive and well, too. I’ll be in constant contact with the general, who in the eyes of the public is in charge for now under the rule of martial law. He’ll fill you in on the events that have taken place from before my attack at the Statue of Liberty up until now.

Mike grabbed a cup and poured himself some water. Excuse me, Mr. President, that’s all well and good, but may I ask what we’re doing here exactly?

The general is going to ask you and James to take on a top-secret assignment, which I’ve approved. I need you to accept this mission for the survival of our country. There’s only a short window for you to succeed in this mission. You have carte blanche. All the resources of our government will be at your disposal. Whatever you need, the general will take care of it.

Mike looked at James, who nodded. Mr. President, whatever you need, we’ll do it.

The president stood up and shook their hands. He looked at Chandler. General, give me an update after you brief them.

The president turned and left.

MIKE and James sat there in shock. After a minute, Mike took another sip of water and got his voice back.

So, General, what’s this special assignment?

The general reached into his attaché case and pulled out two envelopes. He handed one to each of them. As James and Mike opened them, he spoke.

What you have here are three lists. One has the Muslim organizations in the United States that are fronts for money-laundering operations on behalf of al-Qaeda. Another lists the known terrorists groups in the U.S. that have the resources to build bombs and other weapons to create havoc. The last list is of American-born Muslims who have been educated in universities here, known radicals who would like to see America destroyed. We believe people from this last group are responsible for yesterday’s attempted assassination of the president and vice president.

So it wasn’t al-Qaeda, as they’re claiming? James asked.

These people are definitely cells of the al-Qaeda group, but since they’re American citizens, we can’t just go in and arrest them. Due process and all that.

So what do you know about the attack? Mike asked.

We had intel about the attack a week before it happened. We knew it was imminent, so we’ve been working on a contingency plan to protect the president and vice president.

Mike glanced at the door that the president had just walked through. He had already realized what this contingency plan entailed. He waited for Chandler to lay it out.

We hired actors who were willing to play the roles of the president and vice president. They spent time studying them, had plastic surgery to look exactly like them, as well as voice alteration procedures. Voice recognition tests proved they could fool the machines without question.

Mike whistled. Hell of a risk.

The general nodded. They knew what was at stake, that they could be killed on the job. We arranged several speaking engagements to test their performance. Pretty convincing, weren’t they?

Okay, so the president and vice president are still alive, but no one knows it yet. I assume that’s because you still don’t really know who’s responsible, despite your suspicions. You want them to think they’ve succeeded for now.

Chandler nodded.

So what’s next?

I have someone I want you to meet. He’s agreed to take on this assignment with you and James.

The general picked up the phone. Please send him in.

A man wearing a navy suit and a thin tie walked in. He had a dark complexion and black curly hair cut close to his scalp.

Aashif Bashir, let me introduce you to Mike O’Shea and James Brown. Please, have a seat.

Aashif shook Mike’s hand and then extended his hand to James. It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Aashif said, smiling.

Aashif—that’s an unusual name. Where are you from? Mike asked, unabashedly fishing for information.

The great state of Texas. You been there?

That wasn’t exactly the answer Mike was expecting, but he recovered fast. Sure, best barbecue in the world.

If you like Texas barbecue, James cut in. I prefer the barbecue in the South.

Can we get on with this? the general interrupted.

Mike nodded. Go on.

Let me tell you a little about this guy. A few years ago I assigned Aashif to a special unit called Intelligence Support Activity. His mission was to act as our mole and infiltrate al-Qaeda. He allowed himself to be captured in Afghanistan and sent to Guantanamo. He spent three years at Gitmo, where he was able to gather vital intel from other prisoners about cells in the United States and their funding operation. He’s the one who gave us the intel about the attempt on the president’s life.

So what’s the mission? Mike asked.

To eliminate the immediate threat to the United States. Let’s start with our homegrown terrorists and their affiliates. We have reason to believe they have other major attacks planned in the imminent future.

What are the parameters? James asked.

There are none—this is a covert operation that has nothing to do with the government. Understood?

That meant that if something went wrong, the three of them would take the fall.

Aashif will be your contact with me.

Mike frowned. Sure, Aashif can keep you briefed, but as head of the operation—

Aashif can handle it. If there’s anything you need to know, I have every confidence that Aashif will keep you well informed.

Mike didn’t like it. He’d just met Aashif and didn’t know if he could trust him. But the general wasn’t budging. He let it go—for now.

What about our new jobs at World Corporation? Mike asked. If we resign before we’ve even started, it’ll look suspicious.

That’s your cover. As far as anyone—inside or outside the government—knows, you both decided to go into private security. After this mission, you can take up your positions at World with no one the wiser.

