Collateral (Tier One #6)

The Situation Room

The White House

Washington, DC

0823 Local Time

Jarvis watched President Warner take control of the chaos in the room and slay it with a single word.

“Enough,” the President barked, his voice silencing the din of chatter and the half-dozen side conversations going on across and around the table.

More so than with anyone else he’d ever met, Jarvis’s opinion of Warner had radically evolved over time. In the beginning, he’d dismissed the man as a bumbling bureaucrat. But during his tenure as DNI, that disdain had transformed into grudging respect. And now, Jarvis found he admired the President . . . maybe even thought of him as a mentor.

“It’s time to stop calling what’s unfolding in Mariupol something other than what it is. Russia has just invaded the Ukraine, and the time for debate is over. Give me options, people.”

All eyes immediately turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, former Air Force fighter pilot General McMillan.

“Mr. President, we are all in agreement that the current threat cannot go unanswered and we are prepared to execute military operations consistent with your stance that Russia cannot be permitted to annex any more territory from the Ukraine . . .”

Jarvis listened intently as the General outlined a scenario almost identical to what Mike Casey had war-gamed for him and Petra days ago. He glanced at his Deputy Chief of Staff—and soon to be Director of Ember—who was standing beside Petra. The former submariner must have felt the look, because he gave Jarvis a tight smile and a humble shrug.

On the main screen, a mouse cursor moved over a map of southern Ukraine and the Black Sea.

“The USS Oak Hill is in port here,” McMillan continued, pointing at Odessa, “with its contingent of Special Operations–capable Marines from the 13th Marines Expeditionary Unit. Due to rising tensions, ship’s company and the Marines have all been called back in preparation for departure. However, with your authorization, we could deploy the Marines in Odessa. Have them set up defensive positions and checkpoints to discourage troop incursion and, perhaps more importantly, to quell Russian-sponsored destabilizing activity in the city. We could try to preempt what’s happening in Mariupol from repeating itself in Odessa. But for the Marines to be effective, we would need to control access to the city, which means establishing checkpoints on the highways—here and here—and we will need to control the skies. Regrettably, it’s too late for a defensive posture in Mariupol, especially considering the proximity to the Russian border and the tremendous buildup of troops and armor we’re already seeing—”

“Hold on,” Warner snapped. “You’re not suggesting we just hand Mariupol over to Petrov without a fight, I hope?”

“No, Mr. President,” the General said, keeping his cool. “Of course not. However, rushing ground troops into Mariupol is dangerous and logistically impossible. Russia has taken control of the Sea of Azov, and the Economic Exclusion Zone Moscow just declared in the Black Sea is mere window dressing for what’s really going on. The truth is, they’ve blockaded the entire northern half of the Black Sea. Moreover, not only is Turkey not permitting any additional US warships to enter, they’re demanding that both the Oak Hill and our other vessel in theater, the USS Donald Cook, exit the Black Sea to deescalate tensions.”

“So Erodan is backing Petrov,” the President said, shaking his head. “The day has finally come that proves Turkey is a NATO member in name only.”

“Yes, sir,” Admiral Kellam, Chief of Naval Operations, chimed in. “Our situation in the Black Sea is desperate. The Oak Hill and Donald Cook are completely cut off and surrounded by the Russian Black Sea fleet.”

“Well, I’m not pulling the only two warships I have in theater,” Warner said, glancing from Kellam to Jarvis.

Jarvis nodded his agreement, not sure if the President was looking for an ally on that point or not. “We don’t have to pull them out, we could simply pull them back—dock in Constanta, Romania. The Russians wouldn’t dare hit us there, because then the conflict moves from a US-Russia-Ukraine conflict to all-out war with NATO.”

“Agreed,” Admiral Kellam said.

“But we have another problem, sir. Unlike in Afghanistan and Iraq, where we own the air, in the Black Sea theater we’re facing a fierce air superiority presence and antiair capability from the Russians.”

“Are you saying they control the skies?”

“Not on my watch, sir,” General McMillan said. “I will commit to controlling the airspace and establishing a no-fly zone over the Black Sea and southern Ukraine, including the Crimean peninsula. Russia might own the water, but we will own the skies.”

There was a loud snicker and Admiral Kellam grumbled, “A no-fly zone over Russian airspace? Yeah, Petrov will like that.”

“Fuck Petrov,” President Warner said. “I love it.”

