The Last Sunrise

By James E. Fielder Sr.

Washington DC: President Wilson Riordan, former career Air Force officer, businessman, and senator, discovers hints of an international plot that could upend the current fragile balance of government alliances throughout the world.

Cheyenne Mountain: Major General Jock McReynolds, commanding general of the Strategic Air Command and former commanding officer of Colonel Wilson Riordan, notices hints in the behavior of foreign military units, air traffic patterns, and naval sorties that are red flags to his highly developed military gut instinct.

Springfield, Missouri: Jared Faraday, southwest Missouri multi-millionaire businessman with a political-trends hobby bordering on obsession, is very concerned about what he is seeing on the news and the Internet, so much so that he warns his family and friends.

They are all correct.

The Last Sunrise is a possible future. The elements are already in place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475917734

James E. Fielder Sr.

James E. Fielder Sr., a highway designer and home builder born and raised in Springfield MO, was an avid reader of science fiction who enjoyed projecting “possible futures” and engaging in lively conversations about many topics such as the space program, politics, future trends, and the afterlife. He was a motorcyclist, a bowler, and very concerned about the future of the planet. He passed on in February 2010 in Colorado Springs, Colorado where he lived in the shadow of Cheyenne Mountain. He leaves behind his wife Virginia, sister Norma, daughter Denise, sons Jim Jr. and Ed, and several grandkids and great grandkids. This is his first book. Denise F. Sphar is James Fielder’s daughter. She also enjoys science fiction as well as many other fiction and nonfiction genres. She is an artist, recently retired from government service, and currently lives in south-central Missouri with her husband Richard, where they run a canoe livery business and river service on the Big Piney River. They have two Weimaraners, Susie and Ranger.

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Prologue

New York, NY, 6:27 pm est, Friday, April 7, 2017

Three minutes. The director’s warning sounded out in hollow tones from two speakers in the studio ceiling, momentarily drowning out the general din of preparation for the evening news cast. Bob Moreland automatically noted it while he finished reading the notes John Mansfield had handed him. He looked up from the copy into Mansfield’s somber eyes, staring intensely from under two silver thatches, brows as famous as the commentator’s gruff voice and blunt delivery. He handed the copy back.

Awfully strong words, John.

Yeah, but I think they’re the right words. Mansfield tapped the bottom pages precisely on the counter top and laid the stack down while the younger man, recently promoted to anchor, adjusted his lapel mike. Moreland looked at one of the monitors to check his camera image and back at Mansfield.

I’ll grant you it’s serious, but the Arabs and the Israelis have been going at it off and on for as long as I can remember. This is the eighth or ninth war since 1948, isn’t it? Why is this one so different?

Think about it, Bob. What kind, what magnitude of power does it take to mold a bunch of second string countries who can’t even agree on limits and pricing of oil production? Christ, just a few years ago two of them were still trying to blow each other out of the Persian Gulf.

Moreland straightened his own notes. The Iranians modified their policy considerably after Ahmadinejad’s defeat a couple of years ago.

Mansfield acknowledged, That did ease the situation, but it just made Iran even more open to persuasion from certain arenas. Again, who’s the persuader? It’s obviously the Russians.

Why? Oil fields, or just trying to keep things stirred up?

Mansfield shook his head. If that’s all it is, why try to take Israel? The risk of our intervention is too great. You know the US will never let Israel fall. He fixed Moreland with an example of his famous bright, piercing stare. Moreland wondered if the old guy still practiced it in front of his shaving mirror.

Mansfield added, These are just observations based on your lead story, obvious deductions. There’s a lot more there than meets the eye. You have to look past the obvious. I wonder what the president will have to say about the conflict tomorrow night. He’s too new. He doesn’t need this now.

Moreland agreed. You’ve got that right. But laying it all on the line like this, it could cause a panic. God, an attempt at mass exodus from the big cities would be a disaster in itself. We have a responsibility. We can’t afford to ‘cry wolf’. Not unless we’re really sure, and maybe not even then.

Mansfield smiled for a moment, then said, Our public isn’t gullible anymore. It isn’t like the ‘War of the Worlds’ in the late thirties. Most of what we say goes in one ear and out the other. They’re too involved in their own lives. They won’t panic.

Yeah, I guess you’re right. He sighed as the director began marking the seconds with the fingers of her right hand. Okay, call it the way you see it.

Always do. Mansfield muttered as Moreland looked earnestly into the living and dining rooms of America.

Chapter 1. The Black Queen

Washington DC, the White House, 8:00 am est.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

President Riordan leaned over his massive cherry desk, intently working up a rewrite of the speech he was scheduled to give later, on prime time network, satellite, cable, and the internet. His hand passed periodically over an indentation in the finish where Riordan’s grandfather had carved his initials when he was only seven years old. The worn irregularity of the letters gave him a sense of belonging and of ownership as he worked alone in the still unfamiliar confines of the Oval Office.

