Whom to trust is the question that looms large. Asher Danes is a helpful ally but hardly possesses the necessary skills or facilities to roll back a threat to the president. The Secret Service is clearly not the answer, not while it remains unclear whether Scott was an authentic member of that organization or covert operative. Perhaps the FBI is where she can turn. Agent Udall appears genuine in her investigation of Peter Hall’s death, but Hayley decides it’s too soon to reveal her findings. Doing so makes herself a target. Her best defense remains her anonymity. She has a hunch the conspiracy is currently in a holding pattern, waiting for further international developments or corresponding actions by the president. By the time Hayley follows Rey into the presently unoccupied Oval Office, she has soothed her anxieties and resumes being in full control of her emotions.
“Unnoticed and unseen. Listen only for a direct request from the president or myself,” Rey instructs Hayley as she surveys the large room for anything amiss.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hayley tells her. “Will do.”
Rey sees the tablet in Hayley’s hand. “Give me that thing!”
Rey abruptly snatches the tablet from Hayley just as the door leading from the Outer Oval Office opens. With no other options, given the obvious time crunch, Rey stashes the tablet on a side table and turns to greet James Odom as he strides into the room.
“Deputy Director Odom! Welcome to the White House, sir!” Rey exclaims to the CIA official, hating how loudly she has said it.
Odom makes no move to shake Rey’s hand and barely acknowledges her even with a glance. Instead, he surveys the room, his eyes falling on Hayley standing to one side and recognizing the intern from the interruption downstairs just twenty minutes before. The West Wing really is an awfully cramped space, with people practically working on top of one another.
Hayley feels the deputy director’s eyes on her but simply nods, meeting his gaze with a neutral expression. She briefly entertains the notion of seeking his help in combating the conspiracy against the administration then dismisses the idea. How could she ever approach an individual of his stature even if he could be trusted? She might just as well shout it from the rooftops. It’s ludicrous to even consider.
Rey, meanwhile, continues to flutter around Odom like a nervous bird in search of bread crumbs. “Some coffee, Mr. Odom? Or hot tea?”
Odom dismisses the offer with a shake of his bald head and points at the couch. “Here?” he gruffly asks Rey.
“Yes, sir. That’s perfect.”
As Odom sits, the door leading into the president’s private study opens, and Monroe strides into the room like MacArthur storming Blue Beach at Luzon, trailed by Deputy Chief of Staff Kyle Rodgers, Vice President Vincent Landers, and the president’s wonkish national security advisor, Albert Seretti.
Monroe’s eyes find Hayley before anything else. “Ah, our intruder-defying intern.”
Hayley responds with only the most demure smile. “Good morning, sir.”
James Odom has risen again to his feet. He is respectful but not reverential. “Mr. President,” he says as he extends his right hand to Monroe.
The president shakes Odom’s hand. “Thanks for swinging by, Jim.” There is no warmth in their greeting, only business.
The vice president lurches into the uncomfortable pause in the conversation. “Can you believe these fucking Russians? The president tries to go over to Japan for alliance building in the Far East, and Fedor unleashes his cyber-monkey horde on the soft underbelly of NATO. The Second World War wasn’t painful enough for these crazy bastards?”
No one in the room quite knows how to respond to the vice president’s outburst. Monroe sits on a chair presidentially placed before the fireplace. Odom takes his seat again on the couch. The vice president and Al Seretti take seats on the opposite couch, while Kyle Rodgers joins Karen Rey standing against the far wall.
Monroe stretches his long legs before him, sliding down into the chair, hands thrust into his pockets. “In his own way, the vice president raises the essential question, Jim. What are we to make of this? Are we sure Moscow is behind it?”
Odom glances toward Hayley, hesitant to begin the briefing in front of someone clearly without even a whiff of security clearance. Monroe nods impatiently.
“How about a grilled cheese from the mess, Ms. Chill?” He looks to his guest. “Jim? Anything?”
“No, thank you, Mr. President.”
With a nod from Karen Rey, Hayley turns and quickly exits the door leading into the Outer Oval Office.
“Okay. Let’s hear it,” Monroe tells Odom.
“In short, sir, it’s the opinion of the Central Intelligence Agency and the intelligence units of our cooperating allies that these cyberattacks by Moscow are a debilitating precursor of a full-scale military invasion of Estonia.” Odom pauses for a reaction from the president and gets none. Monroe stares at Odom without expression. The CIA deputy director continues. “This is the Russian playbook, sir. It represents the final trip wire, a test of US and NATO resolve to intervene on behalf of an otherwise defenseless member nation.”
“But they’ve launched a cyberattack against Estonia before,” National Security Advisor Seretti interjects.
More than ever, Vice President Landers is anxious to display his grasp of the issues. “In 2009, I think. Tiff over some old Soviet memorial the Estonians wanted to move.”
But no one in this room is going to outperform James Odom. He addresses the vice president with a slightly patronizing tone. “It was 2007, Mr. Vice President. The Bronze Soldier of Tallinn.” Odom turns back toward Monroe. “Last night’s attack was fifty times broader in scope than 2007 and, at this hour, continues to intensify. Digitally speaking, sir, Estonia is operating this morning at a pre–Industrial Age capacity.”
Monroe doesn’t seem terribly concerned. “Could be worse. One ICBM from Yoshkar-Ola and the entire country would be eating dog food from a can.”
Odom remains stone-faced, keeping his emotions in check. He knows he must choose wisely the perfect time in the meeting to go on the attack. He only gets one chance.
Seretti elbows his way into the discussion. “Isn’t it problematic to attribute a DOS attack like this to a government entity? Could just as easily be a few nationalist-minded Estonian teenagers with mad love for Fedor Malkin.”
Odom feels his phone vibrate with an incoming text. He discreetly checks the phone while Seretti continues with his pedantic blather. He sees a text from an unidentified caller, reading: connected ten mins ago.
The president sees Odom checking his phone and isn’t pleased. “Something more important on your phone than a meeting with your president, Jim?”
Odom looks up from his phone on the couch next to him and gives his full attention to Monroe. “Our hackers are better than their hackers, despite what you hear. We know who did it, sir. Russia attacked Estonia. Sanctioned in full by Moscow.”
As he finishes addressing Monroe, Odom feels the phone vibrate again. Fortunately, Seretti launches into another long-winded monologue, and the CIA man has the opportunity to glance quickly at his phone again.
The second text from the unidentified number, presumably Sinatra, reads inside WH.
While Seretti drones on, with the vice president occasionally interjecting in order to prove his usefulness, Odom looks up from his phone and glances around the room. With a jolt he sees that the only tablet in sight is Scott’s, as clearly described to him by Sinatra, on the side table where Karen Rey had left it.