“Control of this no-fly zone is imperative, sir, because it limits Russia’s ability to support ground operations with close air support and prevents an offensive air campaign against Ukrainian military targets. But make no mistake, Moscow has been preparing for this. Last summer the Russian military conducted an exercise simulating air strikes on targets in Odessa and on the Ukrainian Navy. If this becomes a hot war, we’re going to have to win it from the air.”

“And how exactly do we plan to do that?” Warner said, leaning in and resting his elbows on the table.

“We have a detachment of F-22 Raptors from the 94th Fighter Squadron out of Langley kicking sand in Kuwait at the tail end of a three-month deployment. This unit is the absolute best to control the air over the battle space, including incursions into Russian airspace to enforce the no-fly zone. For one thing, they have the stealth to control a no-fly zone west of the border, but they are also armed with antimissile capabilities, as you know. Stealth and antiballistic missile ordnance is the best defense we have against the Russian Kalibr cruise missiles, P-800 antiship missiles, and those damn S-400 batteries they’ve stood up on the Crimean peninsula. I have the F-22s and their support teams heading to Mihail Kogălniceanu Air Base in Romania as we speak. We’ve been operating Raptors out of MK for years. We have a maintenance squadron there, and ammunition depot and fuel. The 94th will be our primary Air Superiority asset, but once we establish superiority, we will augment with F/A-18s from the carrier strike group in the Med,” McMillan explained.

“Very well,” Warner said.

“May I, General McMillan?” said a gruff voice to Jarvis’s left.

Jarvis turned and saw Marine Corps General Jericho Zimmerman tap his left breast pocket, where he always kept a fresh cigar, then make a tsk sound when he remembered smoking was forbidden in the Situation Room.

“Of course, Zim,” McMillan said. “What have you got?”

Jarvis watched as the man most likely to be the next Chairman of the Joint Chiefs cast his vision onto the map on the screen.

“I agree with the Chairman that the Air Force and her stealthy Raptors are best for the air superiority mission over the Black Sea and defense of the Oak Hill and Donald Cook. But the F-35s from VMFA-122 aboard the Essex are the best platform for supporting our Marines in Odessa and the Army’s 1st Battalion, 16th Infantry Regiment Armored Brigade Combat Team—which as luck would have it is still deployed to eastern Europe in support of the Joint exercise Atlantic Resolve. The Essex is in the Med as part of the carrier strike group, and in addition to F-35s from VMFA-122, she has Marines from I MEF and additional support personnel which can be rapidly deployed into theater when we need them.”

“If we need them, right?” Admiral Kellam raised a cynical eyebrow.

“Yeah . . . right. If . . .” Zimmerman said. “And speaking of ifs . . . we should probably consider mobilizing the 101st Airborne to augment our Marine presence and the 1st Infantry Division in MK.”

McMillan stared at the map a moment, his lips pursed. “Using F-35s from all the way down in the Med is a helluva reach. They’ll have zero loiter time without refueling and it’ll be much riskier providing refueling over the Black Sea when things hit the fan.”

“Won’t keep them on the Essex, Mac,” the Marine said, unconsciously tapping his cigar again, his steel-blue eyes on fire now as he stared at the map. He tapped his own station computer and added an orange arrow to the map on the large screen over what looked to Jarvis to be the middle of nowhere. “Our Marines aboard the Essex are expeditionary, and that includes our aviation assets, and I say expeditionary they will be. I think it’s time we deploy the F-35s and F-22s together. They can both operate out of MK and execute the missions they were designed for. While the Raptors maintain air superiority over the Black Sea, the Lightnings will provide air support for our troops on the ground in Ukraine. I would also deploy the Navy expeditionary FRSS team surgical unit to MK for casualty support. We would then coordinate with the battle group surgical assets on a master MEDEVAC plan to move stabilized casualties to the carriers before sending them for tertiary care back in Italy.”

“Okay, Zim, you sold me,” McMillan said.

“But how do we get the Oak Hill safely out of Odessa to Constanta?” the CNO asked. “She’s going to be an easy target as she steams south through the Russian blockade.”

Jarvis nodded toward Mike Casey, reading in his eyes that he had something to say.

“Excuse me, sir,” Casey said, holding Zimmerman’s hard gaze. “I might have an idea.”

“Anything is appreciated, Commander Casey,” McMillan said.