Steve Casey’s efforts had been at their usual high caliber, but Riordan felt more was needed for this one. Too much was riding on the outcome. Every word, every inflection, nuance, and mannerism that he had considered and some that he couldn’t would be under extreme scrutiny tonight by those in power, friend and foe alike. He wrote for several minutes, then sat back and stared at the pale cream presidential seal embossed on the ceiling, reaching back awkwardly to massage the cramp out of his neck and shoulders, and then keyed the intercom for his personal aide. Dan, wou1d you come in for a minute, p1ease?

Right away Sir.

The door to Riordan’s right opened moments later and Daniel Moriarty passed through quickly. He walked to the president’s desk and waited patiently, as always, while Riordan made a few more minor changes to his speech. Riordan looked up, sharp blue eyes taking in Moriarty’s correct two piece suit, his Harvard tie pin, the alert bearing of his dark sculpted head as he awaited Riordan’s requirements. The intensity of his aide’s polished professionalism sometimes disconcerted Riordan.

Dan, go over this for grammatical errors and print it for me, please. I’m not quite satisfied with it, but maybe it’ll read better after you’ve polished it.

Be glad to Sir. Anything else? he asked as the president handed him several yellow ruled sheets.

No thanks. Billy should be arriving shortly. Send him in when he gets here, but I don’t want to be bothered by anyone else right now. And let the vice president know when he comes, please.

Moriarty smiled inwardly at his boss’s persistent unconscious politeness. Very well. Should I tell her you wish her to join you?

No, I’ll see Natalie after Billy and I assess the situation.

Yes Sir. Moriarty left with the speech, his shoes clicking briefly on the hardwood floor that Riordan had had refinished immediately after his inauguration.

After the door closed on the aide’s proper retreating figure Riordan pushed back from his desk, stood up and stretched. The muscles in his back ached and his eyes were very tired. The long hours required for dealing with the current situation were telling on him. He turned around and looked out the window, absently moving the sheers aside with a finger. He could see splashes of pink on trees below and off in the distance, a colorful counterpoint to white and gray structures dimmed by grime and pollution. The Capitol Building was hidden from any viewpoint at the White House complex by the angle of Pennsylvania Avenue, but he didn’t need to see it to be aware of the massive gleaming structure, the arena in which he’d fought many oratorical battles. He wondered how many of his Democratic rivals at work there had any idea what he was going to say tonight and what their responses would be. In the short run, the only response that really mattered was that of the members of the Islamic Confederation and, more important, their Russian advisors. He was also concerned about the Sino-Asiatic League. The United States’ alliance with them was a balancing act between economic and political considerations that could equal that of the most death-defying attempts of the Flying Wallendas.

His objective was to persuade the members of the Confederation that their best option would be to pull out of Israel and to do that he had to make them believe that the United States was willing to once again send troops in. He had ordered the Sixth Fleet in the Eastern Mediterranean and the Seventh Fleet off the Persian Gulf to be heavily reinforced and Army and Marine quick strike forces to be moved to forward positions. He had given an ultimatum two weeks previously, upon which the U.N. had voted an approving resolution. The resolution had been vetoed, of course, by the Russian Federation in the Security Council and until now the ultimatum had been ignored. Curiously enough, China had supported the United States, rather than abstaining as expected and Riordan found that somewhat heartening.

Last night preparations had been completed with contingents from England, France, Australia, Italy, Germany and Canada also being moved into position. He knew the odds for achieving his objective were low and he was willing to settle for action confined to the middle-eastern front if that’s what it took to convince his adversaries of his convictions (not that he wanted a repeat of nine years of war that had consumed so much blood and resources in the first decade of the 21st century). He also knew his Air Force background marked him in their eyes as a militant and he hoped that fact would help in this rather nasty international chess game he appeared to be playing.

Letting the drapes fall, Riordan turned from the window, picked up his coffee and surveyed his desk. A good portion of its polished expanse was hidden by books, writing pads and schedules stacked in several small mounds. Riordan and his secretary, being of differing philosophies on desk organization had reached an understanding: Moriarty didn’t touch Riordan’s desk, no matter what he might be looking for or where he might suspect it was or how urgent he felt the need to tidy up. An intricately burled extension pulled up on the right side supported a chess set, the opposing pieces of which were fabricated in chrome and blued steel, a gift from a longtime friend whose hobby was gunsmithing.

Raising the cup to his lips, he grimaced at the caffeine bitterness that clung to the back of his tongue. He set the cup aside and turned his attention for the moment to the chessboard, wondering what move Markham had thought up. Looking up from the chess board, he frowned. What about the Mid-East crisis, the real chess game? What was Russia’s part in it? They were his real opponent. He was sure of that. Would they continue to make their moves from deep cover as they usually did in situations like this or would they surface and show their true position? Why had they instigated this war? He was positive it was their doing even though he had no overt proof of it. This crisis worried him. It was too big. The entire Arab world against tiny Israel and it had happened suddenly with no specific incident to provoke it just five days after his inauguration. Coincidence? Or was it something much more sinister? January was a bad time to start a war even in the middle east. The weather was too unpredictable. Did the Arabs think a new president would be ill prepared to react positively? He hoped it was only that and if it was, they were in for a big surprise. Was it really that simple or was it something deadlier? There was no reason for it to happen at this point in time and this was what made him look past the obvious to try to find a deeper reason. He really didn’t need this sort of crap. Lord, he wasn’t even really familiar with the White House yet.

