Brad Thor - Takedown

“And that tenth time?” asked Harvath. “How do I deal with that?”

“You can’t. Only that soldier can. It comes down to facing his or her personal demons, and that’s a battle that requires more courage than anything you might ever face on the other end of a gun.”

It was an answer that Harvath not only understood, but could appreciate. The only problem was that the possibility that one of the people on his team could very well freeze up when they were needed most scared the hell out of him.

Tell me what’s going on in New York,” said the DHS secretary, Alan Driehaus, as he walked in to Gary Lawlor’s office unannounced and pulled the door shut behind him.

Lawlor had never cared much for the man in either his U.S. Attorney role or the position he now occupied at DHS. As diplomatic as he was, it was becoming harder and harder for Gary to hide his dislike. “Apparently there’s been some sort of terrorist attack in New York. It’s all over the news.”

“Don’t give me your condescending bullshit. What’s your involvement in this?”

“Me? I swore off terrorism years ago. It was a prerequisite for getting this job.”

The continual lack of respect he was shown throughout the department galled Driehaus to no end. “Shortly before all of this happened, one of your people grabbed a Muslim immigrant whom the Canadians had granted political asylum to and dragged him back across our border. True or false?”

“Who the hell told you that?” replied Lawlor, stunned that somebody was leaking classified information, and to of all people the pinhead secretary of the DHS.

“I’ve got my sources.”

“Well they’re wrong.”

“Like hell they are,” replied Driehaus. “None of you people get it, do you? We can’t hold ourselves out as a country that cherishes the rule of law only when it suits our purposes. We play right into our enemies’ hands when we do that. It’s hypocritical.”

“What would you have us do, Alan? Wait for the bad guys to make their move and then throw them in jail?”

“No. I have no qualms with preemption, but there have to be limits. We have to obey the rules.”

“Really? Tell that to the families of the people who died today and see if they give a rat’s ass about limits or the rule of law. PC or not, we’re smack-dab in the middle of a crusade, and the only way Western civilization is going to survive is if we meet radical Islam’s force with overwhelming force of our own.”

“But Western civilization isn’t about brute force. It’s about the power of ideas-one of the greatest of which is the rule of law and that as all men are created equal, they are equally bound under those laws.”

“Wake up, Alan. The sword is the midwife of civilization and everything that has happened since civilization’s birth has happened at the tip of that sword. I don’t care how many Starbucks are in my neighborhood, how many digital pictures my secretary can cram onto a single memory card, or how realistic the imagery is on my nephew’s new PlayStation, we still live in a world where might makes right. The moment we lose sight of that rule and start shrinking from our duties as a nation, is when we’ll all need to begin trading in our minivans and baseball mitts for prayer rugs and Arabic lessons.”

Even as a product of the 1960s, Driehaus had never seen the nation so ideologically divided. Why did so many have such a hard time seeing the damage that the current policies were doing to America? “So we just toss the rule of law out the window?”

“No,” replied Lawlor. “What I’m suggesting is that we stop believing that Western principles apply to our enemies. We can’t win the war on terror playing by a set of rules our opponents refuse to recognize.”

“And that’s where you come in? You and your collection of former soldiers and ex-intelligence agents hidden away in the bowels of DHS operating from budgets I’ve never even heard about?”

“Careful, Alan. You’re wiping your feet on the threshold of a very dangerous house. One, I should point out, into which you haven’t been invited.”

“I don’t care. I want to know right now what people you have in New York. These are people who are operating under the umbrella of this agency, of which I am in charge.”

Lawlor’s patience was quickly coming to an end. “Don’t let your philosophical judgments cloud your ability to execute your job. You know how this works. My division may be in DHS, but it’s not of DHS.”

“So all animals are created equal, but some are more equal than others, is that it?”

“I prefer to see it as we all make our own unique contributions to the welfare of our nation.”

“That’s an interesting way to characterize blackmail, kidnapping, and assassination.”

Lawlor sat with his best poker face waiting for the secretary to actually make a point or get the hell out of his office.

“What happened today is a real wake-up call for our country, Gary. The war on terror is not working. The pace at which attacks are being plotted against the United States is beyond exhausting. We can’t win with this strategy. Don’t you see? Just because we perceive ourselves as having the right to do something doesn’t mean we should do it. We can either lead by our example or be reviled for it.”

Lawlor turned to a stack of paperwork on his desk and barely masking the disgust in his voice said, “I suggest you get back to the war room. I guarantee you’ll be much more appreciated there.”

Driehaus was pretty sure he’d gotten the information he wanted from the OIIA chief and opened the door.

As he was about to step into the hallway, Lawlor said, “By the way, Mr. Secretary?”

“Yes,” said Driehaus as he turned around.

“Just for the record, it wasn’t Western civilization that made all men equal. It was Samuel Colt.”

THE WHITE HOUSE

President Rutledge traded drafts for his television appearance with his press secretary all the way back to Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. The only break he took was when Carolyn Leonard brought him an update on his daughter. Knowing that Amanda’s friends had been killed-as well as presumably all but two of her protective detail-and that they were trying to get her to a hospital for treatment of her unspecified injuries, made it very difficult for Jack Rutledge to concentrate on the task at hand. Carolyn promised to brief him every twenty minutes, whether she had any new information or not.

With confirmation that Amanda’s friends had not survived the attack on the Williamsburg Bridge, Rutledge contacted their parents from Air Force One and delivered the heartbreaking news personally.

When the president arrived at the White House, he read through the final draft of his speech and nodded his head. No one had heard him utter a word since entering the building. The man’s face was resolute, and it was clearly evident that he was both enraged and distraught beyond communication.

Waving off the makeup artist, Rutledge stared into the camera and waited to be given the signal that he was on the air. When it came, he began speaking.

“Good afternoon. Today, our great nation has come under attack. With the despicable terrorist acts of September eleventh, 2001, still fresh in our minds, the forces of evil lashed out at our very way of life by once again targeting New York City.

“Americans in the thousands have died as a result of these deliberate and cowardly acts. The victims come from all walks of life. They were businessmen and women, doctors, teachers, students, children, moms, dads, sisters, and brothers-all of whom were preparing to celebrate the nation’s birthday. Many more were injured, including my own daughter, Amanda, who along with two of her friends, now deceased, were making their way into New York when the attacks occurred. As a father, as president of this great nation, and as an American I feel the pain of the people of New York.