by Gordon Ryan
Despite having received no formal communication, Dewhirst knew what was coming. Del Valle was finally going to resign his position as Adjutant General for the State of California, as well as his position as Commander, California National Guard. He’d been increasingly distraught at the direction of the secession. The collective failure of the military and the California legislature to stop the movement had brought him to the end of his patience. Truth be known, Governor Dewhirst felt the same way, but had decided to serve out his term-another twenty-one months-and be the last governor of the state of California before it became an independent nation.
Del Valle’s turn came and he pushed his drive, coming to rest a few paces off the fairway some twenty yards behind Dewhirst’s ball. The two carts drove forward about thirty yards, and the ladies stepped on to their tee while the men remained seated.
“Monday morning sound about right, with an effective date of July 1 ^st?” Governor Dewhirst said.
Del Valle stared quietly at his partner, a man with whom he’d been playing golf for most of the past ten years. “I’d swear you’re clairvoyant, Walt.”
Dewhirst laughed, then quickly went silent as his wife shot him a disapproving look. Her partner, Jean Del Valle, was addressing her ball, and she was a stickler for the etiquette of golf. She sent a nice drive down the fairway about one eighty, and the ladies walked back toward their cart. Dewhirst drove forward toward the resting place of his wife’s drive, resuming his humorous chuckle.
“I’m not so much clairvoyant, Bob, as you are transparent. You wear your feelings on your sleeve, at least as they pertain to the secession.”
“You’re right, as usual. In the modern-day, California vernacular, it sucks, Walt. It just plain sucks.”
Again, Dewhirst started to laugh. “You’ve begun to make the transition to civilian life already. When you finally get frustrated enough, you can start saying, ‘ whatever,’ and fit right in. But you’re right. It does suck. The whole damn thing has gotten to this point on a fraudulent basis, yet here we are. Have you decided what you’re going to do?” As Jean Del Valle prepared to hit her second shot, Dewhirst parked some distance away so they could continue to whisper. “Or are you really going to retire?”
“Confidential, right?” Del Valle asked.
“Of course, Bob.”
“I’ve accepted appointment as the chief executive officer of The Montclair Advocacy.”
Dewhirst’s eyes grew larger and he nodded his head. “Very prestigious appointment, Bob, and no better man for the job. Heading the nation’s premier conservative think tank is an outstanding opportunity. They’ve already come out against the secession, no matter how far down the pike the political process. Do you think Montclair can turn it around?”
“I don’t know, Walt, I truly don’t,” he said as they started forward again, pausing as Jean Del Valle took her second shot. “But we’re damn sure going to lobby against it. The Board was adamant when they offered the appointment that they did not want to surrender to the ‘ragged mob, ’ as they called it.”
“Isn’t Dan Rawlings using Montclair Advocacy as his consulting firm for preparation of the constitutional document?”
Del Valle nodded as Walter Dewhirst drove toward his partner’s ball. “He is. In fact, he’s contracted with Montclair to meet with his larger, multi-state group in Mexico next month to discuss the bigger picture. He doesn’t know I’m going to be there to try to dissuade them from pursuing the idea.”
“I read in your monthly National Guard newsletter that you promoted him to major earlier this month.”
Del Valle nodded acknowledgement, stepping out of the cart and choosing his seven iron. “He’s gotten on the bandwagon for secession for some foolhardy reason, but I had to recognize his contribution to the whole Shasta Brigade and election fiasco. General Connor advised me that the president-Prescott, actually-suggested he receive some commendation, so we gave him a Bronze Star and a promotion to major.”
“It’s not undeserved, Bob,” Dewhirst said.
Del Valle looked toward the first green, sized up his shot, and hit the ball about five feet onto the front surface of the green, leaving a forty-foot, two putt for par. He replaced his club and stepped back into the cart. “You’re right, Walt. Rawlings is a good and capable man, but I just can’t get my head around why he’s shifted his political positioning on this issue.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Walter Dewhirst said as they drove toward his tee shot, “depending on where they set the minimum age for governor in the new constitution, Daniel Rawlings may damn well be my replacement as governor of California, whatever the state is called at that time.”
Del Valle was quiet for several long moments as the governor took his approach shot, placing it inside all three balls that were on or just off the putting surface, then driving toward the cart path which circled the elevated green. Then, as they retrieved their putters, he commented again.
“If it has to happen, he’s probably a good man for the job, Walt. He doesn’t have your experience or flair for compromise solutions that satisfies all parties, but I have to admit, Major Rawlings is a good officer, and now he has an equally good woman as his wife. Nicole Rawlings is a capable force in her own right. A man can go far with such a woman at his side.”
“Shhh,” Dewhirst whispered, “don’t let the women hear you say that, or we’ll be on the hook for another Mediterranean cruise.”
Chapter 12
Eisenhower Executive Office Building
Office of Information amp; Public Relations
Department of Homeland Security
Washington, D.C.
March
Brigadier Sir Colin McIntyre, military attache to the British Embassy in Washington, sat on the far side of the long, oval table, accompanied by Major Trevor Hampton, Executive Officer of the British Special Air Service 22 ^nd Regiment, Lieutenant Colonel Harold Armstrong, commanding officer of the Australian SAS Regiment, and Captain Cameron Rossiter, commanding officer of OAT, the Offshore Assault Team, part of Australia’s SAS counter-terrorism effort.