* * *

After opening the door to the Secret Service member’s knock, National Security Advisor Wilhelm Billy Markham stepped briskly out of the foyer of his townhouse in Georgetown and walked quickly to the standard issue black Lincoln limousine gleaming in the soft morning light, reaching the door just as the chauffeur opened it for him while the agent took the front passenger seat.

Morning, Chuck, Mike. Markham delayed a moment, relishing the clarity of the morning atmosphere.

Good morning, Mr. Markham, they replied. Casting a last glance, Markham sighed, resigning himself to work and the shadowy, overheated interiors where he was forced to perform it.

Take me to the boss.

Got it Sir, the chauffeur touched his cap and shut the door.

Once seated in the cool gray interior Markham flipped a mirror down on the front seat’s leather back and quickly ran a comb through his steel grey hair, straightened his tie and inspected polished teeth turned a rich ivory from long exposure to tobacco. He had been called at 7:00 am by Moriarty ‘requesting’ an informal conference prior to the official assessment meeting set for 11:00 am. Satisfied with his appearance, he pulled a sheaf of computer printouts from his cordovan brief case and quickly skimmed data pertaining to troop deployment in the Mideast, assessments on key political figures, enemy strengths and weaknesses, economic conditions and other relevant factors.

Markham, a youngish sixty and still an active swimmer, had been a high-level advisor in the National Security Advisor’s office for several years. When Wilson James Riordan won the presidency after Gerald Allan Jensen’s incapacitating stroke, something a sizeable number of people thought he would have done anyway, Riordan had asked Markham to be his security advisor. Billy had yet to regret his decision to accept. The president really listened to what Markham had to say, listened to all his advisors with that unfailing politeness that made each feel unique and needed, before making decisions.

Riordan, he thought, was a physically impressive man, slender, athletic, tall, well over six feet, in his late fifties with graying sandy hair. He was also impressive, much more so than most of the past presidents, in the qualifications and credentials he brought to the office. Military, Air Force, retired as a full colonel after twenty years. Big business, head of a large, family-owned corporation, and one-term senator. He was not much for partisan politics but a proven effective leader. Even with this, he was a fledgling president and with the present crisis Markham knew Riordan had feelings of inadequacy.

He looked up as the car slowed to find they had arrived at the White House and had already driven through the east gate. He opened the door, not waiting for the protocol of chauffeur assistance and made his way to the West Wing entrance, accompanied by the purr of the retreating limo. He walked smartly through the foyer to the lobby, turned left, and continued down a hall to a larger, perpendicular hall, striding past paintings picked out by Betty Ford and Laura Bush. He turned right, cutting the corner without breaking stride and turned left into a suite. The deep pile beige carpet muffled his steps as he entered Moriarty’s office.

Go right in, Billy. He’s expecting you, Moriarty said and spoke quietly into his comset, informing Riordan of the arrival of his favorite advisor.

As Markham entered the Oval Office, Riordan looked up from the papers he had been reading and took off his glasses. Good morning, Billy, thanks for coming in. It’s been a pretty intense couple of weeks. Want some coffee?

Good morning, Wilson. It’s going to stay that way for a while yet, Markham walked over to a wheeled chrome table holding an urn, cream and sugar and a pot of water and decaffeinated instant. He poured himself a cup of the real stuff.

Have a seat. Billy. Might as well be comfortable while we discuss this mess. Markham picked a comfortable chair across from the couch where Riordan had taken his coffee, and laid his briefcase on a side table next to it, snapping open the hasps before sitting down. As he took his seat Markham’s sharp gray eyes noted the tension emanating from Riordan. Deepened lines around the president’s dark blue eyes betrayed the stress of past weeks. Two vertical creases at the bridge of his strongly aquiline nose were mute testimony to long periods of recent concentration and his normally generous smile was tight, cramped at the corners. The burden of the political situation lay on Riordan, evident as he stretched a kink out of his shoulders and rolled them as if to shake it off. Markham took two copies of a summary prepared for him one hour previously, which he had downloaded at home and printed off. Listed on the front were the contents:

1. Russian Federation

2. Arab Union

3. European Union

4. China and satellites

5. Islamic Confederation

6. Earth First

7. Pan-Africa

8. Central and South America

9. Friends?

10. Enemies?

Riordan reached for his glasses and reviewed the summary page. I see you’ve got the ‘Bear’ at the head, he remarked, referring to the Russian Federation.

The Bear was in hibernation for a while, but he’s back in full force, Markham replied.

What’s new with him?

The Russians are involved in or with most of the entities on that list in some capacity: developing alliances, providing resources, attempting inroads into big business and infrastructure. The Siberian oil fields give them the wherewithal to accomplish what they could never maintain in their earlier incarnation. That’s been known. Markham looked up from his notes. "Now we’re seeing some changes in their focus, or perhaps I should say foci, since there are several.

