Second Strike

CHAPTER 65

^{MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA,}

^{AUGUST 17, 1:28 P.M. EDT}

They were waiting for Garin and Knox on the east patio: Dwyer, Olivia, Matt, Luci, and two others from DGT, Ty Wilson and Isaac Coe, the latter a former corpsman.

Knox had alerted Dwyer to the condition of Garin’s arm, and Dwyer had summoned Coe to tend to Garin.

The six looked on anxiously as Garin and Knox climbed the steps. Dwyer motioned to Coe, who approached Garin to administer treatment, only to stop cold upon seeing the unamused look on his face.

“Later, Dan. I need to talk to the president.”

“Michael, that can wait,” Olivia said. “Have your arm taken care of first.”

The statement was registered by the same region of Garin’s brain that had stored Olivia’s previous expressions of concern and interest. Thinking he had the green light, Coe approached Garin once again, only to be met by a look that had gone from cold to glacial.

Garin was silent. Dwyer simply led Garin through the French doors into the library and down to the communications room in the subbasement. Olivia followed, while Luci took Knox’s hand and sat with him on the patio.

Dwyer punched the keypad next to the communications room door. The bolts slid open and the heavy steel door swung aside.

“I suspect I’m not cleared for this, so I’ll leave you two alone. Please give the commander in chief my regards and tell him I voted for him last year. Once in the primary and twice in the general.”

Dwyer withdrew. The door closed and the bolts locked into place.

Olivia caught Garin’s eye and nodded at his arm. “What happened?”

“Small accident.”

“It doesn’t look small.”

“I’ll take care of it. First, the president.”

Olivia moved to one side of the captain’s chair, pressed the speakerphone function, and keyed Brandt’s office number. Garin stood next to the opposite arm rest.

Brandt himself answered. “Yes?”

“Professor, I have Michael Garin with me. He’s calling for the president.”

“Hold on. This will take a minute. I’ll have the call patched to the Situation Room. The president, Kessler, and Secretary of Defense Merritt will be there momentarily, and I’m joining them.”

There was a click and then silence.

“It will take Arlo and the Secret Service a few minutes to get him there,” Olivia said. She looked Garin up and down. The incongruity in his appearance was ever present: intensity in a relaxed body.

“Can you tell me how that happened?” Olivia asked, nodding at his arm.

“Just an occupational hazard.” The gravedigger’s voice.

“You could always change occupations.”

Garin didn’t respond.

“Jim says the president thinks very highly of you. There’s been some discussion of issuing a commendation to you for”—Olivia smiled—“well, averting a war. The president seems to want you in a policy position.”

Garin’s single shake of his head conveyed finality: no way.

“At some point you won’t be able to do what you’re doing now, at least not at the same level. The cumulative effect of the physical traumas will slow you down. I saw it among some of my father’s friends in the NFL. They’d lose a half step, then a step—enough to lose their starting spots, then their spots on the team. Your job is more punishing by an order of magnitude. If you lose a step…”

“I’m dead,” Garin acknowledged. I’m dead anyway, Garin thought.

“During the EMP crisis James Brandt had me research you. Dan gave me background, that you weren’t expected to live at birth; your twin died in utero and you were infirm for much of your childhood.”

“This sounds like a prelude to psychoanalysis.”

“No.” Olivia shook her head. “Just suggesting you might consider easing back a bit, enjoying life with less peril.”

“Are you enjoying life as an aide to the NSA?”

“It’s what I’m trained to do.” A flick of her impossible abundance of hair off her left shoulder. “It’s what I want to do.”

“I’m doing what I want to do, Olivia.”

She examined him for several seconds. “What you want to do may be fatal.”

“Everyone dies.”

“Very Homeric. But even Achilles, Hector, and Ajax didn’t seek to expedite it, Michael. You’re entitled to some enjoyment in life.”

“As are you.”

Olivia cocked her head, bemused. “You don’t think I enjoy myself?”

“You work twenty-four/seven. Now you’re forgetting Aurelius, Plutarch, and Goethe.”

Olivia laughed. “You’re mocking me.”

“I can reference the classics too. Ivy League and all.”

“Remember, I’ve seen what you do, Michael.”

“And you disapprove.”

“No. Well, admittedly, seeing you kill people was… I wasn’t prepared for that. But you came close to being killed yourself. The odds will catch up to you, eventually.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

It was Garin’s turn to appear bemused. “Very few people express concern about my well-being, let alone my career path.”

“The Washington policy world needs a Michael Garin. Washington, in general, needs adults.”

“I can’t disagree with that.”

“You just might find that your talents are even better suited for making policy rather than executing it. Washington needs more people who don’t suffer fools gladly.”

A whisper of a smile briefly crossed Garin’s face. “A great American philosopher said, ‘A man’s got to know his limitations.’”

Olivia laughed. Garin found it musical.

“I love that movie. I love all the Dirty Harry movies.”

“Even The Dead Pool?”

Another laugh, just as musical. “I’d like to binge-watch them sometime.”

A not so subtle opening not lost on Garin. Before he could respond, a click came over the speakerphone.

“Mr. Garin, this is the president.”

“Yes, Mr. President. Olivia Perry is with me, sir.”

“Secretary of Defense Merritt, John Kessler, and Jim Brandt are with me. I understand you want to reconstitute Omega and want authority. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Sir, there have been a series of events that indicate that the Russians are about to strike us. It could be minutes, hours, or days—but it’ll be a two-stage attack conducted somewhere on American soil. The first stage will consist of an unknown number of suicide bombers. The locations of the bombings also are unknown.

“The bombings are a feint, an attempt to lull us into complacency. Sometime after, another attack will occur, presumably of greater magnitude. I’m told it will ‘paralyze’ us. I have no further details on the main attack.”

