The Choice

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

ADMIRAL JOSEPH PARKER walks off the plane and sees his driver holding a placard with his name. A uniformed airman greets him, takes his carry-on bag, and asks, “Do you have checked baggage?”

Parker shakes his head. “None.”

Then the airman leads him through the terminal to a black Chevrolet Suburban parked at the curb. The airman holds responsibility for making sure Admiral Parker gets from Sacramento International Airport to Begert Air Force Base safely, about an hour’s drive north. The base, a high-security facility, requires anyone visiting to hold the highest clearance. The admiral fits that criterion.

The airman grabs for the rear door to open it, assuming the admiral would want to ride in the back. Parker waves him off and goes to the front of the vehicle. The airman smiles.

For the admiral, this trip feels somber. Two weeks earlier, the President had visited Begert, and someone had made an attempt on his life.

Ten people died in the failed assassination.

One of the ten, Brad Channing—a former Navy SEAL—had been one of the admiral’s students at Annapolis. Brad had contacted him for advice once he became aware of the plot to kill the President. Admiral Parker’s guidance had helped Brad thwart the attack but had also put him in the line of fire. In a subsequent investigation, the new base commander—General Robert Taylor—had learned of Parker’s involvement from the survivors and contacted him to ask for his help in scrutinizing the case.

The admiral gazes through the window. Rice fields and almond groves race past. The flat terrain and brown earth bear little similarity to the rolling green hills of Annapolis. But Brad gave his life here. His thoughts return to the funeral at Arlington Cemetery ...

The overcast day held a chill in the air. A horse-drawn caisson led the hundreds of mourners to the Navy SEAL’s final resting site. Throughout the three volleys of rifle shots and the taps, many shed tears. After the presentation of the flag, the SEALs lined up and, one-by-one, each took his Trident pin from his uniform and laid it on the coffin. Finally, each drove the pin into the wooden cover with his fist. When the sun broke through the clouds and shone on the insignia, the coffin glistened as if covered with tears.

It amazed the admiral to see how many had known Brad. The knowledge of how many more knew of the SEAL comforted him too. All who came had one goal: to honor the hero.

The admiral didn’t try to stop his tears that day.

Even now, as he thinks about the occasion, his eyes fill and spill over.

Admiral Parker breaks away from his thoughts and checks his watch. He is ahead of schedule. In all probability, the general won’t be ready for him yet. He asks the airman, “Is there someplace quiet where I can grab a coffee?”

“Yes, sir. I know a spot on the way to the base. About fifteen minutes from here.”

After another ten miles or so, the driver makes a right turn onto a side street and parks in front of a bar.

“It doesn’t look like much, sir, but we don’t have much else in the area. The coffee tastes great, and the place is quiet.”

With a glance, the admiral checks for himself. “It will do.”

He and the airman leave the SUV and enter the establishment. The airman excuses himself to use the washroom. On the way through the central area, the admiral notices a few men sitting at the counter, facing a sizeable mirror. When they see him in the reflection, they straighten—a gesture he has grown used to.

A waiter comes over and welcomes him. “How can we help you, Admiral?”

“You’ve spent some time in the service, son.”

“Yes, sir. I served in the Navy for four years. On the Gerald Ford.”

“A fine ship, son. What was your assignment?”

“Gunner’s mate, first-class, sir.”

“You have my respect. I hear your coffee’s tasty?”

“Sure enough, sir. Let me show you to a table.”

The waiter leads him to the far side of the room. They walk past a wall of windows where a young woman sits alone at a small table, hunched over with her face in her palms.

“Just a coffee. With cream, please.”

The waiter leaves. Parker studies the room. Probably airmen at the counter, he decides. Who knows about the woman? Two large, framed photos, one of Brad Channing and another of Sarah O’Brien, hang on the wall. Each is draped with black bunting. He clenches his jaw.

The waiter arrives, breaking the admiral’s thoughts. “Here you go, Admiral. I brought a pot, in case you need another cup.”

“Thank you.” Parker motions to the two portraits. “What’s the story?”

“I’m glad you asked, sir. Honor. Those people gave their lives to protect the President. This is my place, and for my money, they will always receive drinks on the house.”

“Brad was one of my best students at Annapolis.”

“Well then, sir, you also get drinks for free.”

“That’s kind of you but not necessary. I never met Sarah, but if Brad loved her, that’s good enough for me.”

“Well. To me, she’s a hero just like him.”

“Not to change the subject, but what’s with that woman with her head in her hands?”