The major change is with the Islamic Alliance. Our sources have confirmed that Russia is providing them with monetary support, no doubt with strong political strings attached, although the IA prefers as little of that as possible. The IA is also working toward more ideological influence with the Arab Union, so this is a two-pronged problem for us as far as both Israel and our own alliances in the area.

What about the AU?

We are getting whispers indicating their cooperation on Israel if we slow down on the new alternate fuel modules.

Riordan shook his head, We can’t do that, that’s economic blackmail worse than what we had back in the eighties and nineties!

Markham replied, I think we can work with them. They still make plenty of money off of us from the production of plastics and other petro-based necessities. The general public still doesn’t have that on their radar screens.

Is that why Earth First is here?

In part. They are trying to bring that to the attention of the average customer, but more importantly, they’re dealing with extremists within their midst, and there are whispers about cooperation between that faction and Russia against the Chinese federation. It’s a neat fit of convenience. Russia is pushing to expand control eastward into the quasi-independent republics while Earth First wants the Sinos to bring their environmental philosophy and production base in line with the needs of the 21st century.

Markham paused. Earth First has my sympathies there. The changing coastline should be enough to convince them to convert to clean energy. But an alliance or agreement between Russia and Earth First is unacceptable.

And the European Union?

Well, they have to make nice with the Bear, at the same time as defending against getting gobbled up. They’re actually relieved to see the focus going to China, and may be assisting the Firsters behind the scenes because of that.

All this bears watching, Billy. But it’s not enough. He skimmed pages. What’s the latest with Israel?

Nothing much has changed in the last few days. Hamas is still talking they’re cooperating, but that’s all it is. Talk. Billy sighed and took a sip. Still looks like the Arab Union is heading toward a showdown with Israel. There will always be conflict between the Israeli and Arab factions.

I’d like to think the day will come when that won’t be the case, Riordan’s voice was low and troubled. He looked back at Markham. We’ve got several knowns, first being the Arab-Israeli situation you just mentioned. The Arabs started this elevated stress thing for no good reason that we can see, and they just happened to do it right after I took office. An alliance, mostly for war, among a group of states who a short time ago couldn’t even get along with each other. He paused, brows furrowed, for a moment and then continued, In this they apparently have the backing of our Russian ‘friend’ Orlakov, yet another of Putin’s disciples, who is to say the least very unpredictable and appears to be up to no good.

He turned, stared out the window for a moment, then turned back to Markham. "Along with all these disconcerting knowns there are some very big unknowns kicking around. Billy, what the hell is really going on? We seem to have a tiger by the tail, but how big is the tiger? What will the reaction to my speech tonight be? Who are we really pushing?

Wilson, even with all my experience in Mideast politics this run up to war still doesn’t make sense. Usually there’s a big flap about something and then the shit hits the fan. Not this time. It came out of the clear blue. Apparently Israel wasn’t caught completely off guard. They must have felt something was up. However, they haven’t seen fit to communicate this to us. All our intel has come up with is that the Arabs apparently intend to drive the Israelis into the sea. Literally.

Well, that we can deal with. We’ve done it several times over through the years. I don’t like the Russians’ position, kind of puppet master. As a matter of fact, I haven’t been able to figure Orlakov out since he took over a little over two years ago. It’s the old carrot and big stick, Riordan replied wryly.

Yeah. The implied threat of a takeover has been noted in certain areas if cooperation isn’t forthcoming.

Riordan eyed him narrowly. How solid is the background on that?

Markham sighed abruptly in frustration. Not enough to take any action. We can only use the info as a factor in working out some of the political relationships.

Let’s get back to our defense situation for a minute. We have to be sure of the true nature of the situation.

The president moved to a small table height cabinet at the left side of his desk, pressed a spot on the underside of the edge of its top and most of the top slid back exposing a key board. He depressed a key and a section of the far wall moved sideways exposing an electronic view screen eight feet wide and five feet high. He then depressed a series of keys and a map of the world came on the screen, a situation map showing the location of US and Russian forces around the world.

He turned to his security advisor and said, Billy, besides the nice little hot war in Israel, we’ve got all this other crap going on. He waved his hand in the direction of the map. Our Russian friends are up to something. Is it real or are they just keeping us on our toes?

That’s a good question Wilson. Since Orlakov has taken over with Putin’s blessing, it could be either. He’s been in power for two years but he’s still pretty much an unknown quantity.

Ever since I gave the Arabs that ultimatum to get out of Israel two weeks ago and raised the Defense Condition level to 3-6, the Russians have matched it. Why? We haven’t said an unkind word to them.

It’s probably one of two reasons. Either it’s their paranoia about us in a general sense (which they would suffer from whether we notified them or not) or else they’ve got their hands in the cookie jar.

Well either way, I’m getting tired of this little matching game they’re playing. I wonder what the hell they’d do if we raised it to 2-7?

The security advisor grinned. To possible nuclear? Considering that’s one step away from pushing the button, they probably wouldn’t know whether to shit or go blind.

The president grinned back. If I could be a little mouse in their threat analysis center, I’d do it just to see that happen. His grin faded and his gray eyes turned steely. Seriously Billy, what the hell are those bastards up to?

