by Gordon Ryan
“How very nice to see you again, Senator McKenzie. A pleasure that you joined us for lunch.”
Pug shook his head as the man filled their water glasses and then departed.
“I’m with a celebrity, it seems,” he said.
“Everyone in the surrounding area who makes their living in service, food, or otherwise, quickly learns the elected representatives. I sometimes think they have a picture board in the kitchen or the employee lounge.” She chuckled.
Pug took a sip of water and spread his napkin on his lap. He looked-stared, actually-at Rachel for several moments before speaking. She did not rise to the bait and open the conversation. She just smiled in return.
“I was surprised,” Pug said, “pleasantly surprised, I might add, when you agreed to have lunch today. Is lunch safer than dinner?”
“I knew I’d be hungry after a long meeting with General Wainscott,” she replied. “Besides, I was curious whether you really do pick your teeth at the table.”
“Ouch! I’ll have to be careful what I reveal around you, it seems. But Wainscott was well prepared, wasn’t he?” Pug added.
“I expected nothing less. This is a big proposal, and an important departure from our personal liberty. I’m sure the general did not make the recommendation without long consideration. And it probably was hard for him and his colleagues to admit that the Army is not prepared for a domestic security role. They’ve been doing it for several years in Iraq, of course, but to have to patrol American cities, American streets, and to restrain American citizens-that would leave a bad taste in the military psyche, I would assume, and I can only imagine what it would do to the public image of our military. I have no reason to question his motives, nor his intent.”
Pug grew serious, his facial expression transparent. “Rachel, why are so many elected officials in support of these measures? What’s to be gained from clamping a lid on free movement of our citizens and subjecting them to search and seizure? The chances of actually preventing one of these random attacks is minimal at best.”
Rachel looked away for a long moment, watching the people transiting the lobby floor, about ten to twelve feet below their position. Just as she was about to speak, the waiter returned. “Will you have your usual, Senator?”
“Yes, Henri, a Caesar salad please, and water,” she replied.
“And you, sir?” the waiter asked.
“I’ll have the corn chowder soup, please. And iced tea.”
“Yes, sir, right away.”
Rachel returned to the question. “Pug, I don’t know if there is a simple answer. I agree with you that this program is questionable in its objectives. Perhaps not the objectives, but the projected results. Still, you’re not surprised to hear that across the nation, our constituents are writing, calling, e-mailing, and actually visiting our offices to ask what we intend to do about this internal threat. The government’s primary mission is to protect the American people. I’m not trying to teach civics to you, by any means, but most elected officials realize that we have to do something. We have to show the people that we’re sensitive to the problem and are seeking remedies. We have to be seen to be doing something, is perhaps a better way to state it.”
“Then it’s all for show.”
“Much of politics is for show, Pug,” she said, a bit terse. “If you don’t know that, you haven’t been watching the polls.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you, Rachel. I don’t mean to, but the answers to this thing have me puzzled. I have to admit that Trojan is no closer to finding resolution. Probably less, but we don’t care about the polls. For what it’s worth, I don’t think SI has the answer. Wainscott made it seem like they were the answer to a prayer.”
“You sound like an Old Testament prophet,” Rachel said.
Realizing that he had been preaching, Pug remained silent for several moments, then laughed softly. “Marines don’t have beards.”
Just as the waiter was returning with their lunch, Pug’s cell phone vibrated. He checked the Caller ID and flipped the phone open. “General Connor,” he answered.
“Please hold for the president,” the clear feminine voice said. In several seconds, President Snow came on the line.
“Are you still in the Senate hearings, Pug?”
“No, Mr. President. We finished about thirty minutes ago. I’m at Union Station with Senator McKenzie, having lunch.”
“I’ll have a car outside in five minutes, Pug. If Senator McKenzie is not otherwise engaged, please ask her to join us.”
“Sir, do I need to advise Trojan to assemble?”
“Not yet. We’ll discuss it when you arrive. This is not pleasant news, Pug. There was a car bombing in Brussels just a few moments ago. The Dutch Deputy Director of Security and General Austin were both in the car. I’m sorry, Pug, but both men, along with the driver and the security agent, are all dead. The report will be on the news momentarily. I’d like you to meet with us immediately. Defense Secretary Collins and the vice president will also be here.”
Pug was silent, but his face was once again transparent and he could see that Rachel was anxious to know the content of the call.
“One moment, Mr. President.” Pug redirected his comments at Rachel. “Can you join me for a meeting with the president? Right now?”
Rachel nodded.
“Mr. President, we’ll be there as quickly as your transport arrives. We’ll be outside the main entrance to Union Station.”
“I’m very sorry, Pug. I know how much you admired General Austin.”
“Thank you, sir,” Pug replied and closed his phone. Rachel looked at Pug, waiting.
“There was a car bombing in Brussels. General Austin is dead.”
Rachel reached across the table and quickly squeezed his hand. Then she removed two twenty-dollar bills from her purse, placed them on the table, and stood.
“Let’s go, Pug. I’ll call my office from the car.”
