The Last Patriot

Prologue

December 1978

Oval Office

The White House

IT WAS JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT when the president gave the order. 

Standing with his back to the director of the CIA, the weary leader stared through the south window of the Oval office; stroking his chin and wondering just how many other chief executives had stood where he was at such odd hours in thoughtful contemplation.

With a wall of darkness just outside the thick glass, he was barely able to see the expansive lawn; further challenged to detect anything specific. Still, he tried to discern the odd shapes and jagged shadows, more an attempt at distraction than deliberation. He didn’t like making such decisions, and the one he was approving bothered him perhaps more than any other.

The president felt the penetrating stare at his back, the pointed gaze of the director of the CIA, and with a smooth twist of his waist the president nodded to the man, a silent approval of the operation that had been over a year in the making. The Patriot Operation. 

The director regarded the signal without emotion, though his mind was reeling with the substantial and far-reaching implications.

“Are you sure, sir?” he asked, the words breaking the stale silence.

The president cast a cool look at the man. “Yes I am.”

But then empty moments passed and the president’s look softened. “But explain it to me again. Tell me why it’s the right thing to do.”

The director was expecting the query. He eyed the president keenly, but spoke casually, nonchalantly.

“Sir, the Cold War is over. There are no more beaches to land on and no more strategic hills to take. The days of sending troops to a distant land to fight a war are gone. The front lines of the future will be invisible, ambiguous, and exponential; encompassing the backyards of the American populace. We are moving to a world economy and the enemies of the future will most likely be terrorist factions or loose governments that our satellites simply cannot track effectively.”

The director slowly rose and walked to the president, who stood unmoved, his back turned as if trying to dismiss the idea altogether. The director’s demeanor was relaxed but engaging, and a look of concern was evident as he searched for an emphatic end to the message he was so careful in communicating. 

“Mr. President,” he began slowly. “We need operators on the inside -- human intelligence -- if we are to eliminate or even reduce the threat.”

The president squared himself against the director, his words almost accusatory. 

“And who are these men who will so eagerly relinquish their freedoms, their lives?”

“We’ve code named them ‘Patriots,’ sir.