The phone rang and the general answered it. Okay. I’m ready.

The general stood up and turned back to Mike.

Whatever you think of me, I love America as much as you do and I’ll do whatever I need to do to protect our democracy.

Mike nodded, but the brown manila envelope that would tell him the truth about the Dorchester attack was burning a hole in his pocket. He’d reserve his judgment after he’d read it.

The general shook James’s hand and turned to Aashif. Mike is the team leader. Aashif nodded and opened the door for the general.

James was scanning the lists Aashif had handed to him. Aashif sat down across from Mike.

So, Mike, what now? Aashif asked.

Mike stood up and slid the envelope with the lists in his jacket pocket. Let’s go save America.

Tuesday

July 15, 2014

CHAPTER 7

Tampa International Airport, Florida

3 p.m.

GOOD AFTERNOON. I have reservations for three rooms for Mike O’Shea.

Welcome to the Marriot, Mr. O’Shea. The receptionist tapped some keys. Two deluxe rooms and one suite for one night, is that correct, sir?

That’s right.

May I see some identification and a credit card, please?

Mike opened his wallet and handed her his driver’s license and his American Express Centurion Credit Card from World Cooperation.

Please charge the other rooms and any services we may use to this card.

All right, sir. Here are the keys.

Which one is the suite? Mike asked.

The one marked Ambassador.

Thanks.

Mike took the keys and walked over to James and Aashif, who were waiting for him on a couple of lounge chairs. He handed them their keys.

Thanks, Mike, said James. What’s our schedule?

My suite, fifteen minutes.

Aashif stood up. Fine with me. See you there.

Upstairs in his room, Mike opened the mini bar and looked for a couple of miniature bottles of Macallan. He came up empty. He settled on two Glenlivets instead.

There was a knock on the door.

It’s open.

James and Aashif walked in.

Mike pointed to the mini bar. Help yourselves.

Aashif took a can of Coke, and James helped himself to a couple of bottles of Jack Daniels.

When did you start drinking bourbon, James? Mike asked, settling back on the couch with his own drink.

In Idabel, Oklahoma, when we were at the president’s funeral. The pastor of the Choctaw Baptist Church invited me to stay. They had a small gathering for personal friends of the president afterward. Too bad you couldn’t be there, Mike.

Mike had been busy in the last ten days. He’d had to leave immediately after the president’s funeral to set things in operation. He’d gone back to New York to meet with some contacts, then arranged for him, James, and Aashif to meet in Tampa. Ostensibly he was taking some personal time before he threw himself into his new job at World. In reality, he was putting the mission to destroy al-Qaeda into play.

It was bizarre, James went on. "Walking into that church, being the only one there who knew the president was really still alive. Actually, I was there more out of respect for the actor who sacrificed his life than for the president.

Turns out the president and the pastor were close. They used to catch catfish down at the Red River together. The pastor kept going on and on about ‘Skully all gone.’ Then he’d cry. It was hard to watch.

‘Skully all gone’? said Mike. What the hell does that mean?

"Oh, it’s this Indian saying. It means, ‘The money’s all gone.’ Turns out they had this inside joke. Whenever the president attended church there, on his way out he’d shake the pastor’s hand and ask the pastor where his latest donation had gone and why the paint was still peeling in the church.

The pastor would reply, ‘Skully all gone,’ and they’d have a laugh as the president put his hand in his pocket and pulled out whatever he had in there to tithe to the church.

Mike chuckled. That’s some story. But let’s get down to business.

CHAPTER 8

3:30 p.m.

LET’S REVIEW THE information you obtained from the NSA, Aashif, Mike said.

The week before, Mike had handed Aashif one of the lists that Chandler had given him and asked him to obtain background information on each of the people named, all people ostensibly with ties to al-Qaeda. Aashif handed each of them a sealed brown envelope. They put down their drinks on the coffee table and opened the envelopes carefully, pulling out the papers inside.

The cover page had a short statement:

This envelope contains information to be read only by the appropriate parties and then burned.

Slowly they read the information on each of the eleven pages. No one said a word; no one looked up to check the reactions of the others. The government had gathered a lot of intel on these people. The problem was, none of it was obtained legally and none of it was enough to stick. Chandler was counting on Mike to find a way to convict them.

Twenty minutes passed. Finally Mike broke the silence.

Looks like everything’s in place for Operation DTA.

James lifted his glass. Death to al-Qaeda.

Aashif raised his own drink and looked at Mike, waiting for him to say something.

Mike paused for a moment and thought of all the innocent people who had been murdered in 9/11. Fireman, police, and rescue people, regular people just going to work, trying to