Homeland Security

by William L Casselman

  Lt. Colonel Jessup now found himself working under an officer who hadn’t seen much combat; only the opening days of the first salvo against Bagdad and before that he’d spent nearly fifteen years as an instructor at West Point in military history, before he finally gained the senior officer’s slot as a full colonel at the John F Kennedy Special Warfare School. Normally, the officers at the Special Warfare Center had served time at the center as junior officers, but with the earlier downsizing of the Army, the military lost a lot of Green Beret officers. Majors were offered early retirement, or the rank of Sergeant First Class. Less than half of the majors accepted the offer, and we're now training troops for other countries, but only those who were an ally of the United States. Clay knew some had taken jobs with U.S. Customs, the newly formed ICE department, FEMA, or state or local police departments. In any event, this would supplement their new retirement pay, which wouldn’t even cover a house payment.

  The Colonel was in need of a star, or he would be forced into retirement in two years, but rumors said he had a senior general in his corner. A general who hoped such a senior post like the JFK Center might get his friend his first star. Being Loyal to the Army, Jessup would do whatever it took to help the Colonel earn his star, as long as Jessup could run the school his way- tough, hard, rugged and the students loyal to one another, the army and their country.

  Today was a day set aside for a select group of congressmen from the Armed Services Committee to visit the JFK Center, so the senior colonel decided his Executive Officer, Lt. Colonel Jessup, should be here for this conference. In this way, he would demonstrate his school to the men who would decide on his star at a later date. To help that along, Jessup agreed to be in Washington D.C. to meet with Clay. Though Clay had been with Delta Forces for over three years, most of this time he’d been working for the CIA and he hadn’t got to know his senior officers all that well. Clay was still closer to his Rangers and Beret buddies, and this was why Jessup was in the room to ease things a bit.

  Clay also noticed Lt. Colonel Jessup wore a blue and white FBI Visitors Badge draped around his neck on a beaded chain, which made Clay take notice again how the old dude wasn’t wearing any kind of badge and the fact no one had bothered to give him one of those Visitor Badges when he entered the building.

  With a shake of his head, Clay smiled and walked right up to Jessup to offer his old friend his right hand. As they shook hands enthusiastically, as old friends would after not seeing each other for some time, Clay took a seat beside Jessup and waited quietly to see what this was all about. He was also trying to keep from yawning. He knew that could be considered as a poor first impression, but he was sleepy and hoped these people got the ball rolling quickly before he nodded off.

  “Clay, I’m only here for a few moments,” Jessup said. “They’ve got me jumping between jobs, but the Boss asked me to be here when you showed up for this briefing… sort of to help things along. These gentlemen know what happened to you in Egypt, and they didn’t want you walking right out on them before hearing their needs. They’re not CIA, and I double-checked on that for you.”

  With a second hard look, Clay inspected the two men and waited for Jessup to continue. He was staring at Jessup’s Green Beret, which set on the conference table directly in front of the colonel. Clay missed the Beret, but in Delta Forces, they didn’t wear any such identifiable headgear- except for their black Kevlar skullcap helmets they wore into combat.

  “These men here are part of a larger team, mainly made up of FBI and Homeland Security personnel. The CIA has no involvement here… this is completely a domestic affair, and Delta Force believes you’re the right man to handle this undercover assignment. Of course, this is strictly a volunteer assignment, but they’ll not be able to begin the briefing until you accept the job and sign your life away with all their secrecy disclosure forms.” Jessup pointed to Goatee man and added, “Government travels on a highway of paperwork, Clay. You’ve learned that by now.”

  “Colonel, do you know what’s happening here?”

  “Honestly, Clay, I know very little. But, when Delta Force or the Green Beret is called upon, we always answer with a ‘can do,’ and you know it.”

  “I was hoping for some time off, sir,” Clay said. “I haven’t had any real leave in over six years…Been going from one duty call to the next. Last time I had any real time off was the week I went home to bury my grandfather, and before that was my grandmother. Not exactly Disneyworld.”

  “Captain, if you take this assignment, I strongly believe you will appreciate the destination,” the older man said, with a half-smile on his face. Then he surprised Clay by lighting up a cigarette in a no smoking building and right then Clay knew this man was senior enough that no one was going to tell him to put his cigarette out.

  “Look, Clay, I’ve got to run. It took a little bit longer to get you here than we thought and I’m out of time… you know how it is. But if you take this job, look me up when you get back, and we’ll barbecue some steaks. If you decline, I’ll see you at the center in a couple of days, and we’ll see if you can still shoot and we’ll even make a few HALO jumps together.” Lt. Col Jessup looked over at the two men and said, “Clay here was the best shot in his class… his Athabascan grandfather taught him well, and he’s got over two-hundred jumps behind him that I know of.” Jessup then stood up, scooped up his Beret, shook hands with both civilians and then in fatherly way, patted Clay on the left shoulder, smiled at him, and then walked out of the room. Clay turned to watch as the agent closed the door behind him.

