The Ultimatum

By James Besaw

When a small nuclear bomb explodes in a remote desert of the United States, and our government finally rules out an accident, people naturally begin to suspect terrorism. Dr. Jack Walker, the retired director of the CIA is called back into service by the Director of Homeland Security to lead a small, but unconventional group of rag-tags to find the perpetrators. After many days of investigation and speculation without success, an answer finally comes in the form of an ultimatum from a small previously unknown Islamic cell who, although less vitriolic and murderous, are no less passionate and determined. The ultimatum? America will agree to the perpetrators conditions…or face nuclear devastation. The generations-long plan includes high-ranking individuals with a conspiracy of an unbelievable magnitude.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483594019

Book preview

think.

Chapter 1

Explosion in the Desert

August 21

The Lions were trailing Green Bay 27 to 28 in the fourth quarter of a pre-season exhibition game with thirty-five seconds left on the clock. Jack usually didn’t get this emotional over a game that meant little more than bragging rights this early in the season, but it had been a lead-changing, nail-biter the entire game, and Jack’s beloved Detroit Lions had just gotten the ball on the Green Bay forty-yard line.

We can still win this game! he yelled excitedly to his wife Julie, who was in the kitchen perusing some recipes for dinner.

She wasn’t much of a football fan, but knowing how much her husband loved the Lions, she called out, Great!

Suddenly, a loud bleating sound erupted from the television, and the words We interrupt this program to bring you an important announcement scrolled across the screen.

What the hell…? Damn! Not now. Damn! Jack quickly grabbed the remote control and switched from the high definition digital channel to the regular analog channel, hoping it was only a problem with the high definition channel of their Dish TV. It was the same announcement. Click, click, click. Every channel was the same. Jack had no choice but to listen. As he waited for the Important Announcement, Jack sent an arrow prayer that the Lions or Packers had called a timeout and the announcement would be quick and something benign.

*

With his trademark handful of papers, Wolfe Blitzer at CNN stood in front of the translucent table where guests often discuss the news of the day. He exuded his usual journalistic stone face; however, this day he was clearly confounded at the news he was about to report. He scratched his full silver beard and adjusted his black rimmed glasses, then began hesitantly, in his usual slow and deliberate delivery, to include his trademark hesitation in the middle of a sentence, Ladies and gentlemen, we have just…gotten news that an enormous explosion has taken place in a remote area of the Oregon desert. Information is…sketchy, but we’ll tell you what we know so far: This explosion is of such enormous…proportions that it has been heard and felt hundreds of miles away. Fortunately, this explosion has taken…place in one of the most remote areas of the United States with a very sparse population. Our sources have pinpointed it to be in the southeast quadrant of Oregon, as seen here…on this map behind me. Then stepping to the side of the monitor a little and pointing with his laser pen, Blitzer added, More specifically, it is in the vicinity of the junction of Interstate 95 and Highway 78, surrounded by nothing but desert and sparse vegetation.

Blitzer stopped for a second, his laser pen hovering around the intersection as he listened to his earpiece feeding him updated information. He then continued to give his audience a grand tour of the area of the explosion with his laser. The nearest small cities are Jordan Valley, here on the Idaho border, approximately…fifty miles to the east, McDermitt on the Nevada border, ninety-five miles south, and Burns, Oregon, seventy-eight miles…to the northwest. Our Google maps…show a very small farming community called Rome, approximately fifteen miles east of this location, but at this time, we have no information about population, or if there are casualties or damage in Rome.

Looking down at the papers in his hand and quickly scanning his notes, Blitzer continued, Before we went on the air with this story, we scrambled every source, every contact, and listened to dozens of…messages from police chatter and even Twitter messages. Most of the reports are contradictory, speculative, and unsubstantiated; however, one common thread is that this catastrophic explosion…is indeed real and monumental.

Blitzer looked down at the floor, uncommonly silent and clearly at a loss for words. He had no running commentary, no other guests to discuss this news with, and all he knew was what the handful of papers told him and what his producer continued to report to him through his earpiece. He put his hand to his ear and listened intently to the updates. The large monitor behind him stood frozen with the same on-screen message that had interrupted Jack’s football game. The other monitor continued to display the map of the lower southeast quadrant of Oregon.

