Maden Mike - Tom Clancy Firing Point

The bell on the glass door tinkled as another customer came in.

“Thanks. That’s really helpful.” Jack pocketed the card. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother at all, hon. Good luck. And thank you both for your service.”

Ouch.

60

WASHINGTON, D.C.

SITUATION ROOM, THE WHITE HOUSE

For this emergency meeting, the long mahogany table was crowded with more principals. The chairs along the walls were occupied by department and agency staffers, mostly military.

Each principal had given a brief summary of their findings and concerns. The latter was a considerable list. It all amounted to a seemingly insoluble challenge.

Ryan called this latest meeting as soon as he got word about the Labrador Sea sinking from Admiral Talbot before his day had even begun.

They all had been lulled into a false sense of victory after the Glazov was forced to the surface and perp-walked back to Russia three days ago. But the sinking of yet another ship in the Indian Ocean had shattered that illusion.

Now the news of this additional sinking in the Labrador Sea proved the crisis was spinning out of control. Nobody knew who was behind the attacks, how they were conducted, or where the next ones would take place.

“It’s like we’re boxing with blindfolds and earplugs,” was the way Arnie put it. “And the ring just keeps getting bigger and bigger.”

These escalating attacks by an unknown hostile deploying an assumed but as yet unidentified weapons system threatened to destabilize the global economy. This was the worst crisis Ryan’s administration had ever faced.

And he took full responsibility for it.

Ryan needed more hands on deck if he hoped to get ahead of this thing.

DARPA sent over a department head and two leading researchers working on extra-large unmanned undersea vehicles (XLUUVs), and Admiral Talbot flew two officers in from the Naval Undersea Warfare Center in Keyport, Washington: the commander of Submarine Development Squadron (DEVRON) 5, and the commander of the newly formed Unmanned Undersea Vehicles Squadron (UUVRON) 1.

Ryan scanned the room. All eyes were on him. These were earnest, serious people looking for guidance and, more important, confidence. They were scared. So was he. Ryan knew they weren’t looking for answers because there weren’t any. They wanted leadership.

Ryan stood.

“We’re standing right in front of a brick wall, no two ways about it,” Ryan began. “A wall so tall and wide we can’t comprehend it. Randy Pausch was right about brick walls. They’re there to show us how badly we want something. And they only stop the people who don’t want it badly enough.

“I know most of you in this room, and more important, you know me. You know how badly I want to find and stop whoever is behind these attacks. I don’t know how we’re going to do it. I don’t know how long it’s going to take.

“What I do know is that the Labrador incident is the first lucky break we’ve had because it’s the first sinking we’ve been able to detect in real time, thanks to SBIRS picking up the thermal flare.

“The second lucky break is that it appears to be a simple, conventional chemical explosion, and definitely not nuclear, according to MASINT.

“The third thing we know is that no known hostile combat aircraft were in the area, and no cruise, ballistic, or hypersonic missiles were detected before, during, or after the attack.

“Which I believe is connected to the fourth thing in our favor. DNI Foley has assured us that there has been no Chinese or Russian chatter about these events, and SecState Adler has not received any back-channel communications from either principals or opposition from within their respective governments. We still don’t know who is behind all of this but we are now reasonably confident it isn’t the Russians or the Chinese, which takes a World War Three scenario off the table.

“Now it’s time to roll up our sleeves, and find a way to get our tails over, under, around, or through this goddamn brick wall. Who’s coming with me?”

Ryan sensed rather than heard a collective sigh of relief around the table. Nodding heads and smiles told him he won the room over.

“We’re with you, Mr. President. All the way,” Foley said.

More nodding heads. Even a few laughs.

Not a bad little pep talk, Ryan thought. If only I believed it myself.

The room’s secure door opened, and Ruby Knox, the temporary lead agent of the Presidential Protective Division, approached him.

That wasn’t good.

The PPD knew exactly how important this meeting was. Nothing short of an even greater national emergency should be interrupting it.

“Excuse me,” Ryan said to the table as he stepped closer to Knox and out of earshot from the others in the room.

“What is it?” Ryan asked in a low voice.

“The Treasury secretary is in the Oval, along with the chairman of the Federal Reserve. They’ve requested a meeting with you ASAP.”

Ryan frowned, genuinely confused.

“I’ve got more important things on my plate right now than worrying about the ECB dropping interest rates a quarter point next week.”

Knox nodded. “I explained that to them, sir. But they’re quite insistent.”

“Did they tell you what it’s all about?”

“I’m just the hired help, sir.”

“What do you think?”

“I think SecTreas Hodge is going to stroke out if you don’t get up there pronto, and if I’m not mistaken, Chairman Moorcroft has already pooped his pantaloons. Sir.”

61

THE WHITE HOUSE

Agent Knox opened the northeast door leading from the President’s secretary’s office into the Oval. SecTreas Stephen Hodges and Chairman Wesley Moorcroft were sitting together on one of the long couches.

Both men bolted to their feet when the door opened and President Ryan and Arnie van Damm marched in. Knox closed the door behind them for privacy—and security. The two financial executives each wore expensive, tailored gray suits. Hodges wore a silk rep Harvard tie and held a leather folio in a white-knuckled grip. Moorcroft wore a bright yellow bow tie and glasses.

Ryan beelined to the two men and waved them back to their seats on the couch. Both executives were in their mid-sixties and in good health, and known for their steady nerves and keen minds navigating the turbulent world of global and domestic finance.

It scared the hell out of Ryan that both men were visibly shaken.

“Gentlemen, please. Let’s forget the formalities. What’s going on? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Ryan took one of the chairs and Arnie grabbed the couch opposite the two financial wizards.

Hodges opened his folio, pulled a letter from it, and handed it to Ryan. He also gave Arnie a copy.

“Mr. President,” Hodges began, “our offices simultaneously received this letter approximately one hour ago. You can read the details in full later. But the letter claims—and unfortunately, my office has verified that claim—that five trillion dollars has been stolen from the accounts of the world’s one hundred largest banking institutions.”

No one moved. No one breathed. They couldn’t.

“Now wait one goddamned New York minute,” Arnie said. He leaned forward, his face a welter of confusion. “Did you really just say five trillion ? With a t ?”

“I’m afraid so,” Hodges said.

“And it’s already stolen? Gone? Just disappeared?”

“Yes.”

Arnie threw his hands in the air. “That’s utter bullshit.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not,” Moorcroft said. “It’s absolutely accurate. We’ve verified with over forty-two banks so far, and others are reaching out to my office even as we speak.”