MONDAY MORNING, 1:59-WASHINGTON DC

The silence was broken by the persistent ringing of an emergency telephone. A cool October breeze rustled in the treetops outside. Autumn brought a sensational calm and beauty all around 16, Pennsylvania Avenue. The president had an exceptionally busy day. And perhaps that's why his slumber is so deep and sound. President Robert Summerville is normally an early riser. Life in the Oval Office has not changed his routine that much. The usual half hour for morning devotion, followed by some Yoga exercises – and then, that monster workout with Brad. The ex-Marine pushes him to the very limit. But the president and those around him, have seen all of the marvelous results.

First Lady Dorothy Summerville, rolled onto her side. The thick foam mattress sunk slightly under the impact of her bodyweight. She knew when Robert had a really tough day. Because of this close relationship with her husband, the Secret Service Agents pay a lot of attention to her suggestions and recommendations.

Dorothy stretched out her hand, then struck the switch on the bedside lamp. A warm shaft of light, shot across the room. She pulled the bedspread over the side. "Whoever is calling at this time must have a pretty darn good reason."

The First Lady yawned, then picked up the telephone. The voice on the other end of the line was throbbing with emotion. Dorothy's heart raced!

"Hello! Hello!" She poked Robert with her free hand. His left leg jerked as it stuck out involuntarily from beneath the thick white blanket.

"Good Morning my dear - sorry to call at this ungodly hour, but I must speak to the president."

"Oh my God, Stan! What happened? He's asleep – I'll wake him, just give me two minutes."

"Ok! I'll call you back in five." CIA Director, Stan Marks hung up.

The First Lady pulled the blanket. She jabbed Robert in the rib cage, then tickled under his feet. He jumped out of the bed - the old trick had worked once again.

"Dora ... Dora ... it's not yet time for the gym." Robert stretched, then yawned. "Ahaaaa! Ahaaaa!"

Still struggling to find his balance, the president kicked open the bathroom door. He took steady aim, then fired three quick spirts and he was done. Robert rubbed his eyes; yesterday's hectic schedule pushed him close to the breaking point. As he strode back to the bedside, Dora placed her arms around him. She had a rather anxious look on her face.

"Darling, you've got to call Stan."

"Oh my God! Why didn't you wake me straight away, Dora?"

A call from the CIA director this early is more than likely to break some terrible news. Several thoughts raced through the president's mind. So much is happening around the world. Turkey has made no secret of its intention to pull out of NATO, the Russians were pulverizing rebel positions around eastern Allepo and Palmyra. Thirty thousand jihadist fighters, led by a US trained Iraqi defector, were advancing at lightning speed towards Baghdad.

While all this is going on, there are new and troubling developments on the Korean Peninsula, requiring quick and decisive action by President Robert Summerville. Only last month, after very intense lobbying and cajoling, Congress approved a Bill, clearing the way for more US Special Forces to be deployed to the Iraqi capital.

If Baghdad falls into the hands of the terrorists, this would be a colossal blow to his administration - and undoubtedly, a reflection of a failed foreign policy. The loss of sophisticated American military hardware – and worst – American lives, if the city is overrun, will put a serious dent in his chances of a second term in the White House.

The president scratched his head, then picked up the telephone. He looked at the clock on the wall; it read 2:11 AM. President Robert Summerville heard the tension in Stan's voice.

"Come on Stan – just lay it on me." The heavy breathing on the other end of the line made the president even more nervous.

"Mr. President, I don't know how to tell you this." Stan paused, he took a deep breath again.

"Tell me what, Stan." The president sat down, he braced himself for what the CIA director had to say.

"We got him!" The excitement is Stan's voice was palpable.

"You aren't telling me anything! Stan – cut out all that damn crap. Got who?"

"Triple X105999." The president punched the air defiantly. He's been waiting for some good news for quite a long time.

"Wow! Fantastic - great work Chief! Any casualties?"

"Yeah - twelve!" The CIA director heard the president's sigh of disapproval and surprise.

"Stan! Stan! Oh my God! No! No! That's too many – it wasn't worth it!"

"Calm down Mr. President. The director of the CIA shook his head. His predecessor, Jim Burbanks, lost his job for a similar comment three years ago.

He quickly corrected himself. "I know that you've been under immense pressure from critics at home and abroad. But don't worry Mr. President, I'm fully supportive of your sterling efforts to beat back the terrorist threats."

"That's very thoughtful, Stan – but twelve of our men are dead! Twelve families all across America will not be hearing from their........"

"Mr. President, the special operation conducted in international waters off the North Korean coast, was a tremendous success! The casualties were all on their side. It was a flawless, precision strike. Our Special Forces went in to capture one man – anyone standing in their way, didn't have a chance!"

"Awesome! Once again our men and women in uniform have shown immense courage and tactical brilliance!"