Finally, Blitzer began speaking in a reading-the-prompter monotone, his words obviously hastily written and transmitted to him via his teleprompter. Unconfirmed sources report windows broken in McDermitt, fifty…miles away. Mild to moderate earthquake reports have been felt for hundreds of miles. More ominous is that Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube videos have clogged the Internet with pictures of a—I hate to say this—a mushroom-type cloud, which…can be seen from as far as a hundred miles away.

Blitzer hesitated a few more seconds, looked directly into the camera, and let his last comment sink into his audience. No official sources have used the term ‘nuclear’ nor are we—especially since…to the best of our knowledge, this area has no nuclear plants, military installations, or any other logical source of nuclear materials anywhere nearby. We are desperately trying to put a label…on this explosion, but so far, we are stumped. We hope it is some accident, but in this age of terrorism, we can never rule out any possibility.

The audio went silent as Blitzer held his hand up to his ear again, apparently listening to more updates. After what seemed like an eternity, he began rather haltingly. Ladies and gentlemen, we have learned that…a HAZMAT team from Boise, Idaho is airborne and heading to this area as we speak. We might have some better details when they arrive on the scene. What? What? Blitzer asked while looking off-camera. High radiation levels? Oh my…! Blitzer turned back to the camera and continued: That certainly seems to indicate a nuclear explosion…although still no one in government is using that term. At this time, this explosion does not seem to have the earmarks of a typical terrorist attack, especially…since there is no significant population, or American symbols like the World Trade Center, in this remote area. We are waiting for some word from the Pentagon to inquire whether this may have…been a bomb accidentally dropped from an Air Force plane or some other U.S. military accident.

Blitzer took a deep breath and then asked, as much to his studio staff as to the TV listeners, This couldn’t be a terrorist attack, could it?

Blitzer looked off camera again. He looked at the monitors; he looked at his notes. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry; let’s all take a breath here…and pray that this is a natural, or at worst, just a terrible accident. We want to insure that there are no knee-jerk reactions and attribute this explosion to another terrorist attack—foreign or domestic. And, forgive me…for even hinting at the possibility of a nuclear bomb; we just need to wait for an official statement from the government. Can we take a quick break here? Blitzer pleaded. A commercial began to play.

Julie, are you hearing this? Jack yelled.

Yes. Are you sure this is not some movie or documentary?

I would love to believe that, but I’m afraid this is real!

Does this mean you’ll have to leave right away?

Just then, Jack’s high-priority, encrypted NDMS cell phone rang. (NDMS is an acronym for National Disaster Medical System, and the cell phone was only used in extreme emergencies.) This confirmed what he already knew—that this news was no movie, no joke, and that he would be on the next plane out of Alpena.

The game between the Lions and Packers was abandoned to the recesses of Jack’s mind. No doubt it was over, but his brain was consumed with the ramifications of this explosion. This news trumped sports or what was for dinner by far. This was indeed one of those called-out-of-retirement moments for Jack.

Chapter 2

Colonel Jack P. Walker, M.D.

August 21

Jack scurried around the house, packing a couple of good size suitcases, expecting he would be gone for a while, grabbed his laptop and dozens of files, and gobbled down some dinner his wife Julie had hurriedly prepared. His summons by the Secretary of Homeland Security had become more regular than his wife had been led to believe when he retired a few years earlier. Although officially retired as a medical doctor, military officer, and Director of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Colonel Jack Walker’s background and skills in nuclear medicine, as well as his leadership in the CIA, gave him a very critical role in thwarting nuclear terrorism. As a result, he was often called in as a consultant to Major General Walter Potter, the Secretary of Homeland Security.

Do you think this was a nuclear bomb? Jack’s wife inquired with obvious trepidation in her voice, after listening to station after station of coverage of the explosion.

No one is officially acknowledging the explosion as a nuclear bomb, but everything points to a nuke of some kind.

How could that happen? Julie asked.

That’s what we have to find out.

Who just called you?

General Potter.

Oh, no; that means it’s very serious!

Yup, when the Secretary of Homeland Security calls, it’s more than just serious.

This may be the beginning of the end, Julie remarked.

The second coming? Jack asked with some sarcasm, knowing his wife to be very religious and often making references to our world being in the last days.

Not Armageddon. Not about Jesus returning. About the end times for the United States.

And why would you say that? Jack inquired, not wishing at this grave moment to get into an argument, but clearly questioning her assertion.