Chapter 28
White House Oval Office
Washington D.C.
June
“One man in a taxi crashed into the vehicle, which contained Per Van Brocklin, Deputy Director of Dutch Intelligence, and Secretary Austin, who were riding together in the rear. The taxi exploded. The driver and bodyguard, both of whom were U.S. Secret Service agents, were also killed in the explosion. No group has claimed responsibility as yet, but we expect World Jihad to step forward through the European news agencies soon.”
The briefer was Thomas Kincade, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. To his left sat George Granata, Director of the FBI, who was also Pug’s neighbor, and across the table, on the divan in the Oval Office, sat both Senator Rachel McKenzie and General Padraig Connor. The president sat in a chair at the head of the group, with Vice President Tiarks to his left. The room remained silent for several seconds after the briefing was completed. General Austin’s Assistant Secretary of Homeland Security, Lillian Stromberg, completed the group.
The president was the first to speak. “Lillian, this is a terrible burden for Homeland Security. I know the general depended on you for daily operations and that the two of you had only begun to formulate your plan of action and division of authority. I know he would want you to carry on in his stead. Are you comfortable assuming the Acting Secretary role in his absence?”
“Mr. President, we will do our utmost to press forward. Sir, Mrs. Austin is…”
“I’ve spoken to her already, Lillian. I plan to visit with her as soon as I make a public statement. She’s been the wife of a general officer for many years. From her comments just before we convened this meeting, I believe the general had explained to her the nature of his new job and the dangers inherent in traveling abroad. She’s quite a brave woman herself. General Connor, you’re a friend of the family, are you not? And Senator McKenzie, your family has known the Austins your entire life, I’m told.”
“That’s correct, Mr. President,” Rachel answered. “The general served as my surrogat
e father on more than one occasion. They had no children of their own.”
“Would you and General Connor be comfortable coming with me to see Mrs. Austin?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Rachel continued. “It was my plan to go to see her immediately after this meeting. Thank you for asking.”
“General Connor?” the president said.
“Yes, sir. It would be an honor to accompany you.”
The president turned again to the new Acting Secretary of Homeland Security. “Lillian, I am going to have General Connor’s operation report directly to me for the immediate future. Can you see that he has the full support of Homeland Security until we sort out the reporting line?”
“Certainly, Mr. President. We’ll give the general all the support he needs.”
“Thank you. Now, do either the CIA or the FBI think this was anything more than an opportunity taken by the terrorists, or is there the possibility that it’s more wide-spread and we need to increase security around key government officials?”
Kincade spoke for the CIA. “Mr. President, we have no intelligence to indicate that this action was part of a larger event, other than the continuing threat we face every day. I believe Al Qaida targeted the security conference in Brussels, and Secretary Austin’s vehicle was convenient. We don’t even know that they targeted a U.S. diplomat, considering all those in attendance from the several European countries.”
The president nodded, then turned to Vice President Tiarks. “Hank, will you see to the return of Secretary Austin’s remains, please? All military protocol and honors.”
“Already underway, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, Hank. We will ask Mrs. Austin about her wishes and intentions for burial and advise you immediately. If there’s nothing further, perhaps we should conclude our meeting. The story will be on the news outlets by now and I need to prepare a statement before we leave. Pug, perhaps you and Senator McKenzie could move to the press room. I’ll need to address the public immediately, but I don’t want to delay our visit to Mrs. Austin.”
Sitting in the press secretary’s office foyer, Pug and Rachel waited as the White House staff scurried about, preparing for the impromptu press conference. Fox News, CNN, and each of the major networks had interrupted their regular programming to present the limited facts that were known. Al Qaida had struck again. A U.S. cabinet officer was dead. There seemed no end in sight to the tragedy a small group of dedicated terrorists could inflict on the most powerful nation in the world. But immense power had no recourse against one man-or woman-determined to give their life in the furtherance of their beliefs.
“Pug, I’m going to call my office and then my mother. She’ll want to know about Uncle Bill’s death and then she’ll want to phone Christine. I’ll be right back,” Rachel said, walking quickly out of the small ante-room.
Pug sat alone for a moment, the silence allowing him to reflect on General Austin’s sudden death. The president would address the nation. Tell them about the cowardly murder of one of America’s leaders. Lament the loss of a friend, a decorated hero, a needless death. But General Austin would see it differently. He had taught Pug many things, especially in his attempt to convince the young Marine that working behind a desk to plan the operations was every bit as important as leading a team of Marines in a frontal assault. And what did his death prove? He’d had no chance to shoot back. He died at the hands of an assassin, not an enemy charging him or shooting a missile at his aircraft from three miles distant. General Austin had faced those dangers, had proven his courage under fire, had defeated the enemy. But America always had enemies. If one saw the world in terms of good and evil, good always had enemies.
