Russell Moran - A Climate of Doubt

“Mr. Secretary, it’s Nancy Mullin calling for you on the secure line. She’s the astronaut lady, yes?”

“I was just about to call you, Nancy,” Bellamy said. “You’ve heard about the Stargazer explosion I assume.”

“Yes, we have, Mr. Secretary. But beyond that, Bill Cranston and I have some concerns, some big concerns.”

Nancy explained their suspicions about Phil Duncan, and said she feared they might be next on Duncan’s hit list.

“Explain to me exactly where you are and stay there,” Bellamy said. “Don’t move. We have a few FBI agents at Rosetta. I’m going to contact the lead agent and have him meet you in a couple of minutes and get you the hell out of there. Before you board the plane you can text message Duncan with a story that you had to visit your ailing grandmother. You’ll be coming to New York. I repeat, do not move .”

August 24

Air Force Lieutenant Colonel James Burke climbed into his Rockwell B-1 Lancer heavy bomber after briefing a group of other pilots. Often known as the “bone,” for B-One, the aircraft is one of three heavy bombers that the Air Force currently uses. Burke commanded a wing of 30 Lancers preparing for a bombing run against the Bartholomew Martin compound in Erbil, Kurdistan. The wing was split into three groups of ten planes, each group assigned to specific targets on the Reformer compound.

“I have the target in sight,” he said into his radio, which was picked up at the Situation Room in the White House as well as the Pentagon. “Commencing first run against the armored vehicle compound.”

In successive sweeps, the bombers attacked the troop barracks, the munitions building, the armored vehicle area, and Bartholomew Martin’s headquarters. After 10 minutes, the entire compound was a scene of smoking rubble.

“Any surprises to report, Jim?” General Dolan asked from his post at the Pentagon.

“Yes, sir, plenty of surprises. What I’m looking at is nothing that I expected. Reports from the other pilots confirm my observations. We didn’t see any planes on the air strip, nor did we see any tanks in the armor staging area. Also, when we bombed the ammunition dump I expected to see a gigantic explosion. The only thing that apparently blew up were our own bombs. I didn’t see any personnel running around either. I’m alerting the ground commander that he can commence his attack now. Something tells me he’s not going encounter a hell of a lot of resistance.”

A tank battalion, consisting of four platoons of 14 M1 Abrams battle tanks each, charged into the compound, followed by infantry units.

Brigadier General Bruce Harding, the officer in charge of the tank battalion, radioed what he saw to General Dolan at the Pentagon and to the White House Situation Room.

“A computer video war game is more violent than what I’m seeing, general. This place looks deserted. I can see no vehicles of any type, including tanks, trucks, and automobiles. I have yet to see any personnel. It looks to me like somebody heard we were coming and got out of here— fast. I’m dispatching minesweepers to look for IEDs and booby traps.”

The President stood in the White House Situation Room, not liking what he heard. He turned to Dee and Jake.

“It looks like Bartholomew Martin has pulled off another vanishing act. The Reformers compound is empty.”

“It’s obvious,” Dee said, “that Martin has his people imbedded throughout our government. He had plenty of warning about this attack. The son of a bitch may be without a title, but he’s not without power.”

“Dee, We knew this operation faced a chance of failure,” the president said. “To pull this off I’ve had to negotiate with the Kurds, the Iraqis, the Turks, and countless other entities to make sure we didn’t get into a battle with anybody other than Bartholomew Martin. Hell, we call the place Kurdistan, but it’s really part of Iraq.”

“Honey, I mean Mr. President, you’ve done everything you possibly could,” Dee said, violating her personal rule not to call him anything but Mr. President.

“The First Lady’s right, Mr. President,” Jake Arnold said. “You’ve done your best, sir.”

“Thanks for not calling me ‘honey,’ Jake.” Sometimes it pays to lighten up.

“Our next mission is going to be even tougher than attacking a compound,” the president said. “We now have to find that elusive bastard. It’s obvious that he’s up to something. And when Bartholomew Martin is up to something, it’s big.”

“I could get used to having our own private airplane. How about you, Bill?”

“I think I understand why they’re treating us like royalty, hon. We may not like it, but we’re the center of the entire investigation.”

“Folks, it’s now my job to make you two look ridiculous,” the FBI agent said. “I have wigs for both of you and a beard for Bill. I guess you’ve figured out that we’re worried about you. You can take these things off after you get into the car that’s waiting at the airport.”

The plane landed at Newark International Airport in New Jersey. As promised, a car was not only waiting, but was positioned on the tarmac.

“You’re going to love where I’m taking you—a beautiful house in Tenafly, New Jersey.”

“Why?” both Bill and Nancy asked.

“Secretary Bellamy himself will be there to tell you.”

The car pulled into a long winding driveway of a house that the FBI agent had accurately described as beautiful. It stood two stories high on an acre of treed property. They both noticed that a fence surrounded the land in front of the trees. Bill noticed that there were security cameras on poles all over the property. The car pulled up to the rear door as they put on their disguises and got out.

“Welcome to your new home,” I said as I met them at the door.

“Our new home?” they both said.

“Congratulations, you are now proud members of the FBI Witness Protection Program.”

“Is this really necessary?” Nancy asked.

“Allow me to be blunt, Nancy,” I said. “If I were an odds-maker I’d peg your chances of survival at zero if you weren’t in the program. It hasn’t hit the news yet, but we’ve just learned that Frank Morgan, the CEO of Rosetta Corporation, died in a car accident. The police reported that the accident was suspicious.”

“Oh, my God,” Nancy said. “Frank Morgan was a good man. Have they picked a successor as CEO?”

“Yes, they have. A gentleman known as Philip Duncan, who is—or was—an old college buddy of mine. We’ll be talking about him at quite some length.”

“That slimy fuck,” Nancy said. “Pardon my Montana language.”

“Morgan’s car was sideswiped by a truck and smashed into a barrier,” I continued. “We’ve seen this maneuver before. It’s a long story, but that’s how the president and first lady met. As a lawyer, he represented his future wife in a wrongful death lawsuit for the death of her husband. He was killed in a sideswipe collision that was later discovered to be a murder. The case has become famous in law enforcement and intelligence communities as ‘ The Sideswipe Conspiracy .’ That’s how I met them. As the head of the FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force at the time, it was my pleasure to introduce them to the FBI Witness Protection Program. They still speak warmly of the experience. I’m happy to say that I was there when they got married on their second day in the program. I understand that you two are planning to marry, so why not have your wedding reception in this beautiful house. Just don’t plan on too many guests. We’ll save you some time and choose the guests for you.”