  “I know you just came off a rough one, Captain, but this is a priority mission, and we need an answer right now so we can begin your briefings. A lot could be at stake here, and that’s the last you’ll hear from me about it.” The old man took another long drag on his cigarette, exhaled and filled the immediate area around him in a bluish cloud of smoke, which, thankfully was quickly sucked up by the room’s filtering system. The man then stubbed the cigarette out and ran his tongue across his front teeth, as if to be cleaning them.

  Clay wanted to walk around the room a bit to think it over, but then recalled what the Colonel had said about Delta’s whole ‘Can Do’ thing. So, he nodded his head and then in a weary-sounding voice, said, “Let’s get to signing all that paperwork, gentlemen… I’d like to catch some Zs tonight and a real long hot shower. All I got was a sponge bath in the plane.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” the man with the goatee said. He reached down to the brown leather briefcase beside his right leg and pulled out an inch-wide blue folder. Clay had seen these folders before, remembering how many times he had signed his life away, under threat of dire consequences if he was to reveal to anyone outside his command structure his involvement in this or that assignment. There were life-long stays in Federal Prison and even threats of death under the US Treason Laws for violating his oath, but Clay wasn’t considering of becoming a secret agent for some foreign power and simply signed every page he was required to. He’d read all the forms before and didn’t bother to read them now. He also knew that if something happened to him and he was killed, his nearest relatives would learn that he had perished in some made-up training accident. He’d already set up his servicemen’s life insurance to be paid to the Community of Minto. It was to be used as a scholarship program in his father’s name to help some of the local kids attend college.

  It took the better part of 45-minutes to get the paperwork taken care of and secured away back inside the brown briefcase, which was then locked by a key. Coffee had been served to all three by the older gentlemen, and some ham and cheese sandwiches were brought in by one of the building’s kitchen staff.

  “All right, Clay… if I may call you that?” The older man asked.

  “Sure, but what do I call you two… Boris and Natasha?”

  This got a polite laugh out of both of the men, which showed how tired they were and then the older man introduced himself, “Clay, my name is Cleffinger…Thomas
Cleffinger and I am a deputy, or I should say one of the deputies to the FBI Director upstairs. Besides my other duties, I am the senior FBI liaison to Home Land Security. You can look my name up, it’s real enough, and I prefer to go by Tom when you and I are working together.

  “Thank you, Tom, I appreciate that.” Clay then looked to goatee man and waited.

  Sorry, Clay, my mind was wandering there for a moment. I’ve been working for the last forty-eight hours and can use some sleep myself. Anyhow, the name is Bradley Carlson, and I am with Homeland Security. I used to be with the New Jersey State Police Organized Crime Task Force, and before that, I was a Marine lieutenant stationed in Guam and California. That was all before Desert Storm. But you can call me Brad… Bradley is what my parents use, and they toss in my middle name when I’m in trouble.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brad…I hope.” Clay then looked to both gentlemen and waited for the shoe to drop. Working with the Feds, he knew there was always a shoe, and usually, it was a size 18 4E with sharpened baseball cleats.

  “Clay, it’s awful late, and we’re all worn out,” Tom said. “So, let me give you a quick overview now. I don’t want to leave you hanging and then have trouble sleeping with guessing games as to where you’re going and what you’re going to be doing.” Tom then directed Clay to the large flat screen TV behind him. He then picked up a white hand control in front of him and turned the room lights down, which also automatically double-locked the exit doors and turned the TV monitor on to a bright colored screen of flashy starbursts.

  Tom hit another button on the controller, and the next thing Clay saw was a black and white diagram of the State of Alaska, which took up most of the screen and the sight of his home state confused him. He couldn’t imagine why they’d be sending him to Alaska if this was what it was all about.

  “Yes, you’re going home, Clay and right back to the Fairbanks area.” Tom hit a button, and the screen displayed a star for the location of Fairbanks on the Alaska diagram. “Fairbanks; known as ‘The Golden Heart City,’” Tom said.

  Brad then took over and read a few facts from his notes. “Population approximately 88,000 people, which includes the servicemen and women of Fort Wainwright, which borders the city limits. Twenty-two-miles further east is Eielson Air Force Base and this, along with a few small communities like North Pole, Moose Creek, and Salcha, gives the western side of the Tanana Valley roughly One hundred and thirty-five thousand people in an area about the size of Oregon.”

  “You might have to add a bit more of the eastern side of the valley to match Oregon, but Alaskans always love to say that if you cut Alaska in half, Texas would become the third largest state. It has a nasty effect on a Texan’s ego. I’ve seen many a fight break out in service bars over such things,” Clay said.

  Brad then stood up and approached the screen, “Best of all, Clay, you’re going right back into the interior as yourself; Captain Clay Jefferson. But you’re going to be a former Captain of the U.S. Army and now a brand spanking new civilian. Though you’ll still be on active duty, your new paperwork we’re now processing will show you receiving an honorable discharge, and if anyone checked your records, which we presume someone will, it will show you were unable to obtain your major’s gold leaf and with all the downsizing of the military going on, you were honorably discharged. The only thing missing from your records will be your actual classified assignments with the Green Beret and Delta Force… which pretty much covers everything you’ve done over the last 6-years. This is pretty normal since classified ops are left out of service records generally speaking.”

