Oath of Office

President Ryan decided on a preliminary briefing while he waited for the rest of the NSC principals to arrive. Still in the Oval, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, pulling up the image of West Africa. He’d always had a knack for geography, but the deployment of more and more American troops to join the hunt for Boko Haram terrorists had drawn lines in his mind that were crystal clear. Cameroon had more than its share of violence and corruption, not to mention a president who had done away with term limits and declared himself the winner of each election over the last two decades. But they were still ostensibly U.S. allies in the region.

“How many people do we have in the embassy?”

“They’re slotted for fifty-one direct hires,” the secretary of state said. “Some of those are bound to be off at conferences or out of country on home leave. Many of the diplomatic corps live nearby so some of them might even have gone home for lunch. Without communication with the embassy, I’m still trying to find out how many families are in country. I will know more on that before lunchtime here.”

“Make it an hour,” Ryan said.

Adler folded his hands in front of his belt. “I will, sir.” There was no I’ll do my best. That was a given. The prodding meant he could pass along to foreign service officers who worked for him that the President of the United States put their people, their families, as a top priority.

Ryan groaned. “All right. Let’s have it all, Robby.”

The deputy national security adviser referred to his notes, making certain to get the facts straight in his bottom-line-up-front brief.

“At 1258 hours local time, State Department Ops received a call from one of the administrative staff at our embassy in Yaounde, stating that they were under siege by Cameroonian military forces. The connection was lost after approximately forty-five seconds. The deputy chief of mission’s wife — her name is Sarah Porter — was at home a few blocks away. She was apparently taken hostage by the military forces involved. Her condition or whereabouts is, as of yet, unknown. Apparently General Mbida fled pursuing troops through the embassy gate along with at least one of his daughters. Six armored Cameroonian military vehicles arrived just moments behind them but remained outside the fence. That is all the information we got before contact was broken. Efforts to reestablish communication with anyone inside the embassy compound have proven fruitless to this point.”

Ryan leaned forward in his chair, mentally bracing himself for what was about to come next. “Casualties?”

“Unknown at this time, Mr. President. Contacts at the South Korean embassy report small-arms fire. They’re buttoned up tight for the moment, but they have dedicated an analyst to keep us up to date on what they’re seeing — which up to now is not very much.”

Ryan said, “Let’s open some back channels through neighboring countries. Get things rolling right away.”

“We have DEA personnel in Lagos and Homeland Security in Accra,” Forrestal said. “One of my Annapolis classmates is an NCIS special agent stationed in Douala, on the coast. I’ve reached out to him directly but have yet to make contact. And the two hundred seventy-eight men in Garoua to the north.”

“Good work, Robby,” Ryan said, stifling a groan. He was groaning far too much lately, and didn’t want to do it without thinking if the cameras happened to be rolling with hot mics. “So that’s the what. How about the why? This seems like a drastic overreaction to a grainy video.”

Forrestal looked at Scott Adler. His job was to brief and offer analysis when called upon to do so, but the embassy fell under Foggy Bottom’s purview — and the Commander was happy to let the secretary of state jump in.

“We’re still in the guessing stages,” Adler said. “But President Njaya has been hounding us to publicly take his side against the separatist movement in the English-speaking areas of the country.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “I realize we’re early in the process here, but I need eyes on the ground. Some kind of intelligence. What’s the size of the Marine guard force there?”

Forrestal glanced at his notes. He’d been briefing Ryan long enough to know he would ask about fellow Marines. “The NCOIC and five watch standers,” he said.

“Maybe they run a split shift,” Ryan observed. “Could be they’re not all on duty. Find out the number for the NCOIC and for the Marine House in Cameroon.” He turned to Burgess. “On second thought, you handle this, Bob. I want someone stratospheric in their chain of command to call and remind these Marines not to rush in and get themselves killed. We need intelligence, not martyrs. This is not the hill I want them to die on.”