"You're absolutely correct, Mr. President! When you hear all of the details, you'll be even more amazed. This was a very complex and dangerous operation!"

"Any reaction from the North Koreans?"

"Yeah - fast and furious! Threats of missile strikes against Washington, San Francisco and Seoul!"

"The usual empty ramblings – pure rhetoric and window dressing! I've exhausted my level of tolerance for their flagrant violation of international law! I really hope this incident teaches them a lesson – it's just not a good idea to mess with the United States." The president crossed his legs.

"This guy is a loose cannon! I still believe he poses a real threat to the US western coastline. You'll get a better assessment later today. By then, our interrogation of the prisoner, should be completed."

"Great! I'm sure we'll find the information quite startling."

The conversation between the president and the Head of the CIA ended at exactly 2:31 AM. Dorothy saw the look of satisfaction on her husband's face.

"It's still very early, darling. Let's snuggle up for another hour or so."

Robert looked at his beautiful wife, then smiled. "Not a bad idea at all, my dear."

While Dorothy enjoyed the warmth and cozy comfort, the president's mind certainly was not at ease. He did not want to pre-empt the findings of the team interrogating the captured man. But whatever comes out of it, an international furor will definitely follow.

This all started about six months ago when agents of the Israeli Intelligence Services – Mossad, tipped off the CIA about a pending alliance between a terror cartel, and rogue Generals on the Korean Peninsula. The CIA wasted no time. What followed was undoubtedly the most intensive intelligence gathering exercise in recent time. Code named, Mission TrippleX105999, this top secret operation helped to fine tune the skills of an elite amphibious unit, tasked with the responsibility of capturing one of America's most wanted – a feared and seasoned jihadist, with a firebrand notoriety, the young converts across the world, aspire to emulate.

Triple X, whose real name is Abu Ghusaiyev is a former Chechen guerrilla fighter. The CIA added XXX to his name for the three insurgencies he led. He first rose to prominence in his country of birth, where he led a series of scathing attacks on elite Spetsnaz troops defending Russian positions around Grozny. He then went on to join the resistance fighters in the Georgian capital of Tbilisi. And most recently, he terrorized Russian troops fighting in eastern Ukraine. In each of these conflicts, Ghusaiyev used his exceptional skills as a sniper with deadly accuracy – he chalked up an astounding number of kills! Reliable sources have estimated the number to be between two hundred and fifty and three hundred hits.

Ghusaiyev later became something of a freelancer, his last stop before the Mossad tip off to the CIA, was the ancient City of Palmyra in Syrian. The Russians knew he was there and did everything possible to kill or capture him. They had a couple of drone strikes on areas he frequented - the closest call came near Kobani. Government forces confirmed that he was holed up in an abandoned building used by the resistance fighters. Russian MIG Fighters later strafed the compound in an unrelenting, two – hour long barrage! They dropped three barrel bombs which blasted the remains of the structure to smithereens. Ghusaiyev had his own network of spies on the ground. He learned of the planned attack, a day earlier, and moved to another location before the air strike.

The president tossed and turned. Yesterday's grueling work schedule left him feeling burnt out, and it is very unlikely that he'll get any more sleep. President Robert Summerville is normally up by 3:30 AM. He looked at the clock, then kicked out of bed. Dorothy threw her hand to the left instinctively. Even in her drowsy state, she became aware of Robert's restlessness. "Darling – why don't you try to get a little extra sleep?" Robert sat upright. For a brief moment, he thought about falling back onto the bed as Dorothy massaged his head.

"This feels really good my love – but I've got to go. I'll probably leave a bit early today - will give you a little extra later."

Dorothy smiled. "Don't fool yourself Robert! You know what it's like when you get in that Oval Office."

"No need to remind me of that, my love." The president grabbed his gym bag. He reached for the pair of light blue sneakers perched on the metal shoe rack. Robert intends to pound the treadmill with gusto and extra drive this morning. Today's work out will prepare him for whatever comes out of the capture of the terrorist mastermind, Abu Ghusaiyev.

President Summerville walked briskly into the spacious White House gym, escorted by two Secret Service Agents. The earlier conversation with CIA Director, Stan Marks kept playing on his mind. Special Agent, Brad Stunner took the president's towel.

"OK Chief, give me a good twenty minutes. Seems like you can really beat those barbells today."

The look on the president's face said it all, but Brad is not prepared to take no for an answer. He's been doubling up as a trainer for the Commander in Chief. He takes great pleasure in ensuring that the most powerful man on the planet remains fit and safe. Brad saw the quick flickering of the president's eyebrows. He sensed what was going through his mind: "Are you out of your freaking mind?"

Brad responded promptly. "Not today, Mr. President – we're going the full nine yards!"