History is against the United States of America surviving more than about four hundred years—just like the empires of the Bible—the Babylonian Empire, the Assyrian Empire, the—

The Roman Empire lasted nearly a thousand years, Jack contradicted, "the Egyptian Empire about four thousand years. We are the strongest nation in the history of the world. This is not our last days by any means," he added with significant opposition and resolve.

Well, the Egyptian Empire and the Roman Empire lasted longer because both amassed gigantic armies, not only for protection, but to conquer all the smaller nations throughout the Mediterranean. They were the only superpower of their respective era and were simply unchallenged.

Jack put his finger to his temple and contemplated the wisdom of his wife.

Julie caught herself and quickly apologized. Oh, I’m sorry. This is no time to be espousing my dire predictions. My White Knight will ride off on his steed and slay the dragons, she added, not meaning to be so flippant, but wishing to defuse the banter.

Jack simply looked at his intelligent and beautiful wife and smiled. She was not a religious fanatic, nor a doomsday theorist. But, she was a former world history professor at Michigan State University and had strong insights into the rise and fall of civilizations.

You know what, honey, Jack frowned, I hate to admit it, but you’re absolutely correct in your historical analysis of civilization’s longevity. All known civilizations have eventually succumbed to corruption, laxity, and eventual defeat by another civilization.

And, Julie added with a modicum of vindication and renewed enthusiasm, in light of the ever-increasing threat by the Islamic extremists’ ideology, their continuing attacks around the world, and the threat of nuclear arms falling into terrorists’ hands, this is indeed a different world where military strength no longer holds the deterrent capabilities it once did.

You’re right, acquiesced Jack. Military school made me intimately aware of the ambitious expansion of the Islamic world for many centuries energized by the edicts of Muhammad in the sixth century.

Fortunately, Julie added, that assault was beaten back by the Catholic Crusades between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries.

Right, Jack agreed, but fast forward five or six centuries and consider the ever-increasing number of radical Islamic attacks on America in the last twenty years, and the Muslim expansion and influence into Europe, and the radical expansion of ISIS. Maybe this is indeed the beginning of a modern-day Islamic jihad—and the destruction of the Western way of life.

Like I said, ‘the end times,’ Julie proclaimed, somewhat justified. These are indeed scary times.

Yes they are, but we can’t give up the fight against radical Islam, Jack sighed.

You’re right, Jack. So when are you leaving? Julie asked, sidestepping their gloomy conversation in support of her hero riding off to save the world.

Tonight. Sorry.

But there are no other planes out of Alpena tonight. You’re not driving are you?

No, sweetheart. General Potter is sending an Air National Guard jet from Selfridge Air Force Base near Detroit. It’ll be here in two hours, and I’ll be flying non-stop to Washington tonight. General Potter has called an emergency meeting scheduled at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning with the President and the Homeland Security team—I can’t tell you much more than that.

I know. It’s all confidential, his wife said with a gentle roll of her eyes. If you told me, you’d have to kill me, right? she added with a grin.

No, that’s not the reason, Jack answered while brushing off Julie’s attempt at humor. I don’t know any more than what I’ve just told you.

I’ll be praying for you, Julie added. I think you and our country need a lot of prayers.

Thanks, honey, Jack said softly. America does indeed need a lot of prayers at a time like this. I’ll be praying as well.

*

The sixty-million-dollar business jet, the military version of the Gulfstream G550, lifted off from Alpena County Airport at 7:22 p.m. Jack was the sole passenger, heading nonstop to Washington, D.C. As a pilot himself, Jack had flown many different types of aircraft, and since he knew the hourly rate of this jet to be in the neighborhood of $6,000, and the total flying time would be four hours to deliver him to Washington, D.C., he wavered between being awestruck and humbled in light of the enormity of the maelstrom he was about to be thrust into.

*

This is Badger three four two, Jack said as he picked up the ringing red phone next to him. (Badger 342 was his top-secret identification code for this mission.)

This is General Potter. Sorry to call on you again, but I have very bad feelings about this bomb and don’t want to wait until our meeting tomorrow.

No problem, sir. My instinct and my years in the field also tell me this bomb is too far out of the box to be just an accident.

Jack, General Potter said, feel free to speak your mind on this. Our conversations are fully encrypted and you are sitting in a soundproof cabin of the plane, so our conversation is totally confidential.

