“You want to recruit the former directors of the FBI and the CIA to work with us? Why would they be willing to do that?” Steven asked, completely surprised by the request.
“They love this country as much as you and I do,” Chip blurted out. “They were the best men America has had in those positions in last sixty years. They’re both former career military and they have thirty-five years of intelligence experience between them. Westlyn was an admiral in charge of Naval Intelligence and Richland was a colonel in Army Intelligence. They both know what the real situation is with our allies and our enemies. They know all about commercial and industrial espionage, plus who’s behind it. Turns out, many of our so-called allies are up to their necks in it. More importantly, they know Washington and where a lot of the bodies are buried. Information you’re going to need to win back the White House,” Chip just kept selling the idea.
“What happens if these guys or just one of them decides that he doesn’t like what we’re doing and alerts the current administration?” Steven asked.
“I’ll have them eliminated,” Chip shot back deadpan.
“What?” Steven blurted out.
“I’m kidding! They won’t be alerting anyone. I’ve already been using them somewhat, and they both are open to the idea of coming on board full time and ramping up the war on terror. They also want to find ways to undermine the current administration. They know people; they can call and get intelligence that’s not in any computer or written down anywhere. That’s the intelligence that will get us out in front of the terrorists and Starks at the next election,” Chip pushed.
“Where are they going to work out of?” Steven asked, warming up to the idea.
“I’d have Richland in Bryson City. He lives just twenty miles away in Maggie Valley already, and Westlyn, I’d have him work from here part of the time and from Bryson the rest of the time. He and his wife are driving around in one of those motorhomes at the moment just sightseeing. But I know for sure, Alice would love for Bob to get a job and settle down somewhere. I’m sure you can come up with titles for the two of them, making it sound like they’re big wigs in sales or something, am I right?” Chip suggested.
“Yeah, sure, I can say they’re my new VPs in charge of international sales or that they are Senior Risk Analysts. I’ll trust you to get them to agree to a reasonable pay package and our confidential agreement.” Chip had made the sale.
“It’s already done,” Chip quipped.
“What? Oh, I see. You already talked to them and they agreed. You just wanted me to sign off, is that it?” Steven inquired.
“Well, you did say I was in charge and I could do anything I wanted, right?” Chip reminded him sarcastically.
“You’re in charge. But, if these guys blow up, I will sic Maria on you,” Steven jabbed back at Chip.
“Why do that, when you could just shoot me?” Chip jokingly replied.
“’Cause she’d make it hurt for a hell of a lot longer,” Steven snickered as he hung up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jason Combs sat tapping his foot, waiting in his office for the president to grace him with his presence. He’d called the president’s secretary three hours ago and asked for ten minutes right away. As usual, Starks had her call him back to explain that he was busy, but he would be down from the residence shortly, instructing Jason to wait for him in his office. President Starks never bothered to hurry where Jason was concerned. It was like he was the last person on earth he wanted to see.
Jason sat staring at the communiqué from the Israeli Ambassador, explaining that they had hard intelligence regarding one of the terrorists involved with the attack on Houston and San Antonio. It had to do with the banker, David Ashrawl. They strongly believed he is in the West Bank town of Nablus. The Al-Aqsa Martyr’s Brigade was hiding him in one of their many brigade barracks buildings there. The Israelis were offering to raid the location or to simply blow it to bits with missiles. They were waiting for an answer as the operation was time sensitive.
Combs knew that the president could care less about the Israelis and their timetable. He also knew that he wouldn’t be willing to accept their offer until Bascome signed off on it. Combs had toyed with the idea of calling Bascome and having him come over to the White House so he would be here when the president finally appeared. But he wasn’t about to get into another shouting match with that asshole over the amount of time that he wasted waiting for the president to arrive for meetings.
Jason’s phone rang and he picked it up after two rings. The secretary informed him that it was the Israeli Ambassador on line three for him. Jason thanked her and told her to put him through.
“Good evening, Ambassador Adelstein,” Jason answered the phone. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”
“I was wondering if President Starks has reached a decision yet. We are in need of a minimum of twenty-four hours to prepare for the raid. With the history of the Brigade holding persons of interest in their safe houses for only a short period of time, time is of the essence. Typically, within forty-eight hours the person of interest has moved on. We would need you to agree that we are the ones to go in and get him within the next few hours in order to have a chance of effecting a capture or a kill, Mr. Combs.” The ambassador didn’t mince any words with Jason.
“I can assure you, Mr. Ambassador, that your offer is being given the highest of consideration as we speak. I am hopeful that we will have a decision within a reasonable time frame,” Jason responded.
“I can assure you, Mr. Combs, if the IDF does not have sufficient time to plan the mission and verify the intelligence, we will no longer be in a position to help our closest ally bring such a heinous criminal to justice.”
“I can fully appreciate your situation, Mr. Ambassador, and I can assure you that our command staff is deliberating as we speak on this very subject. I am equally sure, sir, that the IDF will proceed to map out the mission and to fully prepare for said mission, as they are fully aware of the time consuming nature of the political debates that are involved whenever such a mission is contemplated. Now, having said that, sir, let me assure you, once more, as soon as I know, I will be contacting you forthwith, as we, too, want to bring this criminal to justice. I assume I can reach you through the switchboard at the embassy?” Jason began his goodbyes.
