Bobby Akart - First Strike

Three years later, the two were married, and Tucker was on the way. Owen had accepted a lower-level management position at Yahoo but quickly impressed his superiors. Lacey, who graduated with a business management degree because she hoped to run the Driftwood Key Inn someday, opened up a boutique store in Hayward called Jefferson Outfitters.

The family enjoyed all things outdoors, including hiking, camping, skiing, and various water sports. Owen’s salary was easily able to sustain their household while Jefferson Outfitters, which more than broke even, provided Jessica an outlet to pursue her dreams of working in the outdoors while managing a business.

She waited at the security entrance to the campus of Yahoo’s corporate headquarters. The architecture of the buildings was unique. They were made of precast concrete, glass, and metal with Yahoo’s signature bright yellow and purple accents. The abundant green space and outdoor seating made for a casual, relaxed work atmosphere.

Lacey parked the car and checked herself once again. She was glad they were relaxed, she thought to herself. She was a nervous wreck. This opportunity meant a lot to Owen and would have a profound effect on their financial future.

She walked with confidence along the sidewalks traversing the artificial turf that had been installed to replace the grass that used to lie there. The turf, made of one hundred percent recyclable materials, was a testament to Yahoo’s interest in preserving the environment. It was, however, often used against them in the corporate shareholder meetings by those who thought the company should focus more on profits and less on environmental issues. Regardless, Lacey thought the artificial turf was pretty, and hey, you never had to mow it.

Her phone indicated a text message had come through. She rifled through her bag and saw that it was from Owen. She quickly checked her watch to see if she was late. She wasn’t.

Owen: I see you.

Lacey searched the campus for her husband. She texted him back.

Lacey: Show yourself, creeper. Or I’ll call the law!

Owen: Behind you.

Lacey swung around, and there was her husband, dressed in his best power suit, standing with one hand in his pocket. He was wickedly handsome, and she loved him more than life.

Saturday, October 19

Oval Office

The White House

Washington, DC

President Carter Helton was the son of a coal miner who’d labored for decades in Greene County, Pennsylvania, where coal was still king. President Helton’s father wanted a better life for his five kids. He was the oldest of the five and was the first member of the Helton family to attend a university. His grades had earned him a partial scholarship to Slippery Rock University, and his excellent work ethic, along with his father’s savings, propelled him to Penn State, where he got his law degree.

In addition to being book smart, he was a streetwise individual who possessed the gift of gab, an almost perfect trifecta for becoming a politician. He rose through the ranks of Pennsylvania politics, from the local level in his hometown of Waynesburg, to the State House in Harrisburg.

He paid his dues. Made the right friends. Rubbed elbows with the rich and powerful. Now here he was, well into his first year as president and rushing down the hallways of the West Wing, his security team and a handful of staffers in tow. His new administration was being tested, and the pressure was enormous.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” said one staffer nonchalantly as she struggled to keep up with the boss. “Sir, they’ve changed the meeting to the Roosevelt Room.”

As President Helton continued down the hallway, he addressed the young woman. “Who’s here?”

“All of them, sir,” she replied, referring to the top brass of the Pentagon.

The meeting in response to the Abu Dhabi terrorist attack had been delayed several hours at the president’s request. He wanted the best possible intelligence available to make a decision. He was not interested in supposition laced with agenda-setting motives. He’d learned in his first hundred days in office that those permanent residents of the DC political apparatus had their own opinion of how the government should be run. Presidents came and went.

Just as he strode past the chief of staff’s suite, Harrison Chandler, former congressman from Pennsylvania and longtime friend, dashed out with his computer tablet stuck in his left armpit.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” he greeted. “We’ve got a full house.”

“So I’ve heard. Is there anything new to add since they delivered the PDB early this morning?”

From the moment he’d been declared president-elect by the media, President Helton was made privy to the same tools given to the former president, such as intelligence reporting and analysis. Known as the President’s Daily Brief, the binder created was in essence a toolkit of information that overlapped with that of the president.

Producing and presenting the daily brief was the responsibility of the director of National Intelligence, whose office was tasked with fusing intelligence from the Central Intelligence Agency, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and other members of the U.S. intelligence community.

President Helton asked that economic issues be included in the PDB, as the nation was in the throes of an economic and trade war with China. He believed gaining insight into the capabilities and intentions of America’s global competitors was every bit as important as keeping an eye on hot spots around the globe, such as the Middle East.

The recent mass assassination of the Iranian nuclear scientists and yesterday’s terrorist attack in Abu Dhabi had brought tensions in the Middle East to their highest level in decades. The media was demanding answers from the president’s communications team. His White House spokesman had held them off thus far, but many were already looking at the president as weak and indecisive because of the delayed response.

Chandler filled the president in on what to expect. “Here are the highlights. Yemeni rebels. Funded by Iran. Their target was the Israeli delegation, but they came in a little heavy-handed and killed a lot of innocents unrelated to the peace conference.”

“A little heavy-handed, Harrison? That’s an interesting choice of words.”

“Well, sir, I think you’ll hear from the Pentagon and intelligence heads that their plan was ill conceived. If their goal was to gain revenge for the attack on the nuclear facility at Isfahan, they could’ve sent in a suicide bomber or two. Instead, they destroyed the entrance to the conference center and randomly murdered anyone in their path. It was senseless.”

President Helton sighed as he reached the open doors to the Roosevelt Room. “Aren’t they all?” he asked without expecting a response.

The windowless Roosevelt Room served as a daily meeting location for the White House staff and the president’s briefings. It had been upgraded a decade ago to include a wall of televisions and a large screen for multimedia presentations. President Helton often used this platform to conduct video conferences with foreign leaders.

As he entered, the members of the national security team and the White House communications director were getting settled into their seats. As the president entered, they all shot back up in unison out of respect.

“Good morning and thank you for coming in at this early hour,” said the president. He noticed the puzzled looks on their faces. “Well, sorry. I realize it’s been a long night for you all. Thank you for your efforts. Please sit down and tell me where we stand.”