Considering they’ve been supplying all the Arab states with arms and equipment for over a year and they’ve got advisors and technicians in those countries, plus their obvious support of the Arab states since they invaded Israel in January, it could be anything. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and continued, I’d say that at least it’s a warning to us not to go after the Arabs.

Huh! If those jerks think I’m going to stand by and watch the Arabs annihilate Israel, they’ve got another think coming. Aside from the fact that I’m morally against it, I’d get impeached if I did that.

Have you decided how much time you’re going to give the Arabs to start pulling out when you go on TV tonight?

Yeah. Till 10:00 am Monday, their time.

That’s not much time, Wilson. 9 pm est is 5 am Sunday there. That’s only 29 hours from now. Shouldn’t you make it Tuesday?

Huh! That’s twenty nine hours more warning than they gave Israel. Besides, I told them to get out two weeks ago.

But Wilson, we’re dealing in practical realities.

Yes, I know, but by Monday they can at least say they will and show some physical signs of pulling out. If they can’t make up their minds in twenty four hours, then tough shit.

What do we do if they don’t?

Then we go in. We’re ready. Planes, ships and quick strike forces. They’re all in place, ready. I’m not bluffing.

What about the Russians? Will they stand by and watch?

Screw the Russians. If they stick their noses in, we’ll kick their asses too. Besides, I don’t think they’re that stupid.

But what if they are Wilson? Or even worse, what if they want us to do this so they can come in without appearing to be the aggressor? What if they want to be sure Israel is eliminated? Or what if they want to kick our ass?

What could they gain by taking us on? They’ve carefully avoided that ever since the cold war began. In recent years we’ve been, not friends, but at times situational allies. That situation could go nuclear and I don’t think they’d risk that. The president stopped, looked a question at his security advisor, then continued, I guess the situation has changed. If they’re deliberately forcing a confrontation that says they think they can take us. Could they Billy?

No Sir, they couldn’t. It would be a no-win situation. Oh there is one way they could. For a surprise pre-emptive strike, they’d want to lull us to sleep first, not create a ruckus like this. No, if they take us on, it’ll be on a conventional basis because with their superior numbers and much shorter supply lines, they know they can defeat us and . . . He hesitated. They think we won’t be the first to use nuclear weapons. Our government has always maintained a position of non-first use of nuclear weapons.

Billy, that’s bullshit rhetoric and you know it. Our military has always maintained we have to hit first with everything we have. The ‘use it or lose it’ axiom. If I remember my lessons correctly, the proper code name for it was ‘pincher’ .

Wilson, you’re military but now you’re the president. A civilian. Would you or could you launch a nuclear strike knowing they would retaliate?

I don’t know Billy. I honestly don’t know. To retaliate with theirs coming at us, yes, without a second thought but to initiate a pre-emptive strike, that’s something else. I’d have to have a hell of a good reason.

Well, if you could do it you’ll be the first one who could. You know SAC’s had a hell of a time getting presidents to participate in their Gold Code exercises. Carter was the only one who would ever do it. They’ve all been paranoid about even thinking of pressing that button.

The president’s eyes took on a far away look. After a few moments he said, I can understand why. Billy, it’s an awesome responsibility. In terms of the vast numbers of people affected, there’s never been a decision to equal it. But, he shrugged slightly, I don’t think it’ll come to that.

I hope you’re right Wilson. I hope you’re right. However, there’s something about this whole situation that really scares me.

What’s that, Billy?

There’s no real reason for it to have happened in the first place. No incident. No build up of pressures and, even more puzzling, no single strong, fanatical Arab leader coming to the fore. It simply doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t have happened. There’s something missing.

Uh, huh. I’ve been thinking about that too. The only logical thing about it was the timing. That’s when the situation changed. Just five days after a new president took over. Probably the most vulnerable time they could have picked. At the transfer of power. New inexperienced people in many high places. That’s ominous in itself.

Yes it is. Very ominous. You know we’ve got several Achilles heels in our form of government and in terms of a threat to national security this is one of the biggest. We should get rid of that two term limitation on the presidency. That’s a weakness too. Telling the world four years in advance when we’ll have a new inexperienced president. You know Wilson, when you think about it that’s really dumb. Asking for trouble, but that’s the way the Congress is. They pass a law reacting to a specific situation without really looking at all its ramifications.

Shit Billy, they do that all the time and by legislation they try to dictate what the president can and can’t do. They’re always trying to take over the executive branch’s powers.

Uh huh, they’ve pulled some lulus, like the Iran-Contra Affair back in the mid eighties. What had been legal for the executive branch to do, they made illegal for a year and then rescinded it and then prosecuted some people under a law that only lasted a year and did it after the law was rescinded. I’ve always thought they overstepped their constitutional power on that one but no one called them on it.

You’re right there. If they tried that on me I’d take them to court. What’s my business is mine not theirs.

Thank God the time frame on a decision on pressing the button is so short or they’d want to dictate that too.

The president nodded his head, then said, Let’s get back to our present situation. Will the Russians come in if we have to go into Israel?

