David Golemon - Legend

"Mr. President, thank you for securing the cooperation of the navy, it's much appreciated." Niles watched Alice leave the room.

"I have the FBI report on those photos your people sent over from San Pedro," the president said tersely. "It seems the man named Kennedy, which is his real name by the way, is a U.S. Navy SEAL, and another was identified as an air force captain named Reynolds. The others have yet to be identified."

"Has the navy and air force explained the reasoning behind infiltrating a university-sponsored expedition with a bunch of young people?"

"So far they haven't said anything. They said they have an intense inner investigation going on to find out. And to me right now, that isn't goddamned good enough!"

"You mean to say they don't know what their special operations people are doing?"

"So far they came up with records that show Kennedy and Reynolds were on detached duty out west. I put my bulldog on it. My national security advisor, Ambrose, will get some results."

"Someone is out of control here and there are lives at stake—"

"Dammit, Niles, I know whose lives are at stake!"

"Yes, sir, I apologize. Those kids may be lost or fighting for their lives down there, and I have a team getting ready to go in. I need to know who we can trust!"

"All right Niles, you and I need to keep a perspective here. Even though my own daughter is in danger, I'm afraid my hands are still tied up to a point. I can't risk a shooting war just because my daughter stepped out. Here's something for you to think on: no matter what reason Kennedy and those other men have for being attached to that expedition, doesn't it ease your mind a little that they have at least one SEAL with them?"

Niles was slow to answer, as he didn't feel comfortable with the military involvement, no matter if there were special operations people giving Helen and her kids a better chance at survival or not. So he decided to answer truthfully.

"It would make me feel better if in fact they hadn't been off the air for over a week now."

"I'll keep pushing Ambrose on my end; a hard task, since he knows nothing of the Group's existence."

"I understand."

"Now, your Lieutenant Ryan has been cleared for Fort Bragg. The Proteus team will be waiting on him, along with his Delta squad. Remember, Niles, even though my daughter's life may be at stake, I have only okayed the Proteus backup mission. Again, I stress the fact that I can't allow a military ground incursion, even if we know it to be a rescue mission, into a friendly nation by American troops; it just won't fly. I'm sorry, it's Proteus or nothing."

"Mr. President, I—"

"No," the president cut him off, "we can't have American ground troops on friendly soil without invitation. Too many things can go wrong. If your backup plan works properly, Proteus should give Major Collins a nice edge if it's needed."

"Sir, that damned weapons platform hasn't worked right since testing began; we're running an awful risk with Operation Spoiled Sport as our only backup. What if there is close-in fighting down there? Proteus can't possibly help out in that situation."

"I'm sorry, Niles, it has to do, we have too many black eyes given to us by bad press lately. It's not that I'm sacrificing any of those kids or my own daughter for political reasons, but I can't let American boys die in a rescue attempt that would surely be challenged by Brazilian troops. Tell Major Collins to find our people and get his butt back in one piece, and Niles, please bring my daughter home. I'm sorry Proteus is the only backup at this time, but it can be disguised as civilian whereas fighter aircraft can't."

Niles stared at the screen, knowing full well the president was right. The burden of getting those kids out of that green and hostile world was squarely on the shoulders of the Event Group.

Ambrose drove himself over to Foggy Bottom. The Department of State was clearing for the day, so he had no bothersome eyes watching as he took the stairs three at a time.

He was escorted to the secretary of state's office by two guards. As he entered the office, Ambrose saw the secretary was busy jotting something down on paper. For someone who was only fifty-two, the cabinet member's hair was turning a distinguished shade of gray at the temples. Ambrose had watched earlier in the day as the president praised him on television for his unyielding stance with the crisis that he had thwarted in Iraq. He was definitely the flavor of the month. But as Ambrose set his briefcase down and took a seat, he could see the man who would soon become the next president of the most powerful nation on earth was angry.

"I take it your conversation with the president was enlightening, Mr. Secretary?" Ambrose asked.

The tall man behind the ornate and ostentatious desk finally looked up.

"How in the hell could this happen?"

"How were we supposed to know his daughter was on that ship?"

"That little bitch has been nothing but a royal pain in the ass since the president took office and her presence in Brazil could bring our whole shaky house of cards down around our neck."

Ambrose swallowed as he listened to a man who was world famous for keeping his cool, a man who planned the outcome of events, never just hoping for a favorable one.

"They haven't been heard from since—"

"It doesn't matter, you fool, even if the whole expedition is dead, do you think for one goddamned minute the president will let the body of his daughter go unclaimed down in the fucking jungle?" He stood up and tossed the ballpoint pen he had been using at Ambrose, who flinched as it bounced off his shoulder. "Now he tells me he's authorized not one, but two naval task forces to the south. Sailing orders that you should have informed me of!"

"He consulted with the secretary of the navy directly. I didn't know anything until a moment ago. Look, we can steer him away from a recovery effort, just advise against it. I am his national security advisor, goddammit, and you're his secretary of state."

"That bastard just ordered me, ordered me to Brazil. He wants inroads laid so we can either clear the way for a rescue operation by the marines of all people, or at least get the Brazilian military in there."

Ambrose had been briefed as to what the president was going to say to the secretary, so he wasn't surprised by his orders.

"It's the president doing the requesting, so why don't you just put it as a threat? President Souza won't take too kindly to that. Make the situation hot enough to where there is no action taken at all. What will he do, invade a friendly nation over his wayward daughter who is most likely dead already?"

"Yes, goddammit, you work for the bastard; he loves his daughter no matter how much of a pain in the ass she is!" the secretary yelled as he paced to his large window behind his desk. "And now he knows about the team the intelligence chiefs sent with the Zachary group, who may or may not have eliminated the very team the president wants us to rescue!"

"Then all the better we get this thing to blow up. Cover our tracks where no one can trace our involvement in either Iraq or what was taken out of that damned valley down there. With any luck, Kennedy blew the goddamned thing up and buried everything and everyone forever."

The secretary of state turned toward Ambrose, his eyes afire. "If even a hint of this gets out, the election is lost. Remember, I'm still tied to the president's coattails whether I like it or not."

"That doesn't worry me all that much," Ambrose said as he stood.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"If even a hint of what we've done leaks out, we're all going to hang for treason, because the danger you failed to foresee when we took into our confidence the military chiefs of intelligence is that they will indeed cover their tracks, any way they can. And in case you didn't know it, Donald, they do have the assets to get that part done, and we would be the one to be covered up. Good luck in Brazil, Mr. Secretary. I'll do what I can from the White House."