The Bear

The White House

The knock on the door to the Cabinet Room was anything but subtle. A hard bang and the door swung open as all heads turned towards the president’s chief of staff, whose eyes immediately found his boss. Martin Powell ran his fingers through his white hair, a signal that something was wrong.

“We’ll be done here in a minute, Martin.”

“Hello Mr. Secretary.”

“I’ll be right back, gentlemen.” The president immediately rose from his chair, dead center of the long conference table, the others following suite, but he waved them back down in place. A hand to the shoulder of Secretary Stanton with a noticeable squeeze, told the secretary his meeting with this group was likely over.

“Mr. President, we’ll just continue another time. We’re almost done anyway.”

“Thank you Simon,” the president replied with a nod. “We’ll see everybody real soon,” he said with a smile. “Martin?”

“Mr. President.”

The chief of staff turned as the president walked past him and out the door. They were down the hall and around the corner before President Kiger stopped and looked out the windows onto the White House lawn. He turned to address his chief of staff but was waved off.

“In your office, sir.”

“That bad, huh?”

“It ain’t good, Mr. President,” he replied. “It ain’t good a t’all.”

“Holy hell, Martin.” President Edwin Kiger simply fell back into his chair. “There’s going to be hell to pay for this. The Russians are going to be pissed.”

“Better question is sir, what were they doin’ so close to our coast?”

“Yeah, I know.” POTUS rubbed his forehead as he looked down at his desk. “I really didn’t need this right now. Not this close to an election. Any word on recovery?”

“Nothin’ yet, sir. I’ve only had this for ten minutes.”

“Alright,” POTUS sighed. “Get me everything you can as soon as you can. This will get out quickly, and we’ve got to put a lid on it.”

“I wonder what the Russians are saying ‘bout now?”

“I’m sure I’ll hear shortly.”

“Perhaps we should call them first demanding to know what they’re doing?”

“Put them on the defensive?”

“Couldn’t hurt, sir.” Martin turned away from the desk as he pulled his thoughts together. “Perhaps President Novichkov isn’t aware of this yet. I wonder if a quick call might put him in a bad position?” He turned back again. “Does that ‘red phone’ still work?” he said with a grin. “We’ll teach that sum-bitch he can’t push his weight round over here.”

“If he doesn’t know about it though, Martin, perhaps a back-channel approach might be a better option here.”

“If you think that’s wise, sir.” He grinned again. “Could have been fun.”

“Get me what you can, quickly. If I have to make a call, I need to know what in the hell the truth really is.”

The president’s chief of staff looked down at the carpet in the Oval Office. He liked this one better than the last; a field of blue ringed with gold trim. It had the feeling of power, understated power, in an office that exuded power. Make no mistake, he worked for the most powerful man in the world, no matter what others thought. Money brought influence and economic say-so to an extent, but to control the fate of the world with a single phone call; that was real power, power most would never understand.

“Yes Mr. President.”