General Austin had paid the price for his beliefs and he did so from behind a desk. Pug found it hard to fathom, having earned his stripes in the hard crucible of battle, he and the enemy each having a weapon. Pug had also earned his stripes through the loss of his men in combat. Perhaps the greatest lesson about leadership General Austin had taught his young Marine officer, while trying to convince him that the battle is fought not only from the trenches, but from the offices of leadership, was the proven adage of senior military leaders. It was the same lesson Lieutenant Commander Cartwright, Royal Australian Navy, had learned at the RAN academy: ordering subordinates, both men and women, to a surety of death, was far more difficult than facing the enemy yourself, one-on-one, in combat.
Following the president’s press conference, Pug would accompany him to Mrs. Austin’s home in Bethesda. The thought brought back unwelcome memories. Memories of Afghanistan.
It was in the Hindu Kush, in 1991, when Captain Padraig Connor, Sergeant Carlos Castro, and six Force Recon Marines had sat on the hillside of the mountainous range awaiting extraction. Two Marines rested beneath the shelter of their ponchos, the battle the previous night having taken their lives. The deaths were Lieutenant Connor’s first combat loss, and Sergeant Castro had understood the isolation brought on by the loss of men under your command. As a corporal, Carlos Castro had been part of Gulf I, in 1990, when two of his platoon had been killed in action. Castro had not been in overall command, but he understood combat-related death up close and personal.
Six, and then eight days after returning from Pakistan, Lieutenant Connor and Sergeant Castro attended each funeral, having met with the families, in the first instance, a mother and father, plus three siblings. In the second, a grieving nineteen-year-old widow with an eight-month-old son. Pug had told Castro later, as they flew back to Pendleton, that he would rather face an armed enemy than a grieving widow.
Sitting in the press office of the White House, the feeling had not abated. While the president would be the primary person to brief Mrs. Austin, Pug knew her, had dined at her home, had been treated as a son. And, unrecognized until this moment, Pug had come to respect, admire, and after nearly ten years serving under his command and partaking of his paternal advice, even love, his former commanding officer.
Rachel walked back into the room and sat beside Pug. “You okay?” she asked.
“Just remembering,” he replied softly. “How did your mom respond?”
“She’s calling Christine right now, and my office is arranging for her to fly out this evening from Kansas City. I’ll fly back with her on Friday night, unless General Austin’s funeral delays her return. I’ve got to go, since I’m scheduled to address a convention of city managers in Kansas City on Saturday morning.”
“For a few moments back in the car, I forgot that your family was such close friends with the Austins,” Pug said.
Rachel nodded. “We’ve known each other for over forty years. After all this time, the roles are reversed. Christine Austin was the first person to call my mother after the military notified Mom of my father’s death in Vietnam. They’ve been close ever since.”
Pug reached for Rachel’s hand, gently stroking the back of her fingers. “I know you understand the nature of such loss better than most, Rachel, but it took me a bit longer. General Austin said as much while he was trying to convince me that working in military intelligence had just as much value in the war on terror as field operations. He said ‘It’s not the warrior who suffers the real agony, Pug, it’s the wife, the mother, the children, the remaining family who live to regret his absence, the daughter who walks up the aisle without presence of her father, the wife who raises the child without the father to share the love.’”
Slowly tears began to form in Rachel’s eyes and Pug stopped talking, content to hold her hand. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”
She nodded, placing her hand over his.
Abruptly, a White House aide stepped into the doorway. “Senator, General, if you’ll follow me, please, the president is about to enter the press room. I have two seats set aside for you.”
Pug and Rachel stood and silently followed the young man down the corridor. They were engulfed by a bevy of reporters and White House staffers. As soon as they sat, another staff p
erson came through the door and announced the arrival of the president. Pug and Rachel stood along with the occupants of the room as the president mounted the dais and took his position behind the lectern.
“At 11:20 this morning, local time, Homeland Security Secretary William Austin was killed in a car bomb attack in Brussels. Secretary Austin was attending a conference of security leaders from European nations seeking ways to confront terrorism. Once again, it has been demonstrated that terrorists do not want peaceful solutions to the ills of the world. Secretary Austin served this nation for four decades, both in war and in peace. He was seeking further methods to assure peace when he was needlessly killed. The United States puts these terrorists on notice that we will follow every path to find and kill or capture those who planned this murder. I personally offer my sincere condolences to Mrs. Austin. The general was…”
Chapter 29
Dulles International Airport
Washington, D.C.
June
Sometime after 10:00 PM, Pug drove Rachel to Dulles International Airport to meet her mother’s plane. The president’s visit to the Austin household had been difficult, to say the least, but Pug recognized in President Snow the gentle hand of a compassionate man, belying the weight of his office. Mrs. Austin was a remarkable woman, her strength resilient, her expression of gratitude to the president sincere. Despite the many other occasions when Pug had met her, his admiration for the woman took on a new dimension during the president’s visit. Shortly before they had left, Christine Austin’s sister had arrived to fill the absence of family. With no children of their own, Rachel had been concerned that the older woman would be alone for the night and had offered to stay, but Mrs. Austin had declined, grateful that Rachel’s mother would be coming to visit tomorrow.
As they waited near the luggage carousel at Dulles, Pug held Rachel close, his arm around her shoulder.