Transfer of Power

chapter 38
Stansfield allowed General Flood to blow off some steam. As Flood paced back and forth in front of his desk, Stansfield nodded from time to time in an effort to let Flood know he agreed with him. The elderly director of central intelligence had expected Baxter's unwillingness to give them the green light, and in his usual analytical way, Stansfield was already looking three moves ahead. He could have forewarned the general how Baxter would respond but felt an angry General Flood would be better than a calm one. Things were coming to a head, and some decisions needed to be made.

Now would come the hard part. Stansfield knew Vice President Baxter would never pull the trigger. In his opinion, they should never have started down this road to begin with, but now they had to do something before it got worse. Baxter was maneuvering, trying to buy as much time as possible. The fact that he was doing it during a crisis with such far-reaching implications was almost unimaginable to Stansfield, and that was making his difficult decision much easier.

Thomas Stansfield was contemplating doing something that he had done only one other time in the fifty-plus years he had served his country. It was something that could end his career in public disgrace, but he was willing to take that chance. He still had his ace in the hole, and now was the time to use it.

General Flood looked like a football coach chewing out his team at halftime. Stansfield watched him walk back and forth, shaking his fist and letting a stream of expletives flow from his mouth. Stansfield stayed quiet, letting him take as much time as needed. Gradually the expletives became fewer and the pacing slowed.

The general approached, looking miffed. "You sure as hell are taking this well. It's not as if things weren't bad enough, and now we find out the president isn't safe. I mean, for Christ's sake, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Aziz brought along this guy for this exact purpose. Now we know why he spaced the demands out the way he did. He needed time."

Stansfield nodded and moved in to test the water. "Yes, but what can we do about it? If Baxter doesn't give us the approval, we are left without recourse."

"There's nothing we can do about it. That idiot's calling the shots, and unless we can find a way to convince him to attack, this will only get worse."

Stansfield thought Flood to be a good soldier. The thought of ordering an attack without the approval of Baxter would not even enter his mind. With Stansfield, it was different. Spies were used to operating under a different set of rules; they were used to looking for creative ways to solve problems. Stansfield was not entirely free to do as he wished, but he had significantly more latitude than the general did.

Although Stansfield's idea was clearly in violation of the orders Baxter had given him, he had already made up his mind, and he would go it alone. The others had too much to lose. Nearing eighty, Stansfield knew the end was not far off. If ever there was a time to stick his neck out, this was it.

Looking up at the general with an almost mystical expression, Stansfield said, "There is one other option."

Flood eyed him with skepticism. He had looked feverishly for a way out and had found none. "I don't see any way out of this other than hoping Baxter comes to his senses."

"There is one way, and it's right in front of us."

Flood was intrigued, "Enlighten me."

Stansfield shook his head ever so slightly and said, "I think it best if you remain in the dark on this one."

Flood's hands moved to his hips, and a strange look washed over his face. He paused, wondering for a moment if he was reading Stansfield correctly. "What do you have up your sleeve, Thomas?"

Stansfield looked out the large window behind his desk. Without turning back to Flood, the director of the CIA said, "We both know what needs to be done, General, and there's no sense in risking two when one will suffice." Slowly looking back over his shoulder, he said, "I think now would be a good time for you and General Campbell to go visit the front lines. Maybe have a talk with HRT and Delta. See how they're doing. Make sure they're ready to move when the authority is given."

Flood squinted, part of him wanting to know what Thomas Stansfield was up to, but another part of him wanting nothing to do with whatever the director was planning.

"Thomas, what are you up to?"

Stansfield gingerly walked around the desk and placed his thin hands on Flood's substantial biceps. Turning him toward the door, Stansfield started to walk with him.

"I have the best of intentions. Do not worry." Several steps closer to the door and he added, "Just make sure the boys are ready to go when the time comes."

* * *

Less than a minute later they were standing in the control room. Flood had informed Campbell that they were going to visit the troops. HRT would be first and then Delta. The ranger assumed it had something to do with the call to Vice President Baxter and hoped they were about to get the green light. He quickly gathered his things and on the way out the door held his encrypted cell phone up to Kennedy and reminded her to keep him informed of any changes.

