Global One

CHAPTER 1
P
resident Zachary Gunman glides out of the Oval Office and heads to the White House situation room. President Gunman was born in Virginia. He is average height, about five-foot-eleven. He has perfectly sculpted facial features with blond hair and blue eyes. He has a muscular build, more athletic in nature, not bulky like a weightlifter. He is a retired four-star general from the US Air Force.
It is now January 2025.
As I walk toward the situation room for the first official meeting, I have a mix of emotions—great moral responsibility with a touch of excitement and a little fear that I won’t always get it right. I am about to conduct my first intelligence briefing as the most powerful man on earth.
However, the campaign process was a hard-fought battle. I made some enemies during that process. I hope they’re not enemies who will do any harm to our country, but I have some reservations. I must be a powerful leader that resonates in my mind above all else.
I greet the chief of staff, Patrick Martin, my longtime friend and political confidant. Pat was a full colonel in the US Air Force who was in charge of the Fifty-Second Tactical Fighter Wing Intelligence Division at Spangdahlem Air Force Base in Germany. After his retirement he was appointed assistant director of the CIA. He was the youngest person in the history of the CIA to achieve such a posting after his retirement. I have the utmost respect and confidence in his abilities.
I was going to choose him as my vice president at the Democratic National Convention, but my advisors correctly thought that in order to win the presidency, I needed to consolidate the Democratic Party and choose my rival during the campaign. My vice president is Bernie Sands. I do have great respect for the man, even though our views differ on specific aspects of government.
I break the silence and ask Pat, “Will Director Nichols be conducting the intelligence portion of the briefing this morning?”
Pat hesitates for a moment and then says, “No Zac.”
“Did you inform Director Nichols that his presence was not optional, that it was mandatory?” I ask, annoyed at Pats’s response.
“I did, Zac, and his resignation will be on your desk by the end of day. But of course, the proper congressional process will officially remove him,” Pat responds.
“I was hopeful we could put aside our differences and work together. The man has valuable information and knowledge that would be useful, but I see that is not going to happen. Put together a short list of suitable men for the director’s job. Prioritize it, and do it fast, Pat. I can count on your insight and experience in this area.”
I note that Pat changed in an instant. A broad smile envelopes his face as he realizes the enormous power and responsibility he has as chief of staff. But I also note that he quickly erases any show emotion. He opens the door for me, and I enter the situation room.
I am instantly barraged by greetings of “Good morning, Mr. President,” and a round of applause erupts from the select group. I nod with appreciation and say in a baritone voice, “Good morning, everyone. Let us begin.”
Assistant Director Hush of the CIA begins to speak. “I would like to extend my apologies for the absence of Director Nichols. I will conduct the intelligence portion of the briefing, Mr. President, if that is acceptable.”
“It is not acceptable, Mr. Hush, but proceed anyway,” I say nonchalantly.
I know the main topic of the briefing typically concentrates on terrorist activity throughout the world. There are updates on the current involvement in Iraq, Syria, and other countries where US troops are operating, though the rest of the world is often led to believe operating in advisory roles only.
I interrupt Mr. Hush, and in an agitated voice, I say, “I have read everything you have told me so far—in newspapers and magazines over the holidays! I expected more from your office, Assistant Director. We are at war, gentlemen. This is a fight that has a front line on many shores as well as in the mountains. A war that never sees a dwindling number of people willing to sacrifice their lives for a cause. We must develop new plans and conduct more special operations—here at home and abroad. In order for us to achieve our goals, we must have the most current information available to us through our many different sources. Now go back to your office and research. I want to see you back in my office at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow. Do you understand, Mr. Hush?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” responds Hush as he collects his notes and puts them in his briefcase. He then makes a hasty exit.
“I want this information. Do I make myself clear on this?” I say with a look of disgust on my face.
Mr. Hush again responds, “Yes, sir,” before the door quietly closes.
I feel it is necessary to express myself that nothing but the best will be accepted in this room from this day forward. I look directly to the commander of the joint chiefs of staff, Admiral Sheridan of the US Navy. “Commander, do you have any information for me that I need to know?” I ask in a firm but respectful voice.
“Mr. President, I know there are many items of information that you need to know about. I will start with our current naval deployments in the Middle East area of operations. Currently, we have a presence in—”
“Commander! I am more concerned with the current special operations that are being employed by the navy to combat the ever-growing terrorist threat that we face here at home and abroad,” I say as I stare at him.
He looks away and down at his very thin stack of papers and says, “I don’t have that information available at the moment, Mr. President.”
“When do you think you’ll have this information for me, Commander? I want that information by the end of the day, and I want preparations to begin to increase special operations. I want plans drawn up. I want estimates of how many troops will be needed. I want an intensive training program put in place to increase the number of special-op soldiers. Commander, do I make myself clear?”
Commander Sheridan simply responds, “Crystal clear, Mr. President.”
“I will be waiting to hear from you, and Admiral, I hate waiting.”
Without another spoken word, Admiral Sheridan hurriedly gets up and exits the briefing room.