Well, sir, I’ve read the briefing you sent me. I was hoping this was a simple accident by our military, but your briefing has pretty much ruled out that possibility, so in my mind, this fits one of our doomsday scenarios—a genuine terrorist attack with a nuclear bomb.

But why a remote area of Oregon with almost no population or strategic targets? This doesn’t sound like the Taliban or al-Qaeda, does it? General Potter queried. We’ve always felt that if a terrorist organization ever got its hands on a nuke, it would take out Washington, D.C. or New York, or—

This doesn’t have the earmarks of Taliban or al-Qaeda, Jack granted. This is a message, sir, with a bigger, more ideological purpose.

A message with an ideological purpose? What are you thinking, Jack?

Well, since this explosion does not appear to be an accident and, therefore, must be considered an act of aggression with a minimum of destructive impact, my logic says that this is a shot over our bow to let us know they have the ability to destroy us with nuclear bombs if we don’t bow to their demands.

Or else! General Potter added, quickly understanding Jack’s supposition.

Right. If we don’t give them what they want, they’ll start bombing bigger and bigger targets until we agree to their terms.

Oh, my God, Jack! You and Bruce Kieffer formulated just such a scenario in your last year with the CIA. This scenario was way down near the bottom of my list of possibilities…but wait, Jack, there’s been no message; no one taking credit—

It’s early, sir. Give it a couple of days.

So you really think this is a warning of some kind?

That’s right. I hope I’m wrong on this one, so please give me another reason.

Right now, there is none. Damn! Jack, do you know where this could lead?

Yes, sir; ultimatums that we will be hard-pressed to ignore; otherwise, the United States will suffer the consequences of thousands of deaths, total disruption of our entire economic system, mass panics out of the big cities….shall I go on?

No! Jack, I’m only too aware of the consequences if you are correct, and that’s why we have to act quickly. I’ve put the entire behemoth of Homeland Security on alert. All emergency response teams are on Code Red status, and many teams have been activated. Our Chemical Biological Incidence Response Force (CBIRF) teams are en route to Oregon to set up communication centers that will begin broadcasting alert- warnings and start evacuating everyone in the dangerous fallout zones if needed. The DF zones are currently being mapped by our DHS meteorologists. Because this bomb smells of terrorism, I’ve called up our Nuclear Emergency Search Teams scattered around the country. More than 400 NEST personnel are sleuthing for other nukes right now. And all national security agencies are scrambling all personnel into action. I hope to God this just ends up as one big exercise of our emergency response readiness.

I hope so too. By the way, sir, did you happen to see the end of the Lions-Packers’ game?

Potter didn’t answer. Jack immediately regretted his question.

Jack, I need you to call upon your Ouija Board, crystal ball, or whatever magic you have to find the perpetrators immediately and stop any further bombs.

Well, Jack began, I don’t have any of that stuff, but I do have intuitions that I can’t deny. And, from everything we’ve been hearing over the last six months, this has the fingerprints of the Basij organization all over it.

And why do you think that?

They are a paramilitary offshoot of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard with ties to some radical elements of Pakistan that include al-Qaeda. I recently played a round of golf with a couple of friends at the CIA, and one of them confided that there has been increased chattering on the Internet about the use of nuclear bombs and great anticipation of Iran’s nuclear progress. These radical groups also have great wealth and political strength in Middle East, especially Pakistan and Iran.

Yeah, I’ve been briefed about that, but I am still having trouble wrapping my brain around a nuke actually being detonated by terrorists right here in the United States.

Well, you better get used to the idea, Jack blurted out, a little too disrespectfully; then he quickly added, And sir, with all due respect, we need to mobilize our nuclear forensic teams immediately.

Four NUFITs are on their way to Oregon as we speak.

Great. We need a place to start, especially since the origin of the nuclear fission material is imperative.

Do you think this is an Iranian bomb?

Well, sir, it’s too early to speculate much more than I already have, but I’m starting with that assumption. The Iranians have been rattling sabers for years under the guise of ‘peaceful purposes.’ Nobody but a fool believes that their efforts are solely peaceful.  Pakistan and Korea are also capable of nuclear terrorism, and all three should be on our short list of suspects. We also can’t rule out a rogue Russian or even American terrorist attack, but I believe the latter two are unlikely. Your briefings make it clear that our intelligence has not intercepted any communications, nor has had any warnings from anyone, so until we can get a little more intelligence, my gut just tells me that this feels like a Basij job.