After the two generals and several of their aides were gone, Kennedy looked at her boss, who was standing one step above her. Stansfield looked back at her with his tired old eyes.

"Did Baxter give you the assault authority?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

Kennedy's lips pursed. "Why was General Flood in such a hurry to get out of here?"

"He had some things to take care of." Stansfield looked at his watch and then asked, "Is Mitch on the line?"

"Yes."

Stansfield thought it through one last time, making sure he had all of his bases covered. Then looking around the dark room, he said, "Irene, tell everyone to take a fifteen-minute break."

"Everyone?" questioned Kennedy. He surely didn't mean everyone.

"Everyone," stated Stansfield calmly and coolly. "I want the room cleared."

Kennedy, cut from the same cloth as her boss, knew the man did not mince or waste his words. She could only assume he had a very good reason for his rather unusual request and immediately went about the task of clearing the room. Rather than making a boisterous announcement to the entire group, she started with the front row and worked her way to the rear, telling everyone to finish up what they were working on and then head out. No one questioned her.

It took just under two minutes, and when everyone was gone, Kennedy and Stansfield were left standing alone in the dimly lit room. The wall of monitors at the front of the room cast a blue hue across everything.

Stansfield looked down at his prot??g?? and said simply, "You too, Irene."

Kennedy was surprised. Her security clearance couldn't get any higher. There was nothing she couldn't hear or view unless it was compartmentalized. She studied her boss intently and wondered what could possibly be going on. Why would he need to be alone in this room? Stansfield stood in front of her like a statue, giving nothing away. Kennedy finally stepped for the door, her mind trying to retrace the steps that led up to this unusual situation.

* * *

Rapp had awkwardly accepted Anna Rielly's apology. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that asking her to not tell this story was impossible. She would have to tell it to one degree or another   as long as she now accepted the conditions. From the corner the secure field radio beeped several times, announcing that an encrypted communication was received. Rapp reached over and snatched the handset.

"Yep."

"Mitchell, it's Thomas. Have you found a way to verify our most recent problem?"

Rapp was a little surprised that Stansfield had used his first name. "Maybe. Milt seems to think he might have a way, but it might be hard to pull it off from a logistical standpoint."

There was no immediate reply. After a moment Stansfield began to speak in a very slow and deliberate voice. "Mitchell, you've sacrificed a lot over the last ten years or so years, and I'm very grateful for that." There was another pause. "I'm going to ask you to do something, and I don't want you to discuss it with anyone else." Stansfield stopped again, letting the gravity of his request sink in. "Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"First, we must verify if President Hayes is safe in his bunker. Second, we need to reestablish radio contact with him. All radio and phone traffic from the bunker has been jammed, as you know. Find and disable that unit so I can speak directly to the president."

Rapp clutched the phone. "What are my rules of engagement?"

"I would prefer it if you did it as quietly as possible, but use whatever force you see fit. Just make sure you get the president back on line."

The magic words reverberated through Rapp's mind. He was free to do as he saw fit. Now he could really get things done. Almost as quickly as he had begun to celebrate, he saw that something didn't fit. "Does anyone else know about this?"

"Just you and me."

Rapp closed his eyes. This was unusual. "What about Irene?"

"No. Just the two of us."

"So I'll be operating without a net for a while."

"I'm afraid so." Stansfield wasn't pleased with this, but there was no other way.

Rapp nodded while he thought about his lack of backup. F*ck it, he said to himself. You're used to working alone.

Into the thin receiver Rapp said, "I'll take care of it, sir, but make sure the cavalry is ready. Things could get real ugly in here."

"I will, Mitchell, and please be careful."

"Always." Rapp replaced the receiver and looked up at Adams.

Some weird shit must be happening on the other side, he thought. Ticking through the possibilities of what might have precipitated Stansfield's unusual call, Rapp stopped short while down the list. No sense in clouding the mind. He had enough to worry about right here.

Pointing at the blueprints, Rapp said, "We have to find a way to check this out."