Target America

34

The president could smell the ozone in the darkened operations center the moment he stepped through the door, the static electricity in the air making the hair on his arms stand on end. He saw General Couture on the far side of the room talking to Colonel Eugene Bradshaw with the 432nd Air Expeditionary Wing, attached to ACC (Air Combat Command). Bradshaw was the air force liaison officer whose job it was to coordinate communications with Creech AFB, located forty-some miles northwest of Las Vegas.

The president looked at the giant hi-definition monitor on the wall, seeing the overhead infrared video feed of the Luxor hotel and casino provided by a loitering reconnaissance UAV (Unmanned Aerial Vehicle) based out of Creech. The op center was alive with the murmured communications of a half dozen men and women wearing headsets, rapidly running their fingers over keyboards to collate minute-by-minute information coming in from various intelligence sources and military commands. This was the president’s first experience in such an environment, and only with some difficulty did he manage to keep the sense of wonderment from his face.

“Mr. President,” Couture said as he approached with the colonel. “Allow me to present Colonel Bradshaw with the 432nd Wing.”

Bradshaw was dressed in his air force camouflage ABU (airman battle uniform). He was in his midforties, tall and slender, with a plain face and dirty blond hair cut in a sharp flattop. “How do you do, Mr. President?” He extended his hand. “It’s an honor, sir.”

“Likewise,” the president said, wiping the perspiration from his palm before shaking the colonel’s hand. “Are we about ready here, gentlemen?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradshaw said. “As you can see, the UAV is already over the target.”

“The target,” the president repeated softly. “My God, I never expected to hear our own military use that word in reference to an American city.”

“I can use a different word if you prefer, Mr. President.”

“You mean a euphemism?” the president asked. “No, Colonel, thank you. I’m a big boy — or at least so my mother tells me.”

Both field grade officers smiled dutifully.

“And how is she?” Couture asked, knowing that the president’s mother had been in and out of the hospital numerous times during the past few months.

“She’s holding her own,” the president said. He gestured at the video feed. “What exactly do we expect to see?”

“Not a great deal, really,” Couture replied. “We’ll see the entry team enter through the main doors, and then nothing until they come back out.”

“I’m worried the security video from the hotel will conflict with our AQAP cover story,” the president said. “How are we going to deal with that?”

“Pope’s people have already hacked into hotel security, sir.” The whole operation was distasteful to Couture, but he’d had no better plan to offer in the limited time available to them. “So there won’t be any video.”

“Okay,” the president said with a sigh. “I guess that’s one less thing to worry about.”

Bradshaw stole a glance at his immediate superior then looked at the commander in chief. “Mr. President, if I may speak out of turn, sir?”

Couture’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Sure,” the president said easily. “That might be a refreshing change.”

Bradshaw smiled. “It may be somewhat of a bold assertion on my part, sir, but we have an entirely unprecedented situation on our hands. There is no standard procedure for protecting this nation from an imminent nuclear attack within our borders. All of this is pure OJT, every bit of it. So if we’re found out in the long run, so be it. No one is going to be able to blame us for what we do tonight because we’re acting one hundred percent in the interest of the American people. Win, lose, or draw, we’re looking for a live nuclear weapon, and I’ll be proud to stand shoulder to shoulder with you in front of Congress — should it ever get that far.”

The president would never admit it to anyone, but the colonel’s remark actually made him feel better. “Thank you, Colonel. Let’s hope I never have to hold you to that.”