by Bob Mayer
"We went after the only lead we had, the assistant division commander of the Americal who had come to Rison in the beginning of the whole mess. We went down to the Americal AO and followed that officer everywhere. Hell, that unit was so screwed up, we could have wasted the man and the rest of the Division staff and it would have taken them a couple of days to realize it. We just put on regular fatigues, sewed an Americal patch on the shoulder and meandered around the big shitpile they called Division headquarters. They had so many ash and trash men there it was amazing they could put a squad in the field. Everyone just figured we belonged and no one questioned us."
"It took us five weeks before we got what we were looking for. Some VIP from the States flew in to Saigon and then came up to the Americal. He went straight to the ADC—didn't even talk to the Division Commander, who spent most of his time drilling holes into the sky in his command and control helicopter, getting his rocks off listening on the radio to people dying five thousand feet below."
"We knew this VIP was something special. He wore unmarked fatigues and he was old. And he wore a big-ass ring on his left hand. Ain't no mistaking one of those Hudson High rings. So I left Harry with the ADC and followed this guy back to Saigon. He was staying at the MACV compound in VIP quarters. I did some checking and found out his name: retired Brigadier General Benjamin Hooker on special assignment from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I told you about meeting him in 'Nam," Skibicki added defensively as Boomer glared at him. "Officially, he was retired and working for the Joint Chiefs. But in reality he was checking up on The Line's little war."
Boomer stood up and walked over to the window, then came back, his mind churning. "What happened?"
"I waited until Hooker was at a meeting at the MACV compound and I broke into his room. I was looking for anything. I still didn't even really know about The Line or who Hooker was. I hit paydirt. Right there in his locked briefcase."
"What did you get?" Boomer asked, unconsciously leaning forward.
"His diary. Starting from 1926, the year he entered the Academy through 1969."
Boomer whistled.
"What did it say?" Maggie asked.
Skibicki held up a hand. "Whoa, slow down. I only glanced at it to make sure it was something we could use. I didn't have much time. I got out of the BOQ and went over to a friend of mine who worked in an office there at one of the MACV buildings. I made a copy of the diary page by page, but I didn't read it. I checked a few pages here and there and what I saw scared the shit out of me. You won't believe some of the stuff this guy was involved in."
"Anyway, that same day I packed the original in a secure pouch and gave it to a SF guy I trusted who was rotating back to the States with orders to hand deliver it to Rison. I sent the copy by FOB courier to Killebrew. Then I went back to the Americal headquarters, gathered Harry in, and we went back to CCN to our job fighting the real enemy."
Skibicki fell silent.
Boomer waited a little bit, then felt compelled to ask questions. "Is that what Trace is after? The original diary?"
"I don't know," Skibicki said. "If Rison sent her for proof, I imagine that's what he would send her after. It's what he must have been using all these years to keep The Line off his back and from tearing Special Forces apart."
"But why is it at West Point?" Boomer asked.
"The purloined letter theory," Maggie suggested. "You know, hide it in the last place people would look for it. Right at the place it all started."
"What did Rison do with the diary back in 1969?" Boomer wanted to know. "Why didn't he expose The Line?"
"Expose The Line?" Skibicki repeated incredulously. "We were trying to save our ass and Special Forces' existence. The best Rison hoped for was a truce. A Mexican standoff."
"What about Killebrew? What did he do with his copy?"
"Killebrew didn't do shit with his copy," Skibicki said, and for a moment Boomer mistook the bitterness in Ski's voice as being directed at his former executive officer. "Lieutenant Colonel Killebrew is officially listed as missing in action. Two days after I got the copy of the diary to him, