David Golemon - Ripper

“Of course, Mr. President, Miss Simpson,” Peachtree said feeling the heat of the president’s glare.

“Okay gentlemen, keep me informed.”

With that the brief meeting was over. The two men waited for a word before they left, but the president kept his head down in thought. The two CIA men left the Oval Office.

The president took a deep breath, hit the intercom switch, and then mentally calmed himself. “Please send in General Caulfield.”

A moment later four-star marine general Maxwell Caulfield walked into the Oval Office and greeted his boss. The chairman of the joint chiefs of staff stood rigid at the center of the office.

“Jesus, Max, knock it off and have a seat will you?” the president said as he tossed the pen he was holding onto his desk and stood and walked over to the couch opposite of where Caulfield sat. He rubbed his face and looked up at his own appointee from almost two years before.

“Max, I need your help with something, and I need you to keep it close to the vest and not ask any questions. Do you understand?”

The general matched the president’s move and leaned forward. “Of course, anything; you know that.”

“That group you think is just a think tank buried under Nellis Air Force Base?”

“The one run by that little bald fella that shows up here from time to time?”

“You know damn well who I’m speaking of so don’t play games; it’s too late at night.”

“Yes, sir, I know of the rumors that have circulated inside the military for years. I first heard of it at the Academy. Everyone thinks we have secret bases and covert operations all over the country, why—”

“We have a problem in the desert Max. We need an assault team put together that can not only pull off a hard job, but is able to keep their mouths shut once the operation is complete. A small unit if possible.”

Caulfield looked offended. “My people always keep their mouths shut, Mr. President.”

“No offense, Max, but what I’m talking about is beyond anything you know. For the first time in American history I am bringing a military officer into the loop on this agency. It exists, and that is all you will ever know, Max. Is that understood? There will be no questions, no official answers. Now I have to say this; if I didn’t, the ghosts of every president since Woodrow Wilson, hell, possibly even Abe Lincoln, would turn over in their graves, and the ones still alive would crucify me and then throw my rotting corpse in jail. Which, Max, is the same thing I am now threatening you with on an official basis. I will have you skinned alive if this leaks from anyone under your command.” The president held up a hand. “Think, Max, before you speak. This group is special and they have just declared a state of emergency. The complex they utilize has been attacked. Most of the personnel have been successfully evacuated, but there are over seventy men and women still down in that hole in the ground.” The president looked hard into the general’s eyes. “And it’s one damn big hole.”

“What size assault element is it we’re speaking of?”

“Colonel Collins estimates no more than twenty, maybe less. But he also says these people are good.”

“Jack? Jack Collins?” the general asked with his eyes growing concerned.

“Let’s just say he’s involved with this group and needs assistance in regaining control of the facility. That’s another name you will forget about after tonight, General,” the president said with a sternness he had never used with Caulfield.

“I need details,” the general said raising his left brow after all of the threats were delivered.

The president went to his desk and returned with his laptop. Instead of sitting across from Caulfield, he sat next to him on the couch.

“Okay Max, officially you’re the only one outside of this office that will ever be told directly about this group. Some have guessed at its existence, especially after the Atlantis thing, and then the space shots, but no one could ever prove it. Throughout the modern history of this country they could never prove a thing.” The president opened the laptop and brought up a file after he entered his personal code. “This is a layout of the complex. Study it and commit it to memory because you can’t have any drawings for planning.”

As Caulfield looked at the detailed layout of the eighty-seven levels of the Event Group Complex, his eyes widened. “What in the hell is this?” he wondered. The massive complex was laid out before him and he couldn’t believe the scope of the construction.

“Max, I said don’t ask. I’m breaking about a thousand laws laid down by my predecessors about secrecy where this group is concerned. I need you to come up with an assault plan to help Colonel Collins and his men. I need you to get my friend Dr. Compton the hell out of there. The operation is to be kept tight and small. You run it for me. Just an officer and as tight a unit as you can find. Who do you have in mind?”

Caulfield had a hard time drawing his eyes away from the underground structure he was looking at. It was shaped like an upside down bowl with a large stem coming from its center, followed by another inverted bowl, then another, and still another.

“This son of a bitch is a nightmare, Mr. President.”

“I know, I’ve been inside and said the same thing,” he answered, again rubbing his face in frustration.

“And we have to keep it tight and quiet?” The general didn’t expect a response. He looked away and then glanced back at the tired and even grayer-haired man than the one who appointed him to his current position. “Thank you for trusting me with this. I knew that quirky little bald man was something, but running a joint like this? I guess we have to help save him, don’t we?”

The president placed his hand on the general’s shoulder. “Thanks Max, I would hate to have you … well, dealt with.”

Caulfield looked up after the president’s small joke, but when he saw that he wasn’t smiling the general turned away with his eyes a little wider and the threats to him that much more vivid.

“I think maybe you better save the thanks for the DELTA team I have to send in there, and please don’t make me threaten them like you did me. I don’t know if these boys would take it as well as I did.”

“Oh, they would take it if I sent a regiment of FBI agents to their front door. Now, where are these gentlemen?”

“Right now they’re at Fort Lewis, Washington, conducting their mountain training on Mount Rainier. I can have a team at Nellis in about three hours with luck. Mr. President, you said most of the personnel were evacuated successfully. Wasn’t Dr. Compton one of those people?”

“No, he’s missing, along with many others. They are cut off far underground.” The president turned and faced the general. “Max, besides Collins and his security force, the people that work inside that complex are only thinkers — doctors, professors, and God only knows what else. They are the best people this country has to offer as far as brains. They need your help and the silence of you and the men you choose.”

Maxwell Caulfield stood and removed his uniform jacket. He placed it on the back of the couch and sat back down to study the layout of the Event Group Complex underneath Nellis.

“I need a direct line to Fort Lewis in Washington State,” he said as his eyes started roaming over the large gates that were the entrances to the giant complex in the desert.

“Get them out of there Max,” the president said.

The general raised the phone to his ear. “This is General Caulfield. Connect me with the JSOC immediately.”

The president overheard the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff request the Joint Special Operations Command.