Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip

CHAPTER 55

It was shortly past dinnertime, and the president was in the corridor talking with the secretary of commerce when Tim Hagen walked up, casually clearing his throat and using his eyes to say, “We’ve got a problem.”

“Excuse me a minute, will you, Mike?”

“Certainly, sir,” said the commerce secretary.

The president led Hagen into the Oval Office and closed the door. “You know I don’t like it when you do that,” he admonished. “You can say, ‘Excuse me, Mr. President,’ like everybody else.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hagen said, “but Sandra Brux is broadcasting from the Panjshir Valley on the emergency band. General Couture is mobilizing elements of the 24th Special Tactics Squadron, the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, a pair of B-52s from the 40th Expeditionary Bomb Squadron, and the entire 391st Expeditionary Fighter Squadron. This is an all-out effort to effect her extraction, Mr. President. She claims to be receiving assistance from indigenous personnel on the ground, and from what I understand, sir, a CIA Spectre gunship is already in the act of providing fire support.”

The president darkened. “That’s odd. I gave orders half an hour ago that no one was to take any action at all. Now it’s World War Three over there!”

“Yes, sir, but… well, sir, there’s no way Couture could possibly ignore a mayday call from a downed pilot anywhere inside the ATO. He’d be court-martialed, Mr. President.”

“Fine! So is it that renegade SEAL or not?”

“Nobody knows for sure yet, sir. There aren’t many details because the situation is so fluid… but I don’t know how else Brux could’ve gotten her hands on a prick one-twelve.”

The president made a face. “On a what?”

“Sorry, sir. The PRC-112 handheld radio — it’s used by downed pilots. That’s just what they call it, sir.”

The president cut him a hard look, crossing the room to the desk, where he sat down and took his pipe from the center drawer. He stuck it between his teeth without lighting it and sat chewing the stem. “Okay, correct me if I’m wrong.” He took the pipe from his teeth. “But I’m thinking this is the point where we have to start praying for that hero over there to succeed.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Mr. President. This is the age of Wikileaks. You need to get behind this operation yourself. Otherwise, word could leak out that you were initially against it.”

The president’s temper flared. “It’s an unauthorized operation, Tim! I’m supposed to be against it!”

Hagen held his ground. “With all due respect, Mr. President, that doesn’t matter now… not in the eyes of the public. This situation has turned into a full-scale military operation to rescue a female pilot — a photogenic female pilot! — who was raped and tortured by the enemy on camera. If this mission succeeds, and word leaks out that you didn’t back it up—or worse—if it fails, and word leaks out that you didn’t back it up—”

“Okay, I got it!” The president sat knocking the dried tobacco from the pipe into the crystal ashtray on the corner of his desk. “Most powerful man on earth, my ass,” he muttered in disgust. “Here I am at the mercy of a single lunatic running around over there against my direct orders, and if he succeeds, I have to treat him like a damn hero! But if he fails, I’m the one who ends up looking like the dumbass.”

“That’s why they say the buck stops here, Mr. President.”

“I never said that,” the president snapped. “That idiot remark belongs to Truman!” He tossed his pipe back into the drawer and slammed it closed, grabbing the telephone. “Get me the White House Chief of Staff,” he ordered. “Tell him I want to see him — now! And tell him I want to see the Joint Chiefs as well.”

He hung up the phone and rocked back in the chair, pointing his finger at Hagen. “Now, what you’re going to do, my young friend, is figure out a way for me to burn this fucking SEAL to the ground — no matter what happens. Is that clear?”

Hagen hesitated.

“What, Tim?”

“Well, sir, if the mission fails, burning him probably won’t even be an issue. He’ll likely be dead — he may be dead already. But if it succeeds, sir… well, sir, a photo of you putting the Medal of Honor around the neck of the hero who saved America’s new sweetheart will look fantastic in all the papers.”

The president’s gaze turned flinty. “That’s not burning him.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s exactly what it is. The entire modern world will know his face, and within a week, they’ll know everything else there is to know about him. For an operational US Navy SEAL, Mr. President, particularly one as gung-ho and private as this one… there’s nothing worse.”

A slow grin took shape on the president’s face. “That’s perfect. Hell, it’s perfect all the way around. Remind me so I never forget to send you a Christmas card, Tim. You’re a ruthless bastard. Now what about Pope? Wasn’t he supposed to be keeping these SOG people under control?”

Hagen stood tugging on his lower lip, taking the time to give his response some very serious consideration before finally saying, “Well, sir, to be frank, Pope’s a horse of a different color. He’s… well, we don’t want to mess with Pope. Nobody really knows what he’s capable of. My recommendation is to think of him in these terms: in four years — provided we win the election — he’s somebody else’s problem.”

“What happened to the buck stops here?”

“Well, like you said, sir… that’s an idiot remark.”