Breach of Power (Jake Pendleton 3) Page 2

  The Situation Room in the White House was the opposite—intimidating. Created in 1961 by John F. Kennedy after the Bay of Pigs fiasco, the Situation Room was a 5000 square foot complex designed to address the nation's business, as well as the world's, on a real time basis.

  He now sat in the same room where the President of the United States and the President's advisors met on a routine basis, the room where many of the most important decisions of the Presidency were made.

  Command Central for the National Security Council.

  Despite calming reassurances from Wiley, Jake felt like he did on a first date. Nervous yet excited knowing he and Francesca were about to have a top-secret midnight meeting with the President of the United States.

  Jake's first encounter with Francesca was in San Sebastian, Spain when she passed him vital information in his relentless pursuit of an al Qaeda cell handler. That operation ultimately led to his current employment as an emissary for the Greenbrier Fellowship under the direction of Elmore Wiley, a seventy-one year old man affectionately referred to as The Toymaker. He was a man who had spent his entire adult life supporting covert operations for every intelligence agency and Special Forces branch in this country, as well as many foreign nations. When asked, he claimed his business was radio frequency and microwave emission technology. What he really did was make "toys for spies." A go-to man for espionage gadgetry.

  “Mr. Wiley, can you tell us what this is about?” Jake drummed his fingers on the conference table.

  “I would if I knew, Jake.” Elmore Wiley did his characteristic hair swipe. First the left hand followed by the right, front to back across his hair, and always in that order. Followed by pushing his metal-framed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Problem is, I don’t know any more than you do. I was asked by the President to be here by midnight and bring my two most trusted employees.”

  Francesca tossed her dark red hair over her shoulder and smiled at Jake. “That would be us.”

  The door to the conference room opened and instinctively the three of them stood. No coaching required. Whether you agreed with the current President’s political views or not, it was a fundamental sign of courtesy and respect for the highest political office and the individual who held it.

  And besides, who didn’t like this President?

  Jake was about to meet the only President in his lifetime to reduce deficit spending and squarely turn around the country’s economy. Only three years into a first term and this President had actually cut the federal deficit by 30% simply by sticking to the platform outlined during the primary elections.

  The country wanted a break from the same old political rhetoric of past administrations. This former Secretary of State, now President of the United States, gave the voters what was promised before the election—change. A positive shift in philosophy fostered by strong character and moral integrity. The President’s No-Bull policies cut spending and government waste while finding creative avenues to raise revenues from previously untapped resources. Markets were up, unemployment down, consumer confidence and spending had increased, which had the economy booming again.

  A President with balls.

  The first person through the door was the President’s Chief of Staff, Evan Makley. Makley was a 47 year-old career political assistant. A man at the apex of his career, he was tall and thin and his dark hair was streaked with wisps of gray at the temples. Tonight he seemed overdressed in his tailored Armani suit. His outwardly go-getter style and aggressive personality had helped him in political life, overcoming personal tragedies, and propelling him inexplicably toward retaining his Chief of Staff job with the President's almost certain reelection.

  During his three years as Chief of Staff, Makley had endured a very messy and public divorce. The media sharks had a feeding frenzy over the divorce proceedings that left him virtually homeless, with minimal visitation rights with his two daughters, and on the brink of financial disaster. His rise to the top hadn't come without a price.

  Four feet behind Makley walked the Commander In Chief, Rebecca Rudd, the first woman President of the United States. Tonight, the world’s most powerful woman wasn't wearing her usual attire for public appearances. She was dressed in jeans, a long sleeve white collared shirt covered by a charcoal vest, and black flats. Even behind her casual appearance she presented herself as competent and polished, a woman of unwavering integrity and passion. Short in stature but admired and respected by most of the world's leaders. The press nicknamed her No-Bull Becky, which the public adored. So much so that she had held an impressive 85% approval rating for over two years.

  She often quoted Abraham Lincoln to the press, her favorite quote was: Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm. And Rudd walked the talk.