“What if we have the President announce that, in an effort to de-escalate tensions in the Black Sea, the Navy will be exfiltrating the Oak Hill and the Donald Cook from the region. We make a statement that the Cook is steaming north to link up with the Oak Hill and to escort her from port. It would be difficult for the Russians to justify an attack on them under those circumstances.”

“Won’t fool anyone,” Kellam grumbled. “The Russians aren’t a bunch of sheepherders in Afghanistan, Commander. The Kremlin will know we’ve disembarked our Marines from the Oak Hill and they’ll be watching our buildup of forces in MK.”

“I can take care of that,” President Warner beamed. “Commander Casey has the right idea. Strategy is not just about the tactics and logistics, but also messaging and optics. Wars are waged in the media and the court of international opinion as much as on the battlefield these days. Proper messaging could give us time to move both ships to Romanian territorial waters, and if we hurry we can get it done ahead of the arrival of the Marines and Army Airborne troops.”

“I agree with all of that, Mr. President,” General McMillan said with an overt nod of support to his fellow Joint Chiefs. “Obviously, the support and logistics footprint to backstop this is significant, but we now have a starting point.”

“Do it,” the President said. “Get me a full plan including all movements of troops and materials for signature in the next two hours, gentlemen. We need to move now.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” McMillan said.

Warner turned to Jarvis, apparently reading his thoughts. “DNI, you look like you have something on your mind. Spit it out.”

Jarvis nodded. “As if things weren’t complicated enough, we have a CIA annex in Mariupol that’s been operating under a nonofficial cover for several years. Everything happened so fast, they weren’t able to evacuate before the Russians took control of the city.”

Warner’s cheeks went crimson. “No, no, no—we are not going to let history repeat itself. One Benghazi is enough. We need to get them out of there. What are you doing about it, DNI?”

“Well, sir, this is one call that only you alone can make. We can go big and overt with the Marines and hope that Moscow backs down, or we can go small and try to extract them under the Russians’ noses. There are potential risks and benefits associated with both options.”

“What do you recommend?”

Jarvis resisted the urge to smile at the question. “I recommend the latter, sir.”

Warner nodded and turned back to Chairman McMillan. “General, finalize your plans as briefed and leave the sale of our counteroffensive to Congress and the American people to me. I’ll provide the political cover. We are not letting Russia annex southern Ukraine.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” the Air Force four-star general said.

Warner pushed back from the table and turned to Jarvis. “DNI, join me in a breakout room.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’d like Mike and Petra to join, with your permission.”

“Sure,” Warner said, and they moved as a group to the nearest soundproof breakout room. Once inside, the President shut the door, but no one took a seat. Jarvis jumped in, anticipating the agenda.

“Sir, I have Ember in Kiev as we speak and an element from SEAL Team Four in the Med. My recommendation is Ember plans the rescue op and augments Team Four on the extraction.”

“Make it happen,” Warner said. He collapsed into the large seat at the head of the table. On cue, Petra and Casey took their own seats. Kelso decided to remain standing. “What else has Ember been able to turn up in Kiev?”

“While we were prosecuting the Ukrainian right-wing paramilitary group Ultra, the mission was interrupted by a hit squad. They killed our HVT while we were exfiltrating him. He was our best chance at giving you hard evidence that Russia was behind the Vice President’s assassination. I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have anything you can use in the public arena.”

Warner waved his hand, unconcerned. “To be honest, Kelso, I never thought you would. These bastards cover their tracks too well. Besides, the time for gathering proof has passed. Petrov has already moved the goal posts. Russia has invaded Ukraine, and all the evidence I need to prove that is on TV. It’s time for Ember’s priorities to shift.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Priority one is getting our CIA folks out of Mariupol alive. Priority two is heading off whatever covert operations nightmare Petrov has planned next.”

Jarvis nodded. “Agreed.”

“And Ember is up to the challenge despite the leadership gap?”

“Yes, sir, and I have a plan to bring them back up to their full operational level. I’ve asked Mike”—he indicated the submarine commander—“to take over the role of Director at Ember. This will free Baldwin to focus on what he does best: cyber and signals.”

“You ready for this, Commander Casey?” the President asked, eyeing the submariner.

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Casey said.

Warner nodded. “I don’t second-guess my people, Commander,” he said. “If Director Jarvis says you’re the man for the job, then I trust his judgment and will extend you the same confidence. But understand there is zero margin for error in Ember operations. Get up to speed quickly, because Ember is my go-to denied asset. And I have a feeling we’re going to need them for more than disappearing terrorists in the coming days.”