Okay, for now, we go with the Basijs and we leave no stone unturned, okay? You and Bruce will be my right-hand men. You two were a great team at the CIA, and with your combined experience, you are my best hope to neutralize this threat. But, Jack, I hope you’re wrong; I hope this is just a terrible accident of some kind.

Me too! What has the National Security Agency got so far?

Jack, NSA has trillions of e-mails, phone calls, Facebook postings, text and Twitter messages, of which 99.999 percent are benign conversations between just plain regular folks—probably including you and me. Their massive vacuuming of worldwide communications under the premise of connecting dots to terrorists has simply not worked except to bring us closer to the Big Brother society many people fear we are becoming.

I’m one of those, Jack admitted.

Me too, Potter agreed, and it is all under my DHS umbrella, but Congress wanted it, so I’m stuck with it. Unfortunately, in spite of millions of square feet of storage servers and super-computers trying to connect the dots, we don’t have much to show. We actually have too much information and too many technicians stumbling over mammoth amounts of information. It’s kind of like one of those can’t-see-the-forest-for-the-trees issues. Between you and me, Jack, I think the NSA dragnet of e-mails and phone conversations is one big black hole for tens of billions of dollars. They’ve got super-computers analyzing every word of these communications, looking for an incendiary word, but the bottom line is computers can’t think, and the thousands of personnel monitoring these computers are for the most part just short-term military personnel with limited experience just pushing papers around and thinking about their girlfriends back home. That is why I’m calling you and Bruce in. We are back to basic gumshoe sleuthing and working out of the box.

That’s us! Jack acknowledged. Bruce and I both retired from the CIA early because we were too limited and stifled by the bureaucratic jungle. We work best without restraints.

If I remember correctly, it was Barry Mason who fought hard for you and lobbied Bill Clinton aggressively to install you as his Assistant Deputy Director.

That’s right and I really appreciated that gesture, Jack acknowledged. When the President made Barry the Director of CIA, there were lots of good candidates for Assistant Director, but he wanted me. The President, of course, had never even heard of me and balked at such an unknown, unvetted character like me.

But, it was really Frank Collins who tipped the scale in your direction, Potter reminisced. "Colonel Collins and the President were buddies from way back, and after you correctly diagnosed a rare illness of Collins’ daughter, and essentially saved her life, you were The Man!

That was such an honor for me, Jack mellowed. "I had just graduated from medical school and was doing my residency at Walter Reed Hospital where I met and treated some very influential people in the military and government, to include Colonel Collins and his daughter."

He called you ‘Doctor House’ because of your no-nonsense tendency to be unconventional, Potter laughed.

My background in veterinarian medicine gave me even more humorous labels.

Jack! I just remembered—you were originally trained as an Army helicopter pilot. How did you end up in medical school? Potter asked incredulously.

Well, I was a veterinarian before I went in the Army, but I got tired of my job, so I essentially quit veterinarian medicine and enlisted in the Army to be a helicopter pilot. But it’s really a longer story than that: One of my farmer clients couldn’t afford to pay for medical treatment for his horse and offered as barter to teach me to fly. He was a former Army Huey pilot in Vietnam who, after his discharge, bought a little two-place helicopter and started teaching for a little side income. He taught me how to fly and I quickly became hooked.  As you know, the Army will usually give you your first choice of training when you enlist, but thereafter, they tend to assign you where they need you the most, and they needed doctors. My medical training as a veterinarian made me a perfect candidate for medical school even though the Army had just spent a million dollars training me to be a helicopter pilot. They promised I could continue to fly on weekends as a ‘reserve pilot.’

But then you ended up in Germany?

That’s right, Jack confirmed. I was assigned to the 2nd of the 18th Artillery, an eight-inch howitzer battalion in Rothwesten, a small former German Luftwaffe base. We had five batteries, four of which used conventional artillery ammunition, but the fifth, Battery ‘E,’ was strictly nuclear and all very secret and independent of the other batteries. Because of my medical training, I was assigned to that battery.

Did you really have nuclear bombs? Potter asked.