  She pushed past Makley toward Wiley and embraced him with a hug followed by a kiss on the cheek. "Good to see you again, Elmore."

  Jake was surprised by the informal and intimate appearance of their relationship and wondered how long they'd known each other.

  In her flat shoes she was shorter than she looked on TV; must have been the heels Jake concluded. She had graying blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She looked fit and toned and her voice, warm and friendly.

  “Madam President,” Wiley pointed across the table. “As you requested, my two most trusted emissaries. Jake Pendleton,” he swept his arm to the left, “and Francesca Catanzaro.”

  “Mr. Wiley has spoken highly of both of you. Please excuse the lateness of the hour but it was unavoidable." Rudd leaned down and pressed a button on her console. Two flat-screen TV monitors rose from a cherry hardwood table at the end of the conference room. "I trust you understand this is strictly off-the-record and classified.”

  Jake and Francesca nodded.

  “What you are about to see and hear carries with it issues so sensitive that not even my National Security Council is privy to it.” Rudd placed her finger on another button. “Any questions before we get started?”

  2

  Iron Staircase “Leiter”

  Höllental Valley, Germany

  Ashley Regan sat on a rock at the base of the Leiter, an iron peg staircase on a steep rock wall; the first real obstacle of her annual hike to the summit of Zugspitze. She pulled her climbing harness and helmet from her backpack and placed them down beside her. Her partner, Sam Connors, was still a hundred feet from the base.

  “Come on, Connors.” Regan shouted. “Get your ass in gear. We don’t have all day.”

  “Yes we do.” Connors yelled back. “And by my calculations, we’re ahead of schedule.”

  Regan knew Connors was right; they were ahead of schedule by at least an hour over last year’s hike to the summit.

  She and Connors met two years ago at this very spot. Connors had been resting when Regan approached and started a conversation. The two hiked together that day to the summit and by nightfall, Regan knew their newfound friendship was destined to turn into a romantic involvement. Just like last year, they were celebrating the anniversary of their first meeting by scaling the same mountain on the same date.

  When the two returned to the States after their first meeting, Connors, a work-from-home day-trader, moved from Atlanta to Charleston, South Carolina where Regan was a CPA with a prominent accounting firm. The physical attraction was strong between Regan and Connors. The 31-year old Regan had two inches and ten pounds on the younger 27-year old Connors. By most standards, Ashley Regan was considered tall for a woman, 5’9”, tanned with shoulder length thick brown hair and hazel eyes. Sam Connors, her polar opposite, had short, dirty blond hair, fair skin, and a prominent nose. Both enjoyed hiking and rock climbing and stayed in excellent physical condition.

  Initially Regan wasn’t sure they’d get to hike to the summit since the forecast called for rain, but the couple geared up anyway and left the Höllental parking area at 5:00 a.m.—right on schedule. Regan was intent on sticking to a schedule. Something she valued in her profession as an
accountant that spilled over into her personal life.

  The first part of the hike through the Höllental Gorge was along an easy footpath to the base of Höllental Klamm. The early morning sky was still waking, so headlamps helped them navigate through the dark, narrow gorge. A light drizzle coated the rock and droplets spit down on her as she walked.

  Connors was a fair weather hiker and wanted to turn back but Regan insisted they push forward or they would regret it when the weather broke.

  As she predicted, by the time she reached the top of the gorge, the sky had cleared and Regan could see their destination in the far distance—the cross at the Zugspitze summit. Regan and Connors passed the hikers’ hut at Höllentalanger without stopping. Many hikers wanted to get an early jump on the mountain and hiked to the hut the night before in order to shave a couple of hours and 600 meters vertical climb off their hiking day. The warning sign next to the hut said the Randkluft, the crevasse that formed between the ice of the glacier and the sun-warmed rock cliff, was very difficult and dangerous.

