A quarter mile away at the entrance to the park, a van with five more men, all former military, sat ready to act at a moment’s notice to intervene on Steven’s behalf.
As he approached Chip, Steven called out. “Hey, buddy, why the cloak and dagger stuff?”
Chip didn’t answer and he didn’t turn around. He just stood there facing into the wind and the rain. Steven, somewhat perplexed by the lack of response, stepped up next to him and stood there looking out to sea just as Chip was doing. After a few moments of awkward silence, Steven asked, “What are we doing here, Chip?”
Chip shrugged his shoulders, his gaze focused on the sea. Steven, not sure what to say, stood silently for a few more minutes, then touched his friend’s arm while looking at his face and asked, “Care to share my umbrella?” That was when Steven noticed that Chip wasn’t really looking out to sea. He was just staring into space with a look of deep sorrow on his face. When Chip didn’t answer, Steven asked, “What’s wrong, Chip?” as he waved for his personal guard to back away and give them space.
Chip blinked his eyes and sighed before he answered. He then stated quietly, “They killed them!” His eyes continued to look straight ahead as the wind-driven rain pelted his face.
“Who killed whom?” Steven asked.
“The terrorists killed Elaine and the kids! They killed Ryan and Nichol. They were just babies,” Chip stated through a catch in his voice. Chip’s eyes appeared to be on the verge of tears, or maybe he was already crying—it was hard to tell in the rain.
“Elaine and the kids? Where? How?” Steven inquired.
“They were in San Antonio at the shopping mall that the terrorists attacked Friday morning.”
“Oh, God, no! That can’t be. Oh, no, Chip, I’m so sorry! Let’s get you on my plane, I’ll fly you there. Come on let’s get you to the airport,” Steven offered as he started to turn away.
“That won’t change anything or help anyone. David has his friends to console him. We were never that kind of close, anyway. I’ll attend the funerals, or rather the funeral, after the medical examiner confirms the IDs and cause of death. I’ll catch a flight on my own for that.”
“I won’t hear of it. Let me fly you there. I know that Mary will want us to be there for you and David. You’re family as far as we’re concerned.”
“No. David wants a very private ceremony—just a priest, himself and me at the internment. It’s a cremation. All three will be buried together,” Chip replied curtly in a near sob, his pain showing on his face as well as in his voice.
Steven took no offense. He knew his friend was hurting badly, and he was struggling to vent his pain. They stood together looking out at the sea, and after several minutes, Steven placed his hand on Chip’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain and find a place to have a drink. I know you can use one.”
“I need to know a few things, Steven,” Chip blurted out while failing to move at his friend’s touch.
“Like what?” Steven asked with a puzzled expression on his face as he turned his back to the rain.
“How committed are you?” Chip asked.
“How committed to what?” Steven replied.
“I turned in my retirement papers this morning. And now I need to know if you were serious about your private army or rather your security force.”
“I’m very serious!”
“I’m not talking about some half-assed operation. It has to be all or nothing,” Chip stated brusquely.
“What would you like me to do to convince you? Write it in blood or something?” Steven teased, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
Chip turned and looked his friend directly in the eye. “That would be a start,” he stated coldly, without a hint of humor. After a moment of silence, still staring at his friend, Chip continued in a stern, clear voice, “There’s going to be lots of blood. The people you’re asking me to protect you from don’t care if they live or die, and they certainly want to kill you and me. There is likely to be an ocean of blood, and it’ll get on everyone and everything close to it. There won’t be any positive spin to put on this if the wrong people find out. Everything and everyone you hold dear will be at risk.”
“Like they aren’t now?” Steven blurted out. “I’m a target and my family is a target just because I’m successful. The fact that I’m a Westerner is icing on the cake! Look around,” Steven loudly uttered as he waved his arms expansively, “you think I like having to travel with this circus? And you know my family has even more people watching them. I don’t have a choice. I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do to protect my family, my company and my country. Yeah, I’m prepared to take the heat. The group will provide everything, and we won’t spare the money to do more or to get the best of both men and equipment. You have carte blanche. You’re in charge, totally and completely,” Steven stated with an air of finality.
“I’ll walk the minute you try to tell me to ace some politico here in the States or a business suit that you simply don’t like. I’ll also spill everything to anyone who’ll listen. The only rules I’ll accept are the Marquis of Queensbury Rules,” Chip stated flatly.
“What are those?” Steven queried.
“Those I place on myself. It’s a deal breaker otherwise,” Chip stated, his voice as cold as the dark side of the moon.
“You have the final say on everything we do,” Steven assured him once more.
“The first operation will be to go after the cell that killed my family,” Chip stated icily, his voice hard and final. His eyes were locked on his friend in a cold stare.
“I can live with that, as long as you also have teams working on the regular protection details and boosting corporate security, as well.” Steven stated as he looked off in the distance, not enjoying seeing this side of his friend.
He hesitated for a moment and then said, “I know you. You don’t think the government will do anything about the attacks. You feel the only way to get justice is to kill them yourself, right?” Steven asked, and when Chip didn’t answer, Steven laid into him.
