Oath of Office

14

President Ryan decided on a preliminary briefing while he waited for the rest of the NSC principals to arrive. Still in the Oval, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, pulling up the image of West Africa. He’d always had a knack for geography, but the deployment of more and more American troops to join the hunt for Boko Haram terrorists had drawn lines in his mind that were crystal clear. Cameroon had more than its share of violence and corruption, not to mention a president who had done away with term limits and declared himself the winner of each election over the last two decades. But they were still ostensibly U.S. allies in the region.

“How many people do we have in the embassy?”

“They’re slotted for fifty-one direct hires,” the secretary of state said. “Some of those are bound to be off at conferences or out of country on home leave. Many of the diplomatic corps live nearby so some of them might even have gone home for lunch. Without communication with the embassy, I’m still trying to find out how many families are in country. I will know more on that before lunchtime here.”

“Make it an hour,” Ryan said.

Adler folded his hands in front of his belt. “I will, sir.” There was no I’ll do my best. That was a given. The prodding meant he could pass along to foreign service officers who worked for him that the President of the United States put their people, their families, as a top priority.

Ryan groaned. “All right. Let’s have it all, Robby.”

The deputy national security adviser referred to his notes, making certain to get the facts straight in his bottom-line-up-front brief.

“At 1258 hours local time, State Department Ops received a call from one of the administrative staff at our embassy in Yaounde, stating that they were under siege by Cameroonian military forces. The connection was lost after approximately forty-five seconds. The deputy chief of mission’s wife — her name is Sarah Porter — was at home a few blocks away. She was apparently taken hostage by the military forces involved. Her condition or whereabouts is, as of yet, unknown. Apparently General Mbida fled pursuing troops through the embassy gate along with at least one of his daughters. Six armored Cameroonian military vehicles arrived just moments behind them but remained outside the fence. That is all the information we got before contact was broken. Efforts to reestablish communication with anyone inside the embassy compound have proven fruitless to this point.”

Ryan leaned forward in his chair, mentally bracing himself for what was about to come next. “Casualties?”

“Unknown at this time, Mr. President. Contacts at the South Korean embassy report small-arms fire. They’re buttoned up tight for the moment, but they have dedicated an analyst to keep us up to date on what they’re seeing — which up to now is not very much.”

Ryan said, “Let’s open some back channels through neighboring countries. Get things rolling right away.”

“We have DEA personnel in Lagos and Homeland Security in Accra,” Forrestal said. “One of my Annapolis classmates is an NCIS special agent stationed in Douala, on the coast. I’ve reached out to him directly but have yet to make contact. And the two hundred seventy-eight men in Garoua to the north.”

“Good work, Robby,” Ryan said, stifling a groan. He was groaning far too much lately, and didn’t want to do it without thinking if the cameras happened to be rolling with hot mics. “So that’s the what. How about the why? This seems like a drastic overreaction to a grainy video.”

Forrestal looked at Scott Adler. His job was to brief and offer analysis when called upon to do so, but the embassy fell under Foggy Bottom’s purview — and the Commander was happy to let the secretary of state jump in.

“We’re still in the guessing stages,” Adler said. “But President Njaya has been hounding us to publicly take his side against the separatist movement in the English-speaking areas of the country.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “I realize we’re early in the process here, but I need eyes on the ground. Some kind of intelligence. What’s the size of the Marine guard force there?”

Forrestal glanced at his notes. He’d been briefing Ryan long enough to know he would ask about fellow Marines. “The NCOIC and five watch standers,” he said.

“Maybe they run a split shift,” Ryan observed. “Could be they’re not all on duty. Find out the number for the NCOIC and for the Marine House in Cameroon.” He turned to Burgess. “On second thought, you handle this, Bob. I want someone stratospheric in their chain of command to call and remind these Marines not to rush in and get themselves killed. We need intelligence, not martyrs. This is not the hill I want them to die on.”

Cell phones were customarily left in a basket outside the Oval, so Burgess opened a drawer in the base of his chair, retrieving one of the secure landlines to make his call. He cupped a hand over his mouth, speaking in hushed but forceful tones to convey the gravity and necessary speed of the situation. He hung up less than a minute later, giving the President a nod that it was done.

Forrestal said, “Two MQ-9s are in the air now from Garoua. They should be on scene in the next ten minutes.”

“Good to hear,” Ryan said. “Let’s get the feeds piped into the Situation Room.”

“Already being done, Mr. President,” Burgess said.

“Bob,” Ryan said. “Any of those sons of bitches who’ve attacked American soil so much as point an antiaircraft weapon above the tree line, and we dust them.”

“Understood.”

“The Task Force Darby CO”—Forrestal referred to his notes—“Major Workman, is discussing the situation with his host counterparts there in the northern part of the country.”

“Eighty-seventh Infantry out of Fort Drum is running the show along the Nigerian border,” Burgess said.

Ryan gave a nod of approval. “Tenth Mountain. Good.”

Burgess continued. “Major Workman feels confident at least some of the Cameroonian Rapid Intervention Battalion will give him a straight answer. They’ve spilled blood and shed blood together fighting Boko Haram. There’s some trust there going both ways.”

“If they even know,” Ryan said. “BIR forces working daily alongside the U.S. military are not likely to be in the loop on any attack. Are you telling me the Cameroonian military chased one of their own generals into our embassy and nothing hit any of our tripwires?”

Every U.S. mission overseas had emergency action plans that included highly classified benchmarks that would elicit specific responses. These benchmarks were known as tripwires. Molotov cocktails on a car parked across the street might cause an increased uniformed guard presence. Lob one over the fence and stronger measures would kick in. Certain tripwires — coups, nearby terrorist attacks — might call for anything from the evacuation of nonessential personnel all the way to the destruction of documents and closure of the embassy.

“None, Mr. President,” SecState Adler said. “This happened all at once. No warning. No tripwires.”

Forrestal said, “Initial reports indicate most locally hired security forces have walked away in the face of the military vehicles.”

“‘Most’?” Ryan said.

“Korean witnesses say there are two out front with the Marines.”

Ryan took a deep breath. “I’m trying to imagine our Marines allowing people to run into the embassy, even a general.”

Forrestal paused for a moment, like he had uncomfortable news. “The Korean diplomat I spoke to indicated the Marines taught a big self-defense course to local women and girls. This is only a guess, but General Mbida’s daughter could have been part of that class. According to the South Koreans, the Marines recognized them, saw they were in danger, and let them in.”

Now Ryan let go with an honest-to-goodness groan.

“What about Diplomatic Security?” he asked. The regional security officer would be the senior law enforcement and security expert at the embassy.

“The RSO is a guy named Carr,” Adler said. “He was a SWAT officer with Albuquerque PD before he came on with State. I pulled his record before coming over here. He’s apparently kind of a badass. He’s been with DSS for fourteen years.”

“We could use a few badasses over there right now,” Ryan mused. “Cameroon… That’s Ambassador Burlingame. Right?”

“Correct, Mr. President,” Adler said. “Chance Burlingame. He came over from USAID a couple of months ago. He’s got a lengthy history with the foreign service in Africa.”

“What’s his status at this moment?”

“Outside the embassy,” Adler said, shifting on his feet as he did so. No one in the room liked to admit that they did not have a clear answer to one of the President’s questions. “We are still checking. But according to the staffer who made the original call to Ops, the badass RSO is with him.”