The Ghost Pattern

…61

The cabinet of the United States was in session. The members were assembled in the west wing of the White House, in the Cabinet Room, and running behind schedule. President Krassner liked his meetings to start on time and end on time, yet the cabinet members were constantly veering off the agenda.

Twelve people sat around the grand mahogany table, with President Krassner sitting at the center of the table, his back toward the large, arched windows that faced the Rose Garden, flooded in the sweet light of a clear-sky spring morning. The cabinet members had been served coffee in small, delicate china cups, and the staffers had since left the room.

The secretary of commerce frowned, looking disapprovingly around the table, where several sidebar conversations were in full flight, while the president finished flipping through the pages of a brief. As soon as he put down the brief, she cleared her throat.

“We’re ready to proceed, Mr. President.”

The room, brought to order, fell silent. The only sounds heard were the occasional paper shuffle and the clinking of china, as coffee cups were set back on their delicate saucers.

“Good morning, everyone,” Krassner greeted them in his usual manner. “I have one agenda item for today, and that is unemployment reporting.”

Krassner, famous for his direct, engaging, blunt style, looked straight at the secretary of labor before proceeding. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“So, what is it, really?” Krassner continued. “Is it 5 percent unemployment, or only 5 percent of the eligible population drawing unemployment benefits? If we’re going to revisit our immigration policy, I want to know first, how many Americans are truly unable to find work. How many have given up searching, but would gladly rejoin the work force if given the opportunity. Is it five million, or fifty million? I’m definitely not supporting this ridiculous race to undercut the American worker in favor of cheaper workers brought on temporary visas, only to benefit corporate greed. Bring me data, data that makes sense.”

Krassner stopped talking, waiting for the secretary of labor to answer.

“Ahem… Mr. President,” the secretary of labor replied, “our numbers indicate—”

The Cabinet Room door opened, and an apologetic staffer made his way quickly to the secretary of defense, then whispered something in his ear.

Everyone held their breaths when an urgent message was delivered to the secretary of defense, interrupting a cabinet session no less. Only bad news could be that urgent.

The secretary of defense turned toward the staffer and whispered, “Are you sure?”

The staffer put several photographs printed on glossy paper in front of him, and he reviewed them in less than two seconds. Then he stood abruptly, and approached Krassner.

“Mr. President, if I may…”

“Go ahead,” Krassner invited him, intrigued.

“Flight XA233 has been found. In Russia. CIA Director Seiden is on the phone for you. He needs to speak with you immediately.”

Murmurs, whispers, and gasps took over the Cabinet Room as the president stepped out, followed by the secretary of defense.

Within seconds, Krassner entered the Oval Office, sat down, and picked up his phone. The secretary of defense continued to stand.

“Director Seiden,” Krassner said.

“Mr. President,” Seiden greeted him with deference. “We’ve found Flight XA233, somewhere in eastern Russia. We have a battle group in the area, the USS Okinawa, engaged in training exercises with the Japanese Navy. We need your approval to reroute the Okinawa to extract the passengers and crew, and the team who found them. We need the Okinawa to enter Russian territorial waters and airspace for a couple of hours. We also need permission to open fire if fired on.”

“What’s your theory?”

“Terrorist attack, Mr. President. We have proof.”

“Congratulations to your team, well done!”

“Umm… sir, it wasn’t my team. They are a private investigations team hired by Blake Bernard, whose wife was aboard that flight.”

Krassner remained silent for a brief moment.

“I see. All right, I’ll give the order. Tell them to hang tight, we’re sending in full support. Thank you, Director Seiden.”

He hung up the phone and pursed his lips, the short-lived look of disappointment on his face quickly replaced by anger.

“Get me the Okinawa, let’s bring these people home, right now. I’ll deal with the Russians later.”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary of defense replied.

“Who’s the commander?”

“It’s Captain Kevin Callahan, sir,” he replied, after briefly checking the notes brought by his assistant.

Krassner’s frown deepened. He loosened his tie and took off his jacket, then rolled up his sleeves. He shook his head in disbelief, and then continued, swallowing a sigh of frustration.

“After we reroute the Okinawa, can you please find out how the hell the entire world is looking for XA233’s wreckage in the middle of the Pacific, and a bunch of civilians find it on mainland Russia? Open everything for this mission, all available support. Reroute satellites.”

“Umm… yes, sir. They already have satellite support,” the secretary of defense replied, after checking his notes again. “We’re tapped into their feed.”

“Who the hell are these people?”