If someone like Gorbachev were still running the show, I’d say no, but with Orlakov the chances are at least fifty-fifty. Frankly, I think he’s behind the whole thing. However, I don’t think it’ll go nuclear. Not unless we really kick their ass. That could reduce their credibility to the world below an acceptable level.

You’re probably right on that too. If they come in it will be in force.

The president furrowed his brow, turned and looked out the window for a few moments, then turned back to the map. Billy, you don’t think there’s any real chance it could go nuclear, do you?

Not if their purpose is simply to destroy Israel. But like I said, the whole thing doesn’t make sense. It’s too big a risk just to eliminate Israel. They have to know we won’t let Israel fall.

Shit no. They should realize we can’t let that happen. It would make a liar out of the Bible. The whole Judeo-Christian world couldn’t let that happen.

Is that the key? The missing piece to the puzzle? They know we won’t let Israel fall so they’ve made it the bait to pull us into the trap. Then they’ll spring it. Look at it from that point of view and it almost makes sense.

Almost is right, there’s something else. As Rumsfeld once said, there’s something we don’t know that we don’t know. We may have a much more dangerous situation than we thought.

In spades. It makes chills run up and down my spine. Son-of-a bitch!

But Billy, we don’t know this to be a fact. We don’t have any proof.

No, and we won’t. Not until it happens. One thing for sure though, although we’ll hope for the best, we’d better plan for the worst.

But what is the worst? Do they plan to just destroy our army over there? To make us lose our credibility or possibly then overrun Europe with our forces depleted or are they going for broke?

What do you mean?

With our conventional forces severely mauled, would they attempt to force our surrender with a nuclear ultimatum? Or even worse after a pre-emptive strike?

They’ve got to know us better than that. They’ve got to know we’d fight back. Throw everything we have at them.

But how much would there be to throw Billy? If we can’t get ours launched before theirs impact, you know as well as I do we couldn’t get over ten to twenty per cent of our missiles launched. We’d lose all our communications. Between the blast effects, the electro-magnetic pulse and x-ray radiation, we’d be paralyzed.

Yeah, we’ve always known that. We’ve got to keep it from happening or at least put the level at maximum alert, 1-6 at least. Then they’d know a pre-emptive strike wouldn’t get the job done. I think we’d better be prepared to do that at a moments notice.

You’re absolutely right Billy. We’ve got to be ready for anything. The president paused for a moment. Then, looking his security advisor straight in the eye, said, Do you think they don’t know about our EVS system or that it’s operational and because of it their defensive missile system is useless?

The president loved the cloaking ability of the Electronic Visibility Shield. It was an outgrowth of the research which resulted in infra-red camouflage used to block tanks and Strykers from overhead spy satellites. However, the EVS used a different energy wave length combined with stealth technology to create a cloak of invisibility for ICBMs.

They don’t act like it. That Electronic Visibility Shield really works. It absorbs radar pulses completely, very stealthy. We’ve had a couple of trials, and no one tracked the dummy warheads, no one noted the splashdowns in the Pacific. There was no reaction either time. No, I’d say they don’t know about it.

Riordan shook his head and smiled wearily. The only secret we’ve been able to keep from them in twenty years and we may wind up with our tit in the wringer because they don’t know.

My God, Wilson. That would be ironic. If this thing gets much hairier we’d better let them know about it.

The joke might still be on us.

What do you mean?

Would they believe us if we told them?

I see what you mean. I wouldn’t believe it if they told me. Particularly not if it were during a crisis like this one. Scratching his head, Markham continued, We’d better try anyway.

Well Billy, how do we proceed on this? In spite of these potential risks, we can’t just stand by and let Israel be overrun.

I think we should proceed as planned but go to and stay at a maximum alert throughout the operation. I’m assuming the Arabs aren’t going to pull back. They want to destroy Israel so badly I doubt if the Russians could make them pull back now that they’ve almost got the job done.

We don’t have much choice, do we?

No, not really.

How much of this do you think we should discuss at the assessment meeting this morning?

I’d like to put it all on the table including our worst fears but with some of those congressional members, I don’t know.

Senator Lockhart’s all right.

He’s not the one I’m worried about.

The president grinned. That jackass Cunningham, huh?

Yeah. Him and the other liberal idiot too. Not only will they not believe anything we say and give us all kinds of static, but we need to put zippers on their mouths when they leave. Some of our worries shouldn’t get out of that conference room.

Maybe if they realized how critical the situation might get they’d keep their mouths shut.

I guess that’s something you’ll have to decide when the meeting starts.

The president turned and looked outside, branches splashed with delicate greens moved in a sudden breeze below, which also seemed to be responsible for the slight lift of the hairs on the back of his neck. Billy, this thing really scares me. They’re up to something and with the lack of intel needed to analyze the situation it could be they’ve decided we’re ripe for the taking and are setting us up. A pre-emptive strike can’t be ruled out. God, I hope they’re not that stupid.

Markham joined him at the window and they bleakly considered the implications. Riordan drained his coffee, set the cup down and absently picked up a chess piece from the game board beside him.

He and Markham liked a game when both men had the time. Since that time was so rare a game was usually left in progress, as it was today, for them to play in piece-meal fashion. He idly rolled the piece between his fingers, taking comfort from the familiarity of its smooth, softly polished surface.