“Now who’s on the ego and power trip? Huh?” Steven asked, echoing Chip’s comments from the night they talked about Steven’s reasons for wanting to do this just eight days ago.
Chip’s expression didn’t change and his words were hard as stone. “I don’t care how you feel about it. It’s another deal breaker. You know damn well, just as I do, the government won’t bother to find them. They won’t take the action needed to ensure that there will never be another attack, because someone, somewhere, will be offended if they do. They’ll bend over backwards to keep things politically correct,” Chip snarled.
“If you have half the connections and half the intelligence capabilities you claim, we can find them and we can kill every last son of a bitch. It’s time that we started acting like them and started terrorizing them. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it!” Chip’s voice was sharp as a razor’s edge.
Steven stood staring out to sea for several moments before he spoke again. “So why did we have to meet out here in the rain?”
“Because I didn’t come to this decision lightly, and I didn’t want anyone watching or listening. The rain causes problems for prying eyes and ears. But mostly, I didn’t want to taint my office or yours with talk of treason,” Chip stated.
“I am turning my back on my government and my country, which I have spent my whole adult life supporting and defending. That stops today! The assholes in charge do not deserve my loyalty. Their inaction has caused the death of my family and will cause the death of my country if I don’t take a stand.
“The Declaration of Independence states, or maybe it was just Thomas Jefferson who said, ‘For evil to triumph, all it takes is for good men to do nothing.’ I’ve stopped being a good man doing nothing! So, where’s my post?” Chip curtly asked.
“I think you’ll find it satisfactory. Have you got time for a trip today?” Steven asked as he put his hand on Chip’s shoulder. This time, C
hip let him lead him to the car.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Charles (Chip) Clarett, former Marine Corps Commandant, General and former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs for the United States of America stood on the warm sandy beach, looking at the sea. The sun danced across the gentle chop, and seagulls drifted lazily back and forth across the sky searching for their morning meal. On the same beach stood Chip, puffing lazily on a cigar that he’d received as a retirement gift from a buddy at the Pentagon. It tasted surprisingly good after four years without having had one.
He had promised his late wife, Peg, that he’d quit smoking before she died a little over four years ago. He felt a bit guilty about it, so he’d come out to the beach to hide in the vastness of the view. It was strange how life had changed so drastically in just four years. Hell, in just the last six months, everything in his life had changed, and nothing would ever be the same again.
His thoughts drifted to the day he met Peg. It was at Coronado Beach in San Diego. He was a Second Lieutenant, thirteen months out of the academy, eight months out of boot and three weeks after seeing his first action in Grenada.
In Grenada, he’d been placed in charge of three platoons. He’d led them ashore in the early hours of October 25th, 1983 and promptly met the heaviest resistance on the island. It was later agreed on by the Gunnery Sergeants that it was his skill in deploying the squad that had led to an extremely low casualty rate among his men. He had lost only two men during the engagement, and that was due to a landmine. The low rate of casualties led to his squad capturing the island’s airport and television station. Plus, somewhere along the way, he had managed to single-handedly save three wounded men from an angry mob of Grenadian citizens and a handful of Cuban infantry. His efforts that night and the next day earned him two Purple Hearts and a Silver Star. Chip Clarett was a true blue American war hero.
Peg couldn’t help but fall in love with the modest young war hero, and they had enjoyed almost thirty-five years together. He was still heartbroken that she had up and died of breast cancer. He told himself if he had been truly courageous, he’d have died with her. She had meant that much to him.
He couldn’t help but wonder what she would have thought of his latest command. He used to be an American, but now he was an expatriate, living in a foreign country, with citizenship in yet another foreign country. He had almost no family left and very few, if any, close friends. He’d left them all behind in order not to compromise the mission. Such was life as a soldier, except he wasn’t exactly a soldier any longer. He’d quit. He’d just up and left when his country had needed him most, even if they didn’t realize it. He told himself he quit because his hands were tied by the politicians. The popfarts in Washington were running scared, they would do anything to placate the terrorists and avoid their wrath at all costs, even if it meant surrendering. He couldn’t stomach that, regardless of the circumstances.
Houston and San Antonio had cost America dearly. There were twenty-six thousand dead and twelve thousand injured. Our ability to refine gasoline fast enough to meet our national needs had been severely depleted. In the wake of the attacks, the country was forced to ration gas—similar to what had gone on during World War II—and the gas you could get was eleven dollars a gallon.
The economy had tanked faced with exorbitant transportation costs, unemployment soared and the country’s feeling of well being became a distant memory. People no longer felt safe in their homes or at their place of employment or anywhere else for that matter.
As far as Chip was concerned the deaths of his grandchildren and their mother had been the straw that had broken the camel’s back. Enough was enough! It was now going to cost America’s enemies big time.
The start of modern day hostilities with the Islamic terrorists had been back in the nineteen eighties. It began with the attack on the Marine barracks in Beirut, Lebanon. But the war had actually started two centuries earlier as a new nation took its first faltering steps.