“Yes, Mr. Combs, through the switchboard will be fine. Please give Israel’s best regards to your president. If there is any additional information that I can provide, please do not hesitate to call.”
“Yes, Mr. Ambassador, I will. Please convey my personal respects, as well as our country’s, to your Prime Minister. I will keep you informed, and thank you for calling,” Jason said, signaled that the call was over.
“Thank you for taking my call,” the ambassador replied, taking the hint and ending the call. Jason hung up the phone and glanced at the Israeli message once more. It was short and sweet.
It read: To: The President of the United States of America, Allan Starks
C/O Mr. Jason Combs, Chief of Staff, White House
United States of America
From: Ambassador Pihon Adelstein, Ambassador to the United States of America for the Republic of Israel.
Dear Sir,
Israeli IDF forces have brought to my attention that they have solid intelligence that would lead them to believe the terrorist, David Ashrawl, has been given refuge in the West Bank town of Nablus by the Al-Aqsa Martyr’s Brigade. The IDF has the exact location of the safe house which is attached to the Brigade Headquarter’s building. It is believed the IDF could—if you are agreeable and would formally request that the IDF, on your behalf—exert all efforts to secure the capture or the elimination of said criminal/terrorist, David Ashrawl, a male of Palestinian birth and currently a Jordanian citizen. He also holds an American work visa. It is suspected that we have a limited window of opportunity in which take this action and your immediate response would be of the essence.
Thank You,<
br />
Ambassador Pihon Adelstein, Ambassador
to the United States of America for the Republic of Israel.
Jason closed his eyes and was just about to nod off, when President Starks slapped the wall next to his door and spoke loudly. “Wake up, Jason. You got your five minutes and then I’ve got to get back my guests in the residence.”
“Good evening, sir. Sorry to have bothered you, but I expected you would want to be involved in this and not just apprised of the situation.”
“So, what’s up? Let’s make this quick. Like I said, I’ve got guests in the residence.” President Starks once again demonstrated that his office was to take second place to his social engagements. “But first, what the hell happened in Cuba?
“Well, sir, the NSA and the CIA are doing all they can to discover what really happened in Cienforgo, Cuba. The official line is it was a natural gas tanker explosion, but the destruction is inconsistent with what one would expect from such a blast. What is left of Cienforgo looks a lot like a nuclear blast. Maybe Roger will have more up-to-date information since he is in charge of the investigation.
“Okay, what’s the issue you got me down here for?
“Yes, sir. We’ve received a communiqué from the Israelis in regard to the financier for the attacks on Houston and San Antonio, David Ashrawl. They have reliable intelligence that says he’s in the West Bank town of Nablus, under the protection of the Al-Aqsa Martyr’s Brigade. The Israelis are proposing that they run point on a mission to apprehend and/or eliminate Mr. Ashrawl for us. They are seeking written authorization from us, asking for their assistance and cooperation in this matter.”
“They want what? They want us to ask them in writing to help us?” President Starks instantly was irate. “Where’s Bascome. I don’t need those holier than thou Jews telling me what do. Where’s Bascome? We’ll just go in and get the asshole ourselves. Where do they get off demanding we put our request in writing? Are they thinking the UN will try to investigate the aftermath? They do know that I can veto any investigation, right? Jason, I don’t see you dialing Bascome. Get his ass over here right now!”
“Yes, sir.” Jason began dialing Bascome’s emergency cell phone. It rang three times before he answered.
“Jason, what do you want? Do you know what time it is?” Bascome practically shouted into the phone.
“Yeah, it’s ten thirty, why? Did you lose your watch?”
“Don’t get smart with me. I’ll have your ass in the street by midnight. I am the director of the NSA and a whole lot more important to the overall plan than you are, so shut up and tell me what the fuck you want.” Bascome was in a wonderful mood. President Starks held out his hand beckoning Jason to hand the phone to him after watching Jason’s expression as he listened.
“Roger, get out of bed and get your ass in here in thirty minutes. You got that?” Starks growled into the phone.
“Yes, Mr. President. I’m on my way.”
Starks handed the phone back to Jason, who made sure it was hung up. As soon as it was, Starks blurted out, “You just have to tell Roger the way it is and he jumps right to it.”
“I beg to differ, sir. You have to tell Roger Bascome what to do and when to do it, in order for him to jump right to it. If I spoke to him that way, he’d most likely have a black ops team kill me by morning.” Jason grinned at the president.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Starks chuckled as he pulled up a chair to the side of Jason’s desk and sat down. “Roger does believe he is God’s gift to this world and people had better respect him for it. You have anything else we need to talk about before he gets here?” Starks asked.
“Well, sir, Steven Howard addressed the Veterans of Foreign Wars Convention in St. Louis this afternoon, and he bashed you quite badly. He was extremely critical of your efforts to get to the bottom of the terrorist attacks, and he went as far to as to call for a congressional investigation of the matter. He sited several internal memos from the FBI and CIA that point the finger directly at Islamic terrorists, while you’re ordering the FBI and Homeland Security to investigate what he is referring to as the ‘absolute falsehood’ of Hispanic gangs committing homegrown terror.” Jason stopped and waited for the typical Starks reaction to criticism. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Damn it, Jason! Didn’t I tell you to shut this guy up? What the hell are you doing about him?” Starks was standing now and staring at Jason as he leaned over the corner of the desk, using his best intimidation technique on him.
“I’ve ordered the IRS to investigate both his personal and his business returns. But for every IRS agent that we put on his case, he puts five lawyers. I’ve strongly suggested that the SEC look into his business practices, but since his businesses are all held privately, there is no case for the SEC to make since he’s not in the securities or banking business. There is no stock to manipulate. There are no shareholders to cheat. Justice has found no wrong doing of any kind, and the private investigators have yet to turn up anything of a scandalous nature. It hasn’t been easy.”
“Like I give a rat’s ass if it’s easy. I want Howard shut up. Every time he speaks, I lose points in the polls.”
“Maybe you could rebut some of his allegations,” Jason suggested.
“Are you that fucking stupid? Jason, think! That’s exactly what he wants me to do. He can then drag me into a protracted debate of the issues which gives him credibility. He can then inject himself into the race for my office in two years. I won’t give him the time of day. Now, I want him stopped. Get yourself on the talk shows and blast Howard for bellyaching and not presenting any solutions. Claim he’s a better politician than I am and that the press had better find out what office he’s running for. Talk in the abstract about the rich not paying their fair share and how his greed is so big and overwhelming that he not only has amassed great wealth—billions of dollars on the backs of his employees—but now he wants to rule America for his personal profit. Come on, Jason, you know how to play this game. Get with it!” Starks lectured Jason.
Suddenly someone cleared his throat, one of the secret service men, signaling that someone was approaching. Sure enough, Bascome walked up to the door a moment later.
“Roger, good of you to join us,” Starks sarcastically greeted the director of the NSA.
“Good evening, sir,” Bascome responded ignoring Jason and the president’s comment.
“Is this where we’re meeting?”
“Why, yes it is. It shouldn’t take too long,” Starks continued with the sarcasm.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” Bascome asked politely.
“First, what happened in Cuba?” Starks asked.
“Well, sir, we know for a fact that is wasn’t nuclear. Our military sources believe it was a fuel air bomb. However, we cannot confirm that. But it seems the most likely of possibilities. To confirm it, we’d need someone in the Cuban government to confess that was what it was. Otherwise we’re forced to speculate,” Bascome informed the president.
“Interesting. Do we know why the bombs were in the harbor?”
“Again, sir, it’s all just speculation, but we believe they were either receiving a shipment of the weapons or they were preparing a shipment of the weapons. Who the shipment was meant for, we will probably never know. However, there are several Middle Eastern, South American and Far East countries that come to mind as possible end users. To find that out will take time.”
Okay, keep me informed of any major developments and let’s move on. The Israelis claim to have a lead, a solid lead, on the banker used to handle the finances for the terrorists who attacked Houston and San Antonio, that guy…ahh…” Starks looked off the right for moment and then blurted out, “David Ashrawl. They say they will capture or kill him for us, but only if we make a formal request in writing. I think its bullshit and we’ll just go get him ourselves, but I wanted your opinion before I committed to it either way.”
“Well, sir, they do have the experti
se when it comes to staging raids on Palestinian strongholds. It is in their backyard, so they already have men and equipment deployed, ready and waiting to go. We’d need, I guess, anywhere from seventy-two to ninety-six hours to get men, equipment and plans in place. The authorizations to cross borders in order to make the raid, well, that’s anybody’s guess as to how long that takes. They have a definite advantage in those areas.” Roger started to list the challenges the United States would face making the raid when Starks interrupted.
“I would think we could borrow half a dozen choppers from our own bases in Iraq and just fly in, pick him up and fly out again. What’s wrong with that?” Starks asked.
“Nothing, sir, provided we can get permission to cross Jordanian or Syrian airspace. Plus, we will need the Israeli’s permission to enter the West Bank and to commit a military raid there without their involvement.”
“You think securing their permission would be difficult?” Starks asked.
“The Israelis…I’m sure they are still feeling the sting of your allowing the UN to demand that Israel allow them to inspect the cargos of the two ships they had seized off Lebanon last month. They were clearly in international waters and they were clearly carrying heavy duty military equipment, tanks, armor personnel carriers, rockets launchers and such, bound for Lebanon.
“In the past, it has been our position that Israel had the right to stop this type of shipment into Lebanon under their right to defend themselves against the terrorist groups of Hezbollah and Hamas. This time, however, you had our ambassador to the UN criticize them as badly as the Arab countries had. I’m sure they are a bit gun shy and want to be assured that we won’t hang them out to dry again. Frankly, I’m surprised they even offered,” Bascome concluded.
Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises Page 30