Free Critical Error by Murray McDonald

months earlier, everything had been running to plan. He had been the natural choice for the republican nominee in the presidential race. That was until Charles Baker had been thrown into the ring. His liberal views were winning over many of the Republicans as they fought a closely contested fight for the Republican nomination. Russell had reached out and offered Baker the VP ticket but Baker had refused, saying ‘thanks but I’m going to give the big ticket a go.’ In the heartland, Russell was fine but on the coasts, Baker was trouncing him. It was close and for Russell, close was too close. Baker needed to be gone. Plans were in play that Baker would never allow to continue. Too much was at stake. The very future of America and her allies required Russell to be in power.
    “Jesus, will one of you useless fucks tell me what happened?”
    “We’re still trying to piece things together. As for Sam, we have no idea. Our men have gone off the radar. We have a satellite fly-past on Sam’s property in the next few minutes and hopefully that will give us something,” responded Johnson nervously. Turning to face Jim Gates, the Secretary of Homeland Security, he continued. “As for the Chairman, it seems a couple of Secret Service agents appeared and got to him before our operatives could.”
    With over 200,000 staff dedicated to the protection of US citizens within the US, Homeland Security was the second most powerful department within the US Government after Defense and had within its remit the United States Secret Service.
    “It seems you’re losing your touch, Jimmy boy,” added Johnson, delighted to push the blame for at least one cock-up elsewhere.
    “Our operatives have confirmed they were set upon by a secret service agent who had, believe it or not, already fired upon her colleague.”
    Russell turned to Gates. “Well?”
    “Marx at the Service is surrounded by old guard,” responded Gates shrugging his shoulders. “If he gets a threat against a potential presidential candidate, he’d have to act. What can I say other than if we’d dealt with the brother, everything would have worked perfectly. That’s the problem,” he added, pushing the blame firmly back into Johnson’s court.
    “Anyway, none of this solves the problem in hand. What are we going to do?” asked Russell.
    “Gentlemen,” Henry Preston’s voice boomed across the room. The Director of National Intelligence was an imposing figure with an even more imposing voice. Glasses vibrated as his bass note tones resonated through the room. As he scrolled through his Blackberry, he continued. “Before we came into the room, I instructed each of the sixteen agencies within my control to leave no stone unturned in their search for Charles Baker. The cover story is that he has been taken against his will and is being held hostage, by a team of international assassins. Any sighting is to be reported to Homeland Security and will be dealt with at the highest level. That is, by us. A news blackout has been imposed, so you won’t hear anything. We’ve suggested Al Qaeda to ensure no reporter interferes. The Patriot Act is a truly wonderful thing. I have asked each department for half-hour updates.”
    With every law enforcement and intelligence agency within the US reporting into him, Preston commanded a staggering force.
    “It seems the fly-past has occurred and a detailed scan has been carried out on Sam Baker’s property. It’s not good gentlemen. In fact, far worse than any of us could have imagined.” Preston paused as he scrolled through the rest of the information on his Blackberry.
    “Preston?” urged Russell.
    “Sorry, a lot of techno gobbledygook, basically through various scans, X-ray, infra red etc... they’ve been able to locate a grave with three bodies and in the remnants of a charred cabin, three other remains.”
    “Six remains. We only sent four guys,” interrupted Johnson.
    “Hmm, this is where it gets a bit messy. In