You bet! Jack answered. The eight-inch howitzer, formally classified as a M110, was the only land-based artillery delivery system with the capability of shooting a nuclear bomb. The truth be known, the prospect of delivering nukes with artillery was absurd in most political and military minds.  The decision to put nukes in the hands of the Army boiled down to a competitive thing: since the Air Force had nukes, and the Navy had nukes, then the Army should have nukes too.

Were the nukes designed especially for the M110?

Yes. It was a small nuke, but the M110 was capable of shooting a thousand-pound projectile about twenty-five miles. Nukes ready and waiting on the ground just miles from the Eastern European border were deemed imperative to the security of Western Europe’s defense after World War II and the advent of the Cold War with Russia. No one ever expected the nukes to be used, but the intimidation factor weighed heavily. Even with the advent of jet aircraft and planes large enough to move an entire division to Europe in hours, for political reasons that no one seemed ever to question, the 2nd of the 18th artillery division remained in Germany.

So that was your indoctrination into nuclear medicine, Potter affirmed.

That’s also why Mason wanted me in the CIA. He liked my medical, military, and nuclear credentials and wanted to build a think-tank group around me to strategize and build some defense mechanisms against what he perceived as a growing threat of nuclear terrorism. I recruited Bruce Kieffer to be part of that team. He had been a Navy SEAL and had done and seen things that would have earned him Medals of Honor had it not been for the highly classified and secretive nature of his work.

You both had similar backgrounds, Potter added. You also had some highly secretive assignments in your military careers, and your involvement with highly classified nuclear armaments and your invitation to participate in a small cadre of men in the Army Special Forces gave you significant espionage experience.

Yes, Jack acknowledged. Our combined experience and commonality gave us a bond and friendship like the brothers-at-arms that we are.

Your group, Potter furthered, built the framework for most of the highly classified, covert actions responsible for thwarting hundreds of terrorist attacks after 9/11, the majority of which are largely unknown to all others outside the top-secret security clearances of a handful of government agents.

We did all right, Jack answered humbly.

Potter took a deep breath. He and Jack were killing time waiting for a hookup with Art Kieffer, and Potter really wanted Art in their conversation as well. Jack, as soon as Art gets connected, I would like to develop an agenda and rudimentary direction for our group to take. I want to hit the ground running tomorrow.

Jack sighed. For a few moments, their conversation about Jack’s past had masked the reality of the crisis developing in America. Then reality hit—the possibility of a true doomsday attack and the enormity of the situation suddenly overwhelmed him. Sir, I pray that this is a huge accident of some kind, but the fact remains that we have miles of melted sand in the Oregon desert that has no military or political value. Are you positive we don’t have a nuke unaccounted for?

"I’ve been assured that this could not have been one of our nukes."

Is Art on a plane right now? Jack asked.

Yes, he’s coming in from Florida. He should be in D.C. in a couple of hours.

What’s taking so long to get him linked to us?

Plane to plane via satellite, encryption, video conferencing, and a host of other technology hurdles, Potter answered.

Of course, sir, I didn’t mean to question—

Jack, General Potter interrupted, let’s dispose of all protocol and rank here. I want absolute candor and freedom to express ideas or disagreements. We need to get on top of this thing immediately, and I don’t want anything to hinder that.

Yes, sir.

Potter smiled at Jack’s formal response in spite of his invitation to dispense of formality. Old habits and respect for rank are hard to break.

I’ve just been told that we are ready to link up with Art. It will be a MITEC connection—our version of Skype married to Go-To-Meeting. Okay?

Great! Let’s get going.

Go to the DHS site and click on the Foxtrot link. The code is ‘Red robin.’ I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.

Chapter 3

Homeland Security Meeting

August 21-22

Since the 2:15 p.m. explosion, General Potter and his top advisors had been communicating with and amassing thousands of pages of data from all intelligence agencies, both nationally and globally. He had summoned several top advisors like Jack and Bruce to come to Washington to supplement his advisory team, and he had taken dozens of calls from top officials in the government to include members of the Senate, House, all of the numerous security agencies’ heads, as well as the Attorney General, Secretary of Defense, and the President.

The task was daunting as Potter and his teams attempted to analyze the identity of the explosion and to activate and organize the entire defense mechanism of the United States. He and his agencies were mulling over every detail of the Oregon explosion, deliberated every shred of intelligence, and brainstormed every nuance of possibilities, strategies, and plausibilities at their disposal in the few short hours since the explosion.

