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AT THE NATIONAL Military Command Center at the Pentagon, General Tucker Wyman, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, drops the phone after once again trying to speak to the president, and says, “Bullshit!”
Vice Chairman Marine General Wade Thompson looks up from his busy desk. “Sir?”
He starts heading to the door, followed by Colonel Leonard, his assistant. To the vice chairman he says, “You’re in charge here, Wade, until you hear from me. Follow the plans and procedures. Do what must be done. I’m off to the White House.”
The vice chairman says, “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Should have done it an hour ago.”
As he leaves the NMCC he says, “Doug, I need transport and escort fastest to the White House.”
“Yes, sir,” his assistant says.
Six minutes later he’s in the rear seat of an armored black Chevrolet Tahoe, with two Pentagon police cruisers ahead of him, lights and sirens blaring, wondering just what in hell is he going to do when he gets to the White House.
His assistant is sitting next to him, a communications satchel at his booted feet.
“Doug?”
“Sir?”
“You were on the wrestling team at West Point, correct?”
Doug says, “The Wrestling Club, yes, sir.”
“You were pretty good, right?”
“Twice was named Wrestler of the Year from the EIWA, sir,” his aide replies. “The Eastern Intercollegiate Wrestling Association.”
They travel for another thirty seconds, over the 14th Street Bridge, close to the District of Columbia.
The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff says, “I need to convince the president to rescind his attack order. I might need your help.”
“Certainly, sir,” Doug says. A quick pause. “How, sir?”
General Tucker Wyman says, “If the president refuses my request, I might ask you to hold him down while I break his fingers. Are you all right with that, Doug?”
Not a moment of hesitation.
“Yes, sir,” Doug says.
CHAPTER 141
PRESIDENT KEEGAN BARRETT stares with loathing at these two women who have outwitted and outplayed him. He’s waiting for a thought, a whisper, some sort of inspiration to get him free.
Both Hannah Abrams and Noa Himel are looking at him with strong expressions of strength and fortitude, and also …
Hate.
Why hate?
All his life he’s worked toward one goal, and one goal only.
To preserve and protect the United States of America.
That’s all.
A personal mission that’s driven him for years of hard work and sacrifice, guided by the inner voice that tells him he’s been chosen for greatness, and this is the thanks he gets?