You know, Billy, I’ve always enjoyed chess. It’s really stood the test of time. It’s come down through the ages almost unchanged. He glanced at Markham and smiled briefly. It’s a damn good way to sharpen your thought processes. Makes you think more than one step ahead.

Kind of like driving on the George Washington Beltway.

Riordan laughed and then considered thoughtfully. This situation needs to be addressed like chess. We can’t just react to what’s going on, to what moves the other guys are making. We have to think several moves ahead. To never lose sight of the overall scope of things and to develop a strategy of our own.

It’s difficult to do that when you can’t see the board. We’re down here on the board, so to speak, not above it where the pattern is obvious. Riordan merely grunted. Three-D chess.

Markham glanced at his cup and decided against another. But you’re absolutely right. You know, he added thoughtfully, we’re at a disadvantage because we have to wait until they make their moves. They opened. In effect they’re playing with the white pieces.

Riordan knew the older man referred to the time honored tradition that white has the first move to open a game. A fact that also gave the person using the white pieces a strategic advantage. He smiled at the irony. Yeah, in this case the good guys are wearing black. He turned a sardonic smile on Markham, chilling the advisor, making him glad they were friendly colleagues rather than adversaries.

The president looked at him grimly. Are they just testing a new, inexperienced man or are we on the brink. Billy?

I wish I could say. I just don’t know.

Riordan smiled briefly again and reached over to put the glowing gun metal piece back in position. Only then did he notice he held the black queen.

Chapter 2. The Black Pawn

Springfield, Missouri, 6:30 am cst, Saturday, April 8, 2017

Jared Faraday awoke with a start, eyes wide, heart thumping. The pale light of dawn streaming through partially open drapes bathed a soft inert form curled at his side. He hadn’t slept well and that fact was evident from the damp, rumpled condition of the linen sheet and woolen blanket on his side of the bed. In peaceful contrast, the blanket draped Alana Nichols in one smooth expanse broken only by the irregular shapes of her hip and shoulder. Briefly the image of his youngest grandson playing cars on Sunday mornings in bed and using Grandpa’s body as the mountainous race course came vividly to Jared’s mind. While his thoughts were thus occupied, a fragment of a vague, disconcerting dream came and faded even as he tried to get a handle on it, leaving him with a feeling that the dream was responsible for his restless night and the feeling that something just wasn’t right.

That feeling certainly had nothing to do with the previous evening, which though beginning pleasantly enough had given little hint of the intensity which Alana’s passionate responses had urged out of him. For a moment Jared was sorely tempted to wake her. His desire surprised him. Finally, after watching her sleep for several heartbeats, he reached over and lightly patted her on a thigh padded by layers of bedclothes. She murmured something that was unintelligible by the time it made its way past the covers, softened by sleep. He waited, thinking she might be awakening. He considered trying again, and then decided against it. It had been a short night and he knew she had worked hard the last few days preparing Greens and Grains, a health food store she managed, for the coming summer season.

The past four weeks since meeting Alana had been the happiest Jared had known in years. Pleasant relaxed dinners and weekend afternoon excursions to local galleries, shopping and area sight seeing. He even enjoyed the chilly picnic at Phelps Grove Park. They had gone grocery shopping, something Jared had delegated to a part time housekeeper for years, and as he looked at prices he suddenly realized just how long it had been since he had been in a supermarket for something besides cigarettes or a newspaper. Being with Alana was a joy and Jared was surprised at the comfort and ease he felt in her presence. The loneliness that had become a normal and accepted part of his life was gone and as he stretched and slipped quietly out of bed he reflected that the sex was great, something he hadn’t dared to count on for longer than he cared to think about.

He wrapped himself in the soft folds of a terry cloth bathrobe and padded barefoot over deep pile carpet and into the master bath for his morning shower, turned the water on high and warm and dropped his robe. As it fell to the floor he gave in to the universal narcissistic urge to inspect himself. His image stared back at him with blue eyes still capable of a joyous twinkle under salt and pepper hair cut in close loose waves. He smiled and saw good teeth, his own by virtue both of parental heritage and excellent dental work, flanked by dimples weathered to creases set in a strong jaw. He flexed studiously and was reasonably satisfied by the response of his muscles under skin still fairly taut despite fifty one years of hard work, mild abuse, and evenings in front of the TV. Hearing soft movement in the bedroom he abruptly cut off his inspections and jumped into the steamy spray. He soaped and rinsed thoroughly and then stood braced under the full force of the massaging stream, gradually decreasing the temperature. By the time he heard Alana in the bathroom opening drawers and running the lavatory faucets, the night’s restlessness was forgotten.

Drying himself with long vigorous strokes of a thick terry cloth towel, he smiled at the sleepy woman sharing his bathroom. Morning, Babe. How’s my girl?