“Who told you the attack will paralyze us?”

“An associate of the Russian agent Taras Bor.”

“Who is this man?”

“He has no name. He referred to himself as the Butcher.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s dead, sir.”

“I see.”

“Sir, I was told there’s a backup to the main attack. Taras Bor is expected to execute the secondary plan if the main attack is prevented. Again, no details on the backup plan either.”

“Mike.” It was Deputy Director Kessler. “Do you have any evidence with which we can confront the Russians about this?”

“There have been several attempts on my life. But I have captured no one and the men I’ve killed had no evidence on them signifying Russian involvement.”

“How many men, Mr. Garin?” Marshall asked.

Garin hesitated, glancing at Olivia. “Several.”

“How do we know the Butcher isn’t some crazy man?” the president asked. “How do we know someone, say the Chinese, isn’t trying to foment a conflict between the US and Russia? How can we be sure this isn’t a false-flag operation?”

“Mr. President, we can’t. We have nothing concrete. Obviously, nothing that would qualify as proof in a court of law.”

“Or the court of public opinion,” Marshall said. “Mr. Garin, even if I were to reconstitute Omega, it doesn’t have authority to operate domestically, not without congressional approval or a finding of a nuclear threat. We have no evidence to support that.”

“I understand completely, Mr. President. I cannot provide concrete evidence, but it’s clear this is a Bor operation. You know what that means.”

“I believe you. But belief is insufficient. Although we seem to be forgetting it with increasing frequency, we’re still a democratic republic subject to the rule of law. There’s a reason for those checks and balances. There’s a reason for posse comitatus. This type of domestic situation calls for the FBI, not a special operations unit of the military.”

“Sir, hard evidence or not, Bor is involved. And where Bor is involved, we need tier-one special operators.”

“We can’t stand up a functional tier-one unit with a snap of our fingers anyway.”

“Mr. President, I have a number of former special operators ready to go right now.”

“I know how smart you are. So I know that you know I can’t sanction private citizens like that. Even if I somehow recommissioned them, it would set off an earthquake.”

“We need specially trained people for Bor.”

“Mr. Garin, the FBI has extraordinary SWAT capabilities, HRT.”

“No argument. But, respectfully, this isn’t a standard domestic operation. This is a hybrid. And remember, sir, we haven’t discovered who the Russian mole is. Julian Day wasn’t high enough. If we tell the FBI or Congress, the Russians will know and evade our every action.”

Muffled sounds came over the speaker. Then: “Just a moment, Mr. Garin.” The speaker was muted at the president’s end.

Kessler said to the president, “Mr. President, we’ve seen what Bor can do, all too recently. He’s on a different plane from everyone else. We’ve also seen what Garin can do. He’s our best counter to Bor. He’s asking to be put in the fight, with a little help. We could provide him with logistical assistance where necessary, drawn from our Title 50 funds. Even my people don’t need to know what’s happening. At least specifically. It would be opaque. Untraceable. Deniable.”

“And unlawful,” Marshall interjected.

“Mr. President, the Constitution is not a suicide pact. If we follow the letter of the law, we may not be able to protect the American people. The EMP plot, had it been successful, would have killed millions. The Founding Fathers couldn’t possibly have envisioned something like an EMP attack.”

“They didn’t have to. The Constitution and the rule of law still apply regardless of technological developments.”

Secretary of Defense Merritt said, “Mr. President, if you violate the law by authorizing special operations on US soil, you are, indeed, subject to the law. But, as I think you know, the Office of Legal Counsel of the attorney general twice in our history determined that a sitting president is not subject to criminal prosecution. Instead, the remedy would be impeachment and removal from office. If it became known that you authorized special operations on American soil to protect against an extraordinary threat to the American people—no Congress would ever move articles of impeachment.”

“So you’re saying I should knowingly violate the law because my actions will be popular?”

“No, not at all. I’m saying sometimes a commander in chief’s got to bear the consequences of being between a rock and a hard place. Mr. President, it’s the old question about exigent circumstances: If you know that a nuclear device is about to go off in an American city, would you violate the law to stop it? Or would you adhere to the rule of law and allow millions of Americans to die? For all we know, we may be facing that situation here. We saw just a few weeks ago that if Bor’s involved, this isn’t going to be some garden-variety attack.” Merritt straightened. “Sir.”

“What’s your advice, Jim?” Marshall asked Brandt.

“You need to be very careful, sir.”

“Mr. President,” Merritt continued. “You’ve been in office less than a year. Your predecessor, with all due respect to him, left you a mess—pretending all the world was our friend. You shouldn’t have had to face one such crisis in your first year, let alone two. But here we are. Your first duty is to protect America and the American people.”

“My first duty, Doug, is to protect and defend the Constitution. There is no America without the Constitution.”

“You can do both, Mr. President. Authorize Omega. Let Garin stop Bor. Then, afterward, let Congress know. If they determine you’ve committed an impeachable offense, and if they have the political will, they can impeach you, remove you from office, and you can stand for prosecution. Checks and balances. The system works.”

“That’s not how the system’s supposed to work,” Marshall said. “I want a meeting of the NSC here within the hour.” He stood silently and rubbed the back of his neck for several moments; then he unmuted the speakerphone.

“Sorry, Mr. Garin. We’ve been talking Civics 101.” Marshall sighed and paused several more moments, surveying the faces of the men surrounding him. “Do what you have to do, Mr. Garin. I’ll have your back. That’s all I can say.”

“Understood, Mr. President.”

The line went dead.

Olivia looked puzzled. “What in the world does that mean?”

“It means a good man has been put in an impossible position,” Garin replied. “And I’m going to do my best to get him out of it.”