The president smiled. "I'm with you Brad – I've got to be strong physically and emotionally to face the challenges of the week ahead."

"You're the man, Mr. President!" As Brad looked at Robert – the man he's prepared to take a bullet for, his strong chiseled face belied the inner tension which came with his job.

President Summerville started off rather slowly. The whirring sounds of the treadmill spurred him on. "Go! Go! Go!" Brad shouted with the authority of a drill master. The president increased the pace, Brad looked at his partner. "We've got to keep him in top shape. Take note of the routine, man – one day you may have to take my place."

"Planning to quit?" Richard inquired.

"Hell no! But in our line of work, we've got to be prepared for whatever comes."

Richard understood this, but at this point the job will just not be the same without his Special Forces buddy – Brad Stunner.

"Great stuff, Mr. President – you're looking good, Sir. Give me another fifteen, then we hit the chinning bar. We'll wrap up with a couple ah reps on the bench press."

Richard glanced at his partner. "He's got to come back in the morning, buddy."

"Yeah – I know – fitter, better and stronger!" Stunner was quite pleased; the president kept pushing the weights with high intensity. "Looking good, Sir! You're doing great! Keep it pumping – just give me three more reps."

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY NAUTICAL MILES OFF THE COAST OF CHONGJIN, NORTH KOREA - MIDNIGHT, TUESDAY

The prisoner remained blind folded and stripped down to the waist. He pulled and strained against the tight synthetic straps, restraining him to the bench. Meanwhile, above the deck of the USS Phantom, the crew remained on red alert. Perched high up on the observation tower, a Special Forces team from the elite special operations anti-terrorism unit - ESOATU, scoured the North Korean coastline. Less than twelve hours ago, they had pulled off an amazing raid. They only had sixty days to plan and execute the mission. The six-man team headed by veteran Navy SEAL Josh Waller, rushed into the special training routine in preparation for the mission.

Apart from the bruising workouts and many daredevil stunts in snake-infested swamplands, and other hostile terrain, there was something unique about Mission Triple X. In a break from tradition, Corporal Khloe Pratts, a female Special Forces trooper was called up for the top secret mission! Pratts became the very first female soldier to successfully complete the rigorous ESOATU training regime! Those who made it to the end could testify to the knuckle-breaking, bone-jarring routine. One former navy seal said ESOATU workouts, made the crucible look like child's play.

Initially, as expected, there was strong resistance from male officers. But in the end, the military just couldn't deny Khloe. She had the tough-as-nails commitment, and gung ho attitude to fight alongside America's best modern-day warriors.

The hard-punching girl from Nebraska, had proven herself in several combat missions. Sergeant Josh Waller gave her the thumbs up very early. They fought together less than a year ago on the battlefield. He remembers too well the fierce fire fights in Mosul: "We were providing cover and logistical support for an Iraqi unit. Khloe sat in the cockpit. She handled the Apache gunship like the ultimate professional. We had to fly very low to evade enemy radar. This puts the bird under extreme pressure. The friction created by flying so close to the ground could have caused a major catastrophe."

As he continued to gaze across the north, Commander Waller couldn't take his mind off the lone female officer on the SEAL team. The skirmish on the outskirts of Iraq's second largest city – Mosul, just kept coming back:

"It was pitch dark as we flew along. Rockets and bombs were exploding everywhere. Through our night vision goggles, we saw the tracer rounds raining down from a ridge top, rebel command post. Bullets were ricocheting against a blood stained pock-marked wall. At around fourteen hundred hours, we took a hit in the tail rotor blade. Khloe kept her nerve, the chopper rocked and swerved. Man – she was in a real no nonsense mood – screaming at the top of her voice: "Alright guys – let's go kick some ass!"

"I will never forget her words. I felt the dogged determination in her voice, and from that day, I knew that Corporal Khloe Pratts had the qualities of a true American warrior! Khloe just has the raw talent for this kind of stuff – physically, she is so strong. At five-foot nine, she can outrun and beat the shit out of most of the tough guys I know! I haven't seen a better shooter on the range. She handles a machine gun like a real professional!"

Josh's partner on the guard tower, Cpl. Abe Saunders lowered his night vision binoculars. "So what happened afterwards?"

"Wow! It was one hell of a fire fight. Khloe managed to steady the chopper. Miraculously, she lifted the bird higher while aiming a murderous hail of cannon fire at the enemy position on a nearby hill. Then, she went for the jugular, unleashing a barrage of rockets on the bad guys. We watched a huge orange fireball light up the sky. Seemed like an ammunition storage dump took a direct hit. Men were running wildly out of their trenches - some were rolling on the ground in an attempt to douse the flames eating away at their flesh. I saw a couple guys desperately trying to rip off blazing camouflage fatigues. She'd unleashed a few white phosphorous grenades in the opening salvo.