  Regan hated that Connors was a wary climber and not the risk taker she was. But Connors was the cautious type, always gathering information before making a decision. At work and at play. Regan, on the other hand, jumped in headfirst and lived for the thrill. Risk taking and danger was what it was all about. Which made Connors the perfect compliment. Sam Connors kept her grounded. It seemed neither of their personalities matched their respective occupations—a conservative day-trader and a thrill-seeking accountant.

  Connors caught up to Regan and sat down on the rock next to her. “I’m going to rest for a few minutes and psych myself up a bit.”

  Regan cinched her harness, picked up her helmet, and stood. “Just remember, as long as your harness is fastened to the cable, you can’t fall.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Connors slipped a leg into the harness. “It’s just having nothing under me on the rock face except those small iron pegs bothers me. And you know I don’t like heights.”

  Regan let out a short laugh and looked into Sam's blue eyes. “You're such a wimp.”

  * * *

  White House Situation Room

  Jake watched President Rebecca Rudd’s facial expression change. Her furrowed brow and downturned frown spoke volumes of the gravity of her dilemma. She pressed another button on her console and the large monitor on the left flickered then started playing a video. The images were washed out, grainy, and in black and white. Or at least it looked black and white.

  “Oops, almost forgot. Evan, get the lights, please.” President Rudd paused the video while Makley dimmed the lights. “Before I begin I must warn you, this video is violent, sexual, and disturbing.”

  “We understand, Ms. President,” Wiley pointed at Francesca then to Jake, “they can handle it.”

  The video resumed, it was color but poor quality and the bad lighting in the scene didn’t help.

  Rudd was right, the video was disturbing and Jake presumed it was filmed somewhere in Southeast Asia. On the large screen in front of him stood a man with his back to the camera; he was older with gray hair, slightly hunched, frail looking, and Caucasian. On her knees in front of him was a young Asian girl performing oral sex on him. By her size and features she couldn’t have been more than twelve. They appeared to be in some sort of primitive structure, perhaps a thatch hut, and in the background, a mattress lay on the dirt floor.

  “A village orphanage in Vietnam.” Rudd said. “Kim Ly. She was thirteen.”

  “Was?” Jake asked.

  “Keep watching.”

  Jake already felt the rage building inside him. What he was watching made him sick to his stomach. Repulsed by the actions of the old man. How could someone do that to a young girl? Sexual abuse was unforgivable, especially when it involved a child.

  The girl pulled back and spoke something in a language Jake assumed was Vietnamese. The man yelled back at her in the same language then hit her on the side of the head. Kim Ly started crying. Her tone sounded as though she was begging. The old man yelled at her again then clutched her hair on both sides of her head and shoved her face into his crotch.

  Jake looked at Francesca. She had her hand covering her mouth and a horrified look on her face. He saw a tear roll down her cheek.

  Kim Ly pulled away two minutes later and the old man yelled again then hit her in the face. Jake saw the crimson blood trickle down the young girl's face.

  “Oh, my God.” Francesca grabbed Jake’s hand and squeezed.

  President Rudd had gone quiet. Jake didn’t know if the video had upset her or if she didn’t want to minimize the impact the video was having. He assumed the latter since without a doubt, she had seen it before.

  Kim Ly clenched her tiny fist and swung, striking the man in the groin. He doubled over, grabbed the small girl, clamped his arthritis-deformed left hand over her throat, and shoved her to the ground. His right hand stretched outward and for the first time since the video began, Jake saw the cane. The man grabbed the cane and started beating the girl, bashing her face and head repeatedly with the hook of the cane.

  Kim Ly struggled for fifteen seconds then her small frame went limp.

  The man hunched over her for a few moments then, using the cane, pushed himself to his feet, grabbed a rag, and wiped the blood from his cane. The old man stared down at the young girl while he zipped his pants. He tossed the bloody rag on the floor next to Kim Ly's head and turned to leave.

  Rudd paused the video.

  Jake knew that face. He pulled his hand free from Francesca's grip and balled it into a fist. His own face felt hot and his blood pressure rose as full recognition of the decrepit old man on the screen hit him.

  Senator Richard Boden.

  Chairman of the Senate Committee of Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs.

