Black Flagged Redux

Chapter 52





1:10 AM

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.

Frederick Shelby shifted uneasily in his high-backed leather chair. Operation Bold Scimitar's strike force was less than twenty minutes from touching down inside Sanderson's compound, and half of the room was still missing. He couldn't imagine what might be more pressing at 1:10 in the morning, but much to his surprise fifteen minutes ago, three of the key players in the room left suddenly after Miss Kestler took a phone call. The White House counter-terrorism director, along with the national security advisor and secretary of state, left without saying a word. At least the secretary of defense didn't leave. He had stayed glued to his laptop computer screen, probably shifting between the live camera feeds received from the assault force.

The two massive flat-screen monitors at the end of the room displayed a helmet camera feed from the SEAL force's commander, Lieutenant Commander Scott Daly; and a nose mounted feed from the lead helicopter, a Special Forces HH-60H Rescue Hawk from the Firehawks squadron. They had all watched the green images in silence as the darkened Chilean coast filled the screen and the strike force went "feet dry" over Chile at 12:37. Less than twenty minutes later, Operation Bold Scimitar lost half of its audience.

He stared at the empty seats around the far end of the conference table and directed his attention toward Lieutenant General Frank Gordon at the head of the table. The general's purposeful eyes were glued to his own laptop. He felt slightly disconnected without the same information feeds seen by the secretary of defense and the commander of U.S Joint Special Operations Command, but this was more a function of feeling left out than operational necessity. He was along for the ride as a courtesy and didn't want to overstep his boundaries.

The flat-screen monitor mounted on the side of the conference room showed the strike force's progress on a detailed topographic map and displayed a bunch of information on a side window that nobody had bothered to explain to him. A digital clock featuring three time zones counted away the seconds toward the strike force's proposed 3:30 AM local time arrival at the compound. He turned to his least favorite person in the room to ask a question.

"How does everything look, Gerry? On schedule?" he said.

Gerald Simmons, assistant secretary for Special Operations and Low Intensity Conflict Capabilities, regarded him with a thinly veiled annoyance, pretending to examine Shelby's laptop, which relayed no additional information beyond what the FBI director could already see for himself on the room's screens.

"Looks like they might arrive ahead of schedule. The flight commander made the decision to fly directly over a low mountain range instead of snaking through a few lower canyons, so they picked up a few minutes and saved some fuel. This might come in handy if they have to loiter around the Sand Box. You don't have this on your…uh…never mind," he said.

"Sand Box?" Shelby said, wishing he could rip the computer away from Simmons and bash it over his head.

"That's the informal name the SEALs gave to the LZ Alpha. Sanderson. Sand Box. They like to keep things interesting for us," Gerry said.

Shelby was pretty sure that most of the SEALs and marines on this mission would smash a beer bottle over this prick's head if they ever ran into him in a dark bar. He glanced down the table at Brigadier General Lawrence Nichols, who had caught Gerry's comment about the SEALs and looked like he was having the same malicious thoughts. Nichols made eye contact with Shelby and shook his head.

The door to the room opened suddenly, and two serious looking Secret Service agents walked in, appraising the dozen or so people occupying seats. After a few seconds, one of them spoke into a handcuff microphone, and the missing members of the room filed back in, followed by the president of the United States.

"The president of the United States," was announced by someone, and everyone stood.

"Please. Don't let me interrupt," he said in a southern accent and motioned for the national security advisor to sit closest to General Gordon.

The president rolled an empty chair from the wall and tucked himself just behind and between General Gordon and Brigadier General Nichols. He shook hands with both of them and exchanged a few pleasantries. Several seconds later, he locked eyes with Director Shelby and stood up, motioning for him to come over. Director Shelby stood up from his chair and made his way through the small crowd that had followed the president's entourage into the room.

"Mr. President. Always a pleasure. What brings you down for our little operation?" he said, gripping the president’s hand in a vigorous shake.

"Busy night, Frederick, and the pleasure is all mine. Fantastic work on this. Only God himself knows what Sanderson is capable of. Your diligence helped put a dark Chapter behind us. I'll be relieved when he's off the grid," the president said.

"My sentiments exactly, Mr. President."

"I'm told we might be a few minutes ahead of schedule. I guess it's in the capable hands of our nation's finest," he said and patted General Gordon on the shoulder.

"This is the most sophisticated Special Forces strike package ever assembled, Mr. President. In seventeen minutes, Sanderson will be on his knees, zip tied in front of that monitor," General Gordon said.

"Grab a seat," said the president, motioning for one of the Secret Service agents.

Within seconds, he was sitting next to the president, with a bird's-eye view of the entire operation. This was much better, he thought, though he still couldn't shake the feeling that something big was going on without his knowledge. On his way to their conference room, he saw that every station on the Watch Floor was occupied, which struck him as unusual this late at night, even during a major operation. At least one of the smaller conference rooms had been in use, which was also unusual, and the primary conference room was clearly being reconfigured for a major operation. All an unusual amount of activity outside of daytime hours, which made him wonder what he didn't know. As the leader of the nation's domestic law enforcement and intelligence arm, he didn't like to be out of the loop.