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CHAPTER 22
WASHINGTON, DC
PRESIDENT KEEGAN BARRETT is working late again in his quiet and small office on the second floor of the White House. A tray with the remains of his dinner—a simple egg white omelet—is on the coffee table in front of his old desk as he works through a thick file that two hours ago was couriered over to him from Langley.
Like his predecessors, Barrett is working on a list whose name has changed over the years, with its recent, innocent permutation being the Disposition Matrix. But no matter how much lipstick one puts on this bureaucratic pig, it is still known as the “kill list,” those enemies of the United States who had been determined to be an imminent threat, and who, upon Barrett’s signature, would imminently receive the latest version of a Hellfire missile in their lap.
But Barrett’s personal “kill list” has widened, ever since he set up the two CIA teams under the direction of Liam Grey and Noa Himel, and their initial confidential reports back to him have been encouraging.
Yet he knows, deep down, that his window of opportunity to strike first against his country’s enemies may close at any time. What the various pundits and experts, generals and admirals who still want to fight the last war don’t understand is how damn flexible andpinpointed one has to be in this new age. Army armored divisions, squadrons of Air Force bombers, and fleets of Navy ships are huge sledgehammers, ready to kill and destroy at a moment’s notice.
But today you have to be precise, you have to be quick, and, most of all, you have to be quiet.
And then there’s the iron confidence and will—which he’s had for decades, urged on by a whisper that he was unique—that he was put on this Earth to do great things.
Which is why he is working so diligently at this late hour.
He reads again the summary of this update, prepared by a team of analysts back at the CIA who are still personally loyal to him, and who didn’t feel it was necessary to go through official channels to supply the detailed information he needs.
This update regards one of the biggest banks in South Korea—BK Financial Group—and how for years it’s been secretly bypassing and undercutting the many financial embargoes in place against their neighbor to the North. Even though North Korea is a sworn enemy of Seoul, for years this bank has been using distant branches and other financial cutouts to help Pyongyang launder the funds it’s stolen from cyber phishing attacks or received from slave laborers sent to China or Siberia, or for coal shipments successfully smuggled to Russia or China.
For years there have been stern messages, complaints, and warnings to Seoul that something must be done to stop BK Financial Group’s work in propping up North Korea, but nothing has happened. The various governments of Seoul—who have depended on the BK Financial Group for its campaign contributions and other largesse—have denied the accusations, or promised to “look into it,” or have claimed that the rogue bank’s actions have ceased.
Enough, Barrett thinks, as he puts the file aside for later action. He mutters, “We keep thirty thousand men and women stationed there … about time you paid the piper.”
And as he considers how the piper will be paid—a concealedcyberattack to permanently erase the bank’s electronic records, or something old-fashioned like a wayward cruise missile blamed on the South Korea military landing in the main bank’s front lobby—the door opens and Carlton Pope, his special assistant, comes in.
“Yes?” he asks, taking another thick file folder from the pile on his desk.
“The vice president has landed at Andrews,” he says. “She’s being transported to Walter Reed at this moment.”
“Good,” he says. “What’s her condition?”
“Still in a coma,” Pope says. “Unresponsive.”
“And her husband and children?”
“Air Force transport will be bringing them later tonight to Andrews, and I’ll have the Secret Service take them to the hospital.”
“Good,” Barrett says, opening the file folder.
Pope says, “We have a statement ready for release. Do you want to look at it?”
“Is it good?” Barrett asks. “Do you vouch for it?”
“Yes, sir,” Pope says.
“Then give it to the press office, have them release it as soon as they can,” Barrett says. “I’m busy.”
“Yes, sir,” Pope says. “Is there anything else?”
Barrett gestures to the coffee table. “Yes. Get rid of that, all right?”
Pope nods, grabs the dinner tray, leaves his office, and Barrett resumes his work.
One thing he’s learned over the years is the importance of picking good people and letting them do their job, whether it’s returning a dinner tray to the White House Mess, or crafting a press release, or putting a bullet in the head of an enemy of the United States.
CHAPTER 23