“Yes, sir. I will, sir,” Casey said, his eyes suggesting the full weight of the job he had accepted was now settling squarely on his shoulders.

“Get to it, then, son,” Warner said, dismissing the Naval Officer. “There’s a plane to Tampa somewhere that has an empty seat waiting for you.”

Casey rose and made eye contact with Jarvis. “Thank you for the opportunity, Director.” Jarvis saw the man’s reflexive need to salute, which he suppressed. “We’ll get it done.”

“I know you will, Mike.”

Petra gave Jarvis a tight smile, then followed Casey out of the room. The President gestured and Jarvis finally took a seat.

“How are you holding up, Kelso?” Warner asked, the timbre of his voice changing now that they were alone.

Jarvis raised both eyebrows. He’d never been asked that by the President—or, hell, by anyone except Petra, and then only in their rare private moments.

“I’m fine, sir. Getting Ember back on its feet has been a top priority, but they’re on track. I think—”

Warner held up his hand. “I’m not talking about Ember. I’m asking how you are doing.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand sir,” Jarvis said, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap. “Is there something specific you want to ask me?”

Warner leaned back in his chair and knitted his fingers together behind his head.

“Kelso, I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that if someone crucial to my administration were to, let’s say, seek medical care at Walter Reed for a crisis they’re having, I would catch wind of it. Right?”

Warner held his gaze but gave away little else.

“Sir, again, if you have a specific question for me, I’ll address it frankly and honestly.”

“I asked it, Kelso,” Warner said and leaned forward. “How are you holding up?”

Jarvis let out a deep sigh.

“Sir, I am perfectly well. If you have solicited information on my health, you know that I have an issue I’m dealing with, but that it is under control. I am on medicine that has no side effects that would affect my performance of my duties, and in any case, the possible sequelae of my condition are more long- than short-term, and for the duration of your administration will have no bearing on my ability to function.”

“Jesus, Kelso,” Warner said, smiling, and his eyes suggested it was genuine—not the political smile that had landed him the most powerful job in the world. “If I had concerns about your abilities, you’d be gone already. I trust your judgment—and the counsel of the neurologist at Walter Reed you’re seeing—to determine that. Hell, I can’t do this right now without you, so if I had concerns they wouldn’t matter, not for the task we have before us. I’m asking as a friend. How are you doing, and is there anything I can do to help?”

Jarvis felt himself relax.

“Mr. President, I am quite well, and I greatly appreciate your support and friendship. I’m good. I’m getting back into fighting shape, the medication has erased all but the subtlest of symptoms, and I’m prepared to serve my country for the foreseeable future. And I promise”—flashing Warner a genuine smile of his own—“if I need anything I will not let my pride get in the way of asking.”

“Great.” Warner stood and extended his hand. “Because I will need much more from you moving forward, Director Jarvis. I have a few things to work out in the coming hours, and then I will have new tasking for you.”

Jarvis shook the President’s hand, relieved that he felt not even the slightest tremor as he did.

“Something I should prepare for, sir?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Not something you can prepare for, Kelso. We’ll talk soon. In the meantime, get back to work and bring me Zhukov’s head on a pike.”

“Yes, sir,” he said and left the breakout room.

Petra was waiting for him and fell into step with him as they headed through the chaos of the Situation Room toward the hardened exit with two Marines guarding it. The Marines opened the door for them, and as they started alone down the long hallway, Jarvis turned to his most trusted confidant.

“You hearing any rumblings about something else brewing we should be preparing for?” he asked as he swiped his CAC card across a panel to activate the elevator.

“No,” she said, her curiosity impossible to mask. “Why?”

“Not sure,” Jarvis said. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped in. “The boss was rather cryptic about some new tasking.” The doors closed and he looked at Petra—who had become far more than just a confidant. Truth be told, and as hard as it was to admit to himself, without her it was unlikely he could have gotten through what he referred to as “the diagnosis,” especially when compounded by the devastating Zeta attack on Ember and the loss of Smith, Adamo, and the others. He held her eyes and shook off the urge to kiss her. Instead he said, “Guess we’ll find out when he’s ready. Plenty to do in the meantime. And by the way . . . thank you.”

She looked up at him, truly puzzled. “For what?”

He allowed himself a brief squeeze of her forearm, a physical gesture equivalent to a passionate embrace, coming from him and under the circumstances.

“Everything,” he said simply.

Then the doors opened and they double-timed it toward the White House exit together.