  The man who, less than a year ago, had ordered his former boss, Director of Central Intelligence Scott Bentley, to fire him from the CIA's Clandestine Service.

  The man who had threatened to have Jake thrown in jail.

  The same man whose life Jake had saved during a terrorist attack in New York City.

  “Boden.” Jake blurted. "That son of a bitch."

  President Rudd turned around.

  “I’m sorry, Ms President.” Jake’s tone apologetic. “The Senator and I…have—”

  “Mr. Pendleton, I’m well aware of your history with Senator Boden,” Rudd said, “that’s one reason I requested you.”

  “Requested?” Jake looked at Wiley.

  The old man gave nothing away.

  “Who is this guy?” Francesca asked.

  “That’s the sensitive part, Ms Catanzaro.” Rudd turned off the video and Makley raised the lights in the room. “Senator Richard Boden has two Purple Hearts from the Vietnam War, he's a decorated war hero, and a recipient of the Medal of Honor.”

  “Jeez.” Francesca looked at Jake. “You know this creep?”

  “And on top of all that.” Rudd interrupted. “He’s the most senior senator on Capitol Hill…and the most influential.” Rudd drew a deep breath. "Acting on a tip, I covertly sent two agents to Vietnam to investigate and gather evidence about the allegations. For him or against him, I didn't care. I wanted it handled quickly and quietly. The tipster claimed Boden has been going to Vietnam for sex with young girls for decades. At the time it was taken, this was a live video feed but before my agents could get to the scene, Kim Ly was dead…and Boden was gone."

  Wiley, who had been silent since the video started, spoke. “Madam President, how can I…we, be of service?” Wiley did the hair swipe. First the left hand, then the right hand.

  “As you probably already guessed.” Rudd, perhaps taking Wiley’s hair swipe as a subliminal message, ran her fingers through her hair. “Kim Ly was an orphan. She had no family that we could locate. Senator Boden is a powerful man with powerful allies. Allies who paid authorities in Vietnam to look the other way." Rudd paused and drew another deep breath. "This presen
ts me with a moral dilemma, the likes I have never before faced."

  “What would you like done?” Wiley asked.

  Before Rudd could answer Jake interrupted. “I’d like the chance to take this creep down.” Jake thought he saw a suppressed smile flash across the President’s face.

  "Elmore, I've used your services in the past and I require them again now." Rudd picked up a folder from the conference table and handed it to Wiley. "As you know, the Summit meeting is in a few weeks and our relations in Southeast Asia is at a critical juncture. If this were to become public, it is the type of scandal that could set us back years. Their alliance with us at this time is very important.

  “As I said earlier, this meeting is off the books. Only the five of us in this room and the two Secret Service agents know about this video or this incident.” President Rebecca Rudd stood and motioned for Wiley, Jake, and Francesca to remain seated. “I won’t mince words. I kept the CIA out of it for good reason—too many eyes and ears." She paused and took a deep breath. "I took an oath as leader of this country to uphold justice. Every day I struggle with decisions that are in America's best interest…even if it goes against my personal values. Dammit, I can't believe I'm asking you to do this."

  Jake could tell she was struggling with a decision.

  She continued. "What I'm about to suggest may seem morally wrong, perhaps a breach of power, but Senator Boden is an evil man. He's been doing this to these young orphan girls for decades. He's a liability to this country and must be stopped." She stepped to the doorway and opened the door. Makley moved behind her. She hesitated, and then turned toward them. "Elmore, there is no official order. It would be a shame though, if Senator Boden were to have an accident…or a fatal health issue.”

  * * *

  Höllental Valley, Germany

  Fifteen minutes after Ashley Regan left Sam Connors sitting on the rock at the bottom of the Leiter, she arrived at an almost vertical rock face with an iron cable secured across it called the Brett. When there was no path or ledge to walk on, iron bolts had been anchored into the rock face to serve as steps across the lateral passage. Regan gazed down the slope and saw Sam nearing the top of the Leiter.