On the near side sat General Padraig Connor in his capacity as Director of the Office of Information and Public Relations, Department of Homeland Security, known to the men around the table as Trojan. To his right sat Carlos Castro, his Deputy Director and recently retired Sergeant Major, United States Marine Corps. Other participants included Clark Webb, FBI counterterrorism liaison, and John Blanchard, CIA. They had been joined by Theodore Cannidy, the president’s newly appointed National Security Advisor, who had served President Steadman as Secretary of Defense.
At the far end of the table sat William Austin, newly confirmed as Secretary, Department of Homeland Security. Following his meeting with President Snow several weeks earlier, Austin was quickly confirmed by the United States Senate to his new cabinet post in the unprecedented time of nine days. General Austin chaired the meeting. Standing at the opposite end of the table in front of the projection screen stood Lars Johansson, a member of Homeland Security’s domestic threat analysis directorate.
“Gentleman, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Secretary Austin said. “With respect to our joint international terrorist efforts, the past few days have forced us to consider a complete revision of our thinking as regards what level of threat was posed against us. The information obtained by General Connor, Mr. Castro, and Captain Rossiter from their exploits in the South Pacific have stirred the proverbial hornet’s nest, to say the least. When our friend, Mr. Wolff, arrived at the Thomson Correction Facility, he was greeted with the usual procedure and isolated from all outside contact. From the filmed interview we have just seen, both the short clip from the yacht and his initial interrogation at Thomson, you can see that he was not cooperative, even though he was threatened with placement into the general population, which he was told included a group of Middle Eastern captives. He will remain at Thomson until the Department of Justice determines how to handle
his case. In the present environment of terrorist judicial rights, I’m afraid he might go free. We actually have no evidence of any specific crime to which we can tie Mr. Wolff.”
“I don’t concur. We have the testimony of those involved in the California secession movement and the Shasta Brigade attacks. Mr. Secretary,” Pug said, turning to look at Austin, “there are several witnesses and some testimony that has implicated Wolff.”
“Most of those principals are dead or easily impeachable,” Austin replied. He looked down the table at Carlos. “Mr. Castro, I concur that you made the correct decision to bring him out, rather than the alternative, despite the fact that he might be set free. But I’m curious. Why did you make that decision?”
Carlos considered his response for a few seconds, then nodded and replied. “Mr. Secretary, General Connor left that determination to my discretion. Earlier in the evening, prior to my entry, the lookout team had observed two Indonesian or Filipino men who were present in his quarters. They had been identified by Australian SAS as part of a terrorist assault three months earlier, resulting in Australian deaths. After eliminating those terrorists and subduing Mr. Wolff, my initial questioning, under sedation, indicated to me that he was preparing an upcoming operation, perhaps involving the Filipino group. Then, upon observing the written notes in his possession-notes I could not fully comprehend, since they were in French-I was able to decipher enough to feel that he would have information of additional importance which I did not have the time to extract. NSA has since removed and translated all the relevant information from his laptop.”
“It appears your judgment was correct. In any event,” Austin continued, “we’re faced with an international dilemma somewhat different than we’ve been anticipating. The impending threat, while less spectacular, is much more dangerous. If the information from his computer is correct, and much of it has already been corroborated, then Australia, Britain, and the United States can look forward to a blood bath in the streets throughout our three countries. Raising the threat level, at least in America, will only exacerbate the situation, since we don’t have any definition of target location. Lars, give us a rundown of what we know and why this situation is so different. Unfortunately, gentlemen, as is often the case, what we know is far exceeded by what we don’t know. Lars.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Gentlemen, we got very little information from the video-taped interrogation we’ve just seen, part of which was taken at sea on the yacht. But, as you’ve also seen, the Thomson interrogation was a bit more informative. Then, we’ve acquired additional information from the data contained on his laptop. British and American intelligence agencies have been able to ferret out specifics about arms sales Wolff made, through his subsidiaries, to individual groups in England and Australia. In total, about two hundred hunting rifles of various caliber, scopes, an equal number of pistols and dozens of silencers, along with a couple hundred pounds of Semtex. But the sales, as small as they are, are not as important as the delivery information we obtained. Unfortunately, all weapons had been delivered prior to Wolff’s capture in Timor, and although we know where and when they were delivered, we have no idea where the weapons are now or, more specifically, who has them.”
Major Hampton, the British SAS officer, spoke first. “Mr. Johansson, you said sales to England and Australia. What about America?”
Secretary Austin answered. “As the gun control groups are always telling anyone who will listen, we already have plenty of those in every household, Major, we don’t need to buy them overseas or from clandestine arms dealers. You can buy them on nearly any street corner in the larger cities, or in gun shops, for that matter, with fake ID. But you can be certain they’ve added a few pounds of Semtex to their inventory as well.”
The CIA representative leaned forward in his chair and turned toward the briefer. “Mr. Johansson, from the written statement we received prior to this conference, all we’re talking about are a couple hundred rifles and handguns. What’s the particular flap about that level of weapons sales? Why is it important enough to involve Trojan?”