Ladies and gentlemen, General Potter announced to his staff late into the night, "it’s been a very long afternoon and it is now almost midnight. We are all tired and starting to show fuzzy speech patterns. I know many of you can go all night, but you can’t go all night and all day tomorrow without sleep. We have an extremely busy day tomorrow beginning with a security briefing at 7:00 a.m. and the President joining us about nine. We need to be sharp and productive in order to find out who or what caused this explosion, and we need to do it quickly!

You all have temporary sleeping quarters here, and I’m assuming your families already know you won’t be home tonight, so get some sleep because I need you to be at your best tomorrow. Several of our most skilled people in this nuclear terrorist arena are in the air right now and will join us in the morning. The cafeteria is open all night if you want to get some grub or drinks at your convenience. But more importantly, get some sleep.

General Potter took his own advice and caught a couple of hours sleep on an army cot kept in his office closet in the event of an emergency situation. He awoke about three in the morning to the nightmarish events of the previous day; his mind quickly leaping from the ungodly early hour to the task facing him this day. Adrenaline thrust his body from the cot and led him pacing around his spacious office, trying desperately to organize his sleep-deprived mind to get a handle on where to start. He grabbed an apple from a bowl near his coffee table and began munching, not from hunger but unconsciously feeding his troubled body and racing mind. Ideas began to form, then began rushing out like a bursting dam. He grabbed a legal pad and sat down to make notes. An agenda began to form. He formulated his opening remarks, organized the teams, assigned duties, and developed a strategy. Oblivious to the early hour, he summoned his aide, Captain Thomas Whitney, who entered Potter’s office within seconds.

Good morning, Whitney greeted cheerfully, despite the ungodly time of the morning and lack of sleep. That was Whitney! He was a machine!

Captain, Potter said anxiously, we’ve got a ton of work to do before our meeting at seven. I can’t sleep knowing that, as the Director of Homeland Security, the responsibility of neutralizing this threat is entirely on my shoulders!

The President—

Potter interrupted, "I know the President is the ultimate authority, and I know I have the CIA, NSA, and seven other departments sharing the burden, but it is my role to coordinate the activities, communication, and direction of all those agencies. That is a massive group of agencies with nearly a quarter million employees. I honestly feel overwhelmed."

Sir, Whitney reassured, you are in this position because you are one of the few people in this world capable of leading such a large agency. You’ve been under fire before, sir, literally and figuratively.

Thank you, Whitney. I need all the encouragement I can get.

Sir, it’s an honor to work for you, and I have no doubt you’re the right man for this job at this time. You’ve been in combat—Vietnam, Kuwait, and Iraq—and are no stranger to pressure and difficult decisions. You have always embraced crisis leadership since your early days at West Point.

Thank you for the compliments and loyalty. But I’m not as young as I used to be. This morning I feel old. When I woke at three this morning and saw myself in the mirror, I did a double-take at a haggard old man, needing a shave, a shower, and a cup of coffee.

Whitney smiled. He said nothing, wishing not to be any more patronizing than he had already been and, truthfully, feeling a lot of the same emotions, even at the age of thirty-two.

Potter was pushing seventy; the lines on his face were more pronounced, his full head of gray hair was retreating, and his arthritis was punishing him every morning when he got out of bed.

Sir, I doubt if there is a person in DHS who isn’t feeling a little of what you just described. I know I am. This is an extremely stressful time for all of us, but I can’t even imagine the load you have on your shoulders. You can count on me to do whatever I can to help carry that load.

It was now Potter’s time to smile. He couldn’t believe his good fortune to have an aide like Whitney. But he knew Whitney could only do so much. Yes, it was stress, and certainly the lack of sleep, but he also realized he was just getting too old for the stress. He also acknowledged to himself that he had grown lazy from the cushy desk job and the ego that grows with chauffeurs, aides constantly catering to every need, and the accolades bestowed on him by everyone from his proud mother to the President of the United States. He had thoroughly reveled in the prestige that went with his big-wig political position in the United States government, but on this particular day, he didn’t feel like being a general—and he definitely didn’t want to be the Director of Homeland Security.

I’m ready, sir, Whitney said, taking charge as usual. Where would you like to start?

"I’ve been working on an agenda; we