“She might be a friend of Sarah’s. They wouldn’t let her onto the base, as far as I can tell.”

The admiral glances toward the woman and whispers, “I don’t think folks understand how tight the security is, especially at a place like Begert.”

The waiter shakes his head, “Civilians don’t get it.”

“Did you know Brad?”

“He came here the day before the s**t hit the fan.”

“Really? Did he say much?”

“Not to me, other than to order his lunch. He sat where that woman is and kept looking over at Ricardo’s. I think Sarah had gone over there. Then the traitor walked in.”

“What do you mean?”

“That guy Jason, the one killed during the assassination attempt, walked in and sat with him. Brad didn’t look happy.”

“Any idea what they talked about?”

“No, but it seemed intense. After Jason left, Brad went too. In a hurry.”

The admiral shakes his head. “Life’s not fair. Brad went through hell in Afghanistan and returned just for some son of a b***h to murder him.”

“But he saved the President, sir.”

“That he did. That he did. Few could’ve managed that situation as well as he.”

“He stood his ground to the end, sir.”

“Like any Navy SEAL would.” The admiral pauses, runs his hand through his silver hair, and takes a sip from his cup. He looks over to the woman again. “What’s your name, son?”

“Cox, sir. My friends call me PJ.”

“Well, PJ, could you tell the lady that I might be able to help her gain access to the base?”

“Consider it done.”

PJ goes over to the woman, who glances over to the admiral. After he nods, she then gets up, leaving all her papers and computer at her table.

“Hello, sir. The waiter said you might help me?”

Her red-rimmed eyes make him think of his daughter and the many times he’d tried to calm her tears.

“Well, maybe. First things first. Take a seat. What’s your name?”

“Donna Tucker, sir.”

“Okay, Donna, nice to meet you. My name’s Parker. Joe Parker. How about you tell me your story. Why do you want to go to the base?”

She starts to tear but takes a breath and regains control. “I’m a friend … er, I was a friend of Sarah O’Brien, the one killed two weeks ago. Her photo is up on the wall.”

“Yes, I know them.”

“Well, I lived next to Sarah in Maryland. I wanted to see where it all happened and to say a prayer. She was a sister to me, and I feel uneasy about letting her go without the proper respects.” Donna stops and cannot hold back the tears. She uses the tissue balled in her hand to catch them before they fall. After a moment, she continues, “We went through a lot together. I even helped her remove two spies from her house.”

“Spies? How did you know them as spies?”

“It’s true.” She nodded. “Two Russian spies. I can show you the newspaper articles. They got apprehended in New York after they left Sarah’s house.”

Admiral Parker refills his cup and stares at the coffee, deep in thought. In a few moments he looks at her and says, “Donna, what did you show the airmen when you were at the gate?”

“My driver’s license. They directed me to the turn-around. I tried to explain, but they stayed firm and wouldn’t let me enter.”

“You understand that Begert is a high-security base? You must hold clearance to get in.”

“I’m aware of that now, sir, but I wasn’t before.” Her shoulders slump, and her voice goes to a whisper, “It’s just that I want to pay my respects to Sarah.”

“Well, I understand that. I knew Brad, and I want to pay my respects as well. I’d also like you to tell me about the Russians, but not here. Let me check on a visitor’s pass. Do you have anything in your background that would concern the government?”

“No, sir—nothing in mine or my family’s.”

“Good. Give me a few minutes to finish up and make a call. In the meantime, try and dry your tears, eh.”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll try. Thank you.” Donna stands and returns to her table, where she straightens her pile of papers and closes her laptop. She takes out a tissue and dries her eyes. Then she gestures to the admiral, now on the phone, and points to the restroom. He nods and continues his conversation.

* * *

Donna locks the restroom door and looks in the mirror. Her long dark curls frame her flushed complexion and red nose. She runs the cold water and washes her face. Satisfied, she grabs a paper towel and blots her face, grateful for the opportunity to freshen up. All done, she returns to her table. A short while later, the admiral walks over, accompanied by his driver.

“I’ve arranged for a pass. You’ll meet with a PR representative, who will help you. Please share the story about the Russians with him. That could prove valuable information relating to the case. For security reasons, you cannot go anywhere unless this rep takes you. Do you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

“When we leave here, follow my car. I’ll speak with the airmen at the gate, and I don’t think you’ll experience any trouble. The base is on maximum security because of the assassination attempt, so I need to remind you again that you cannot freely move around. I’ll be busy meeting with the general. If they need to reach me for anything regarding your visit, they know how to do so. Are we square?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”