The Barbary Coast Pirates began attacking America’s fledging merchant fleet and its even less battle tested navy, seeking ransom and tribute. The Muslims call it jizya. It’s a tax paid by non-Muslims to Muslims to ensure they won’t be attacked by them. It’s the exact same principle as a local business person paying protection money to the local thugs, only this was religiously sanctioned.
The measured response of the Reagan White House to the Marine barracks bombing had caused Chip great frustration. In his mind, the country had turned its back on the Marines that had died there, and every man or woman in uniform, regardless of the branch of service. You can’t win a war by talking about it. Once blood has been drawn, the time for talking is over. At least, that was how Chip felt.
A favorite old adage of his was, “If force doesn’t work, then you’re not using it properly.” He believed that adage to be absolutely true. If you don’t go all out to win, then don’t even try, because you can’t win unless you give it everything you have.
The Islamic Terrorists have decided that our very existence is an affront to them and their God. They are at war with us because their God, through their fanatical political and religious leaders, has told them that we are evil and must be killed. Many of the true religious fanatics hope to die while trying to kill infidels. If they are killed while trying, even if they don’t succeed, they get to go to heaven. You can’t negotiate with someone with that kind of mindset. You have to kill them before they kill you!
The politicians are so full of themselves that they are blind to the truth; the truth that our enemies, at any cost, want to destroy America! To ask them to stop attacking us and negotiate a truce—one that allows us to live in peace, continuing with our way of life—would be blasphemy to them. It cuts the heart out of their religious beliefs. Beliefs that say it is their holy duty to kill infidels, a category which includes anyone who is not a Muslim.
It’s a belief so deeply ingrained into their culture that the mindset cannot be changed by our understanding them or being sensitive to their beliefs. Our very lives are the epitome of evil as far as they are concerned. They’ll negotiate, but only until they can regroup and attack again, which any blind man can see is the state of the relationship between the Israelis and the Palestinians. America gets the blame for every evil done to them, real or imagined, even those that are imposed upon them by their own leaders.
Chip took a deep cleansing breath of sea air and turned away from the sea, dropping his cigar butt in the sand and plowing it under with the toe of his boot. He then walked back to the three storied, sprawling, ocean blue concrete building he now called home.
To anyone who cared to look, it was just another non-descript three hundred room hotel on some little Caribbean island, complete with tennis courts and swimming pools. There were even boat docks, a Tiki Bar and a private airfield big enough to land DC-10s; but this wasn’t a hotel. It was Kilauea Corporation’s Research and Development Facility and the main base of operations for its new, worldwide security force. Steven had done what he said he would.
In the sixties, the Soviets, without the knowledge of United States, had built the facility as their frontline cold war bunker. The island nation of the Bahamas was quick to secretly take the hundred and twenty-five million offered for a ninety-nine year lease, with an additional five million a year to help bolster their country’s meager financial reserves. America and the West never knew it was there. They were way too focused on Cuba to worry about one of hundreds of new tourist hotels popping up across the region.
After the fall of the Soviet Union, the place sat vacant for ten years before Steven got wind of it. A Bahamian official was lamenting over the price that Steven was asking when he jokingly asked if Steven wanted an island. They haggled over the price for several months, but Steven finally struck a deal.
The Bahamian government got the new computers and programming they desired at no cost, and Steven got title to the island and all of its unique and secret features. He’d acquired the island ten
years before he and Chip officially began operating the Corporate Security Force. Steven was a true visionary, and once he set his sights on something, he was tenacious as a bulldog.
After renovating it, he opened his research and development offices. He also opened the hotel portion of the island to corporate employees for inexpensive vacations which remained as the facility’s official, public function as far as anyone outside the upper level of Kilauea management was concerned.
Seventy percent of the facility was underground and out of sight from prying eyes and ears. Hidden below ground were the communication, command and control centers with satellite enhanced worldwide communications. Every system was encrypted with the latest Mauna Loa programming which was one generation ahead of the best system Steven sold to the U.S. government. Together with the trio of super computers housed in the Bryson City facility networked with the island via encrypted burst transmitters, it gave Chip the most powerful and most sophisticated computers in the world with which to do his data mining.
In addition, the island had a fully stocked armory, training simulators and even a fully equipped and staffed hospital. But the real jewel of the facility was the underwater submarine base where the military supplies arrived via a late model British diesel submarine.
The sub had been acquired, along with two more just like it, at auction through three different shell companies, stating they would be using them for deep ocean research projects. In reality, the shell companies were complete dead ends that had existed for the sole purpose of purchasing the subs and then promptly ceasing to exist. To help ensure that the true ownership would never be discovered. Steven had installed a ghost program in all of the Kilauea Corp’s operating systems that led any curious searcher to a Chinese shipping company in Singapore. It would appear that the Chinese had purchased the subs using the shell companies. Where they went from there was a mystery.
Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises Page 18