  “Now I am really confused,” Clay said. He took a drink from his cold coffee, made a sour face, put it down, and poured himself a cold glass of water from a white ceramic decanter. After taking a sip, he waited for a response from one of the gentlemen.

  “I’ll make it brief, and then we’ll call it a night,” Tom said. He lit his tenth or twelfth cigarette for the evening, inhaled deeply and then filled the room with smoke as he exhaled. Clay was glad the room filters were apparently working on overtime, or he had died of smoke inhalation.

  “We’re having some trouble in Alaska, Clay. As you know, Alaska has a recognized militia…the Alaska Defense Force. They’ve been in operation for a long time and have done quite well. Everyone who joins the ADF buys their own weapons and uniforms, and they are a lawful secondary support for the Alaska National Guard. They train their people well and have never been a problem. Well, recently, we’ve been picking up rumors… a word here or a whisper on the street to one of our informants in how a new radical unit… a militant faction maybe is growing inside the Alaska Defense Force. A unit is being formed and made up of men and women who are prior military and in support of the Alaska Independence Party. The word is they are preparing to act. But we don’t know what that means. Now the party alone isn’t a problem, it’s a legal party, and they have candidates every year running for the various state and federal offices. But now we’re getting word they’re planning on stepping up the game, and we suspect, without evidence, with some form of domestic act of terrorism and that does have us worried.”

  Brad then stepped in and said, “These people want to catch the eyes and ears of the world, and they could be planning something pretty big. But, we have to have evidence of their intent for us to act. We don’t need another mess like Waco or Ruby Ridge.”

  “What’s the issue here,” Clay asked. “The Alaska Independence Party has been around since statehood in 1959, but most people consider them a bunch of nuts…especially since their founder, Joe Vogler was murdered by some nut-ball in his own group.”

  “We know the party is growing by keeping track of all the internet hits on their various sites,” Brad said. “We have also learned how they and or some of the native corporations plan on taking the federal government to court on several major issues around the 1959 Statehood Compact and how the voting was conducted. They may very well possibly go all the way to the US Supreme Court with their grievances.”

  Clay looked from Brad to Tom and then back to Brad, “What’s their main gripe… other than they don’t like the US Government? I mean I’m half Indian, and we’ve never liked the deals made with the US Government by some of our greedy tribal leaders, but no one’s ever listened to us. So, we formed the native corporations, and we have more say through the banking system than we ever had with Washington. We’re not happy, but who is? I don’t even understand the 1959 Statehood Compact…never even read it.”

  Tom smiled, knowing from his research how much money the various native corporations were bringing in every year, but not all of the natives were receiving dividends from these companies, and not all native groups had corporations. He also knew very few people knew of the Statehood Compact, but they would once it came across the newspapers and TV news. Once people learned about how the voting was conducted, people would be offended, but he had no idea what effect it would have on current day Alaska.

  His hands shaking slightly from weariness, Tom glanced down at his notes and said to Clay, “One major issue is to show how the vote for statehood was reportedly conducted illegally and in which case, at the time, violated United Nations Laws,” Tom said. He was reading from his notes. “Under United Nations Law, said territorial ballots were to offer four options to the voters, but only two options were offered to the Alaskans on the provided ballots- ‘yes for statehood’ or no for statehood.’ Under UN Law, apparently, there should’ve been an option on the ballot, which allowed Alaskans to exit the US as a territory to become its own country by declaring sovereignty or to exit as US Territory to seek joining with another country…like Canada…Damn, I don’t seem to have all the choices in my notes right now.”

  Then Brad added, “Second issue concerns money. Alaska wants to show how Congress went back on its promise to pay the state 90% of all the monies earned from the sales of Alaska’s natural resources. Supposedly and I guess there is stated law, arguable of course, in how Congress
promised 90% of all mineral sales from Alaska in order the new state, of such a large size and small population, to operate its government, while keeping only 10% for the US coffers. But once statehood was enacted, the US government never came forth with the 90% and 10% deal. They stated the percentage to be 33%, which is what the other states pay. But, remember all the gold and oil that comes out of Alaska. Supposedly the 10% was offered with the promise Alaska could keep the additional 23% to assist them in building their state services. But, the feds went back on this promise, once the vote was completed.”

  “I’ve never heard of any of this, and I was raised in the state,” Clay said in surprise. “Except, I do know a lot of people are tired of the US Government telling Alaska what to do with its resources. When President Carter took over a million acres away from the state to make into federal land, he sure didn’t make any friends up there. A lot of people were hurt in that deal; losing mining claims, access to their properties, and much more. The people were also real upset over the Arctic Wildlife Refuge being left alone when most everyone knows there’s oil under there and probably a good supply of gold and silver. The tree huggers care little about the people in Alaska and their needs, and they’re always butting into the fishing industries and the state’s hunting regulations, but few of them live up there.”