So I’m your girl? Alana glanced at his reflection with mock severity as she ran her fingers through the soft, thick tangles of her hair. I think I like the sound of that. Having no noticeable success with her hair, she gave up on it after a moment and turned to him wrapping her arms lightly about his shoulders. She kissed him softly and thoroughly, a kiss he was reluctant to return since he hadn’t brushed his teeth. He gave himself up to it after a moment, having always figured it was better to bow to the inevitable when a woman had certain ideas. Finally she broke away saying breathlessly, It’s a lovely morning. Want to go outside?

After that?

Who’d be there to bother us?

He tilted up her smiling face with two fingers, lightly lifting her chin and kissed her on the nose. It’s a great idea but we both have work to do. Let’s table the idea for later consideration.

Ok. Later, Baby. She grinned at him and broke away, calling over her shoulder as she headed down the hall, I’m starved anyway. I’ll check the fridge. Jared climbed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, gave his day old beard a once over and followed Alana’s footsteps. Her voice called from the breakfast alcove, Coffee’s up.

The scent of warm cinnamon rolls and sausage as well as coffee greeted him as he turned the corner into the alcove, where Alana was just removing the sausage from the microwave. He took a long look out of a wide window in front of the compact oak breakfast table. The last few days had been cool, damp and sometimes stormy, typical of early April but today the early morning light had that gold luminescent quality so unique to spring and it bathed the delicate pastels of budding oaks and maples, red buds and dogwoods fifteen stories below in shimmering softness. Alana joined him at the window and tried again, It’s such a lovely morning. Let’s go to the park today. Jared bent to kiss the top of her head, inhaling the clean warm scent. Anything you want, Babe, but what about the store?

The store is in pretty good shape. I’ll check with Annette and let her know I’ll be out. She can call if there’s a problem.

Tell you what. You come along with me and we’ll do the park after a couple of stops I have to make. The rest can keep.

She gave him a quick hug and then turned to pour coffee, adding a bit of cream to his and leaving her own black. You didn’t sleep well last night, did you? she asked as she pulled bite sized pieces from a cinnamon roll.

No, I really didn’t.

Business?

He finished a sausage link before answering. No . . . no. At least not my business. He looked thoughtful.

What do you mean?

Well, I really don’t know. I suppose it’s the Mideast crisis. I just don’t like the direction that it’s moving in. I guess I’ve been thinking too much about it. He bit into a roll and than added, I think I’ll put the news on in a minute.

It was probably the lasagna that kept you from sleeping, she remarked as she finished a second roll, small slim fingers delicately tearing pieces and popping them past wide lips used to smiling.

Yeah, you’re probably right about that. Want another cup? At her nod, he refilled both cups and got up. Coming?

I’ll join you in a minute.

Alana could hear him messing around in the other room as she glanced through a current issue of Business Week while finishing her coffee. She paused over a couple of promising looking articles. "Time for that later" she thought, and headed for the French doors opening off the dining room to the penthouse garden. Jared had several beds prepared for flower and vegetable gardens but only one had real signs of growth this early in the season. She picked several daffodils and hyacinths and inspected a small potted lilac for buds.

That’s a start from the granddaddy of all lilacs down at my dad’s old place.

Oh! I didn’t hear you come out.

Sorry about that. Come on in for a minute. There’s something on the news I’d like your opinion on.

What? Health supplements?

Jared smiled, but his eyes were solemn. No, really. Come take a look.

She paused long enough to put her flowers in water before joining him in the living room. By the time she settled on the couch with him he’d already started the DVR.

Ok. Watch this. He pushed the advance until the segment he was looking for came on with the familiar figure of the network news anchorman seated at his desk. His usual demeanor was cool, all business but in the previous night’s broadcast his usual calm facade was missing. Well-controlled but nevertheless apparent anxiety tugged at his features, deepening the creases in the corners of his mouth and eyes, tightening his boy scout’s smile.

Good evening. This is the network evening news for Friday, April 7th. I’m Bob Moreland. Tonight’s lead story is a dark and dismal one indeed. In the Islamic-Israeli conflict the Israeli position is becoming more desperate by the hour, with Syrian and Iraqi forces advancing from the north, Jordanian and Iranian troops from the east in a pincer-like maneuver that, unless halted, will result in either the surrender of Israeli forces or their retreat into the Mediterranean. The vaunted and valiant Israeli army simply isn’t large enough to halt the advance of the combined Arab forces.

Alana sat on the couch next to Jared, giving the LED screen her undivided attention as the report continued in voice-over while film footage of the situation played.

The entire Israeli population has been compressed into an area one fourth the size of the state of Israel, really just a large enclave along fifty miles of the Mediterranean coast. In places only a few miles deep. It had been hoped that the ultimatum issued two weeks ago by President Riordan ordering Islamic troops to return to their own borders or face the Allied contingent would be sufficient to make them regain their senses. However, it is suspected that the presence of large numbers of Russian troops in several of the Confederation’s states, ostensibly to train soldiers in the use of newly purchased Russian weapons, and the Russians’ official approval of the January 25th invasion of Israel has given the Islamic coalition cause to believe that President Riordan will not go through with his threat.

"In that regard, the United States Sixth Fleet has been heavily reinforced in the Eastern Mediterranean, as has the Seventh Fleet off the Persian Gulf. A White House source has notified us