Lars continued the presentation. “Mr. Blanchard, as Secretary Austin indicated, this is not the type of threat for which we’ve planned. It’s not the amount or type of weapon that concerns us. It’s the delivery system for the attack. For years, we’ve focused on the interception or prevention of airline hijackers, despite our lack of complete control over foreign airports, as the recent KLM incident has shown.” He paused for a moment as those present reflected for a moment.
“We watch for weapons of mass destruction brought onto our shores, or even bio-chemical weapons. That level of threat perpetrated in a single, spectacular event, has been our greatest concern.”
Secretary Austin interrupted. “And those concerns still exist, and we have to be prepared to deal with them.”
“Exactly, but small arms…?” Blanchard queried, holding out both hands, palm up, in a “so what? ” gesture.
“Mr. Blanchard,” Secretary Austin continued, “if the information from Wolff is correct, the terrorist groups-and it should be noted we cannot confirm this is a Middle-East Al Qaida operation, it could be another of the Islamic splinter groups from Indonesia-have determined to go ‘low-tech’ for their next phase of operations. They learned one very significant fact from 9/11. They hurt us with over 3,000 deaths, and infuriated our nation. We brought down two Middle Eastern governments as a result. And they learned even more from the KLM incident: we’ll kill 300 to save 3,000, however distasteful it is. Afghanistan and Iraq, plus the Nobel Eagle Air Force action, demonstrated that we won’t stand for that kind of attack. But they also learned that the economic damage from 9/11 was far greater in the long run. After the KLM incident two months ago, the airline industry has once again nearly shut down. Two major companies are on the brink of bankruptcy after having barely recovered from the events of 9/11. It took over three years for the stock market to right itself again. No guesses on how long it will take us if this plan succeeds. The public furor over President Cumberland’s decision to take down the airliner, and the congressional demand to be notified immediately about future incidents before they’re enacted, is ridiculous, but it’s served to further lower confidence in our government. The stock market is always a victim of such public discord.”
Austin paused, scratched his chin, and looked around the table. “While these large-scale operations like the Twin Towers are disastrous, they can only be accomplished infrequently and they depend on a lapse in security. But these terrorist groups are not stupid, gentlemen. We do ourselves a disfavor to make that assumption. Terrorists have learned even more from watching our evening news. Let me ask the group a question. About ten years ago, what single event caused the most internal disruption to our citizens, albeit on a local scale, around Washington D.C.? A disruption, I remind you, that could be repeated quite easily in any environment with little risk attached? And a disruption, gentlemen, against which we have very little, if any, defense?”
The small group of men was silent for several long seconds.
“Urban snipers,” Captain Rossiter said.
“Excuse me?” the CIA’s Blanchard said, leaning further forward.
“Urban snipers, Mr. Blanchard, as General Connor projected in his written report,” the young Australian said more confidently. “One man and a rifle. Two men, referred to as the Beltway Sniper, stopped most retail business, disrupted social outings and personal shopping, and even cancelled school sports events in Virginia and the surrounding area for nearly two months over ten years ago.”
Again the room was quiet for several seconds. Secretary Austin broke the silence. “Captain Rossiter is right on the money. We’re not talking about hijacking, or dirty bombs, or chemical or even biological weapons in our water, for that matter. From Wolff’s laptop, we’ve learned the basics of the operational plan, or at least, we’ve pieced it together from several sources of information, since Wolff only knew the types of weapons sol
d. We’re talking about dozens-perhaps hundreds-of two-man hit squads who will scare our citizens to death, forcing them into seclusion… and do the same to our friends in England and Australia, if the analysis is correct. And that, gentlemen, is a threat which will render the strongest army in the world completely impotent. The only defense is aggressive local law enforcement, and, of course, civilian militia groups acting as vigilantes who will cause us yet another type of problem all by themselves. Carry on with your briefing, Lars. Let’s distribute the specifics of what we know. Then I suggest we go home, get with our respective intelligence agencies, wring our hands a bit more, and then decide how we can counteract this new dimension of grass roots terrorism we face.”
“Mr. Secretary,” Pug interjected, “as important as it was to us to obtain this information, doesn’t it strike you as peculiar that an operator like Wolff was scraping the barrel, being used as procurement officer for small arms? Something doesn’t ring true about this whole scenario.”
“Are you saying this is beneath him?” Austin asked.
“Sir, what I’m saying is that I think there’s more. That we don’t know the whole story yet.”
Forty-five minutes later when the meeting broke up, Carlos Castro slipped alongside Cameron Rossiter as they walked down the hallway. “I was surprised to see you here this morning. Going straight to another meeting?”
“No, we’re going to reconvene at the British Embassy at two.”
“How about some lunch?”
“Great. Your boss owes me dinner for a yacht charter, right?” Cameron smiled. “I’ll happily let you pay.”
Carlos laughed. “It was a short cruise, part of it in a rubber dingy. You’ll have to settle for a hot dog and a Coke in the park.”
“What, field rations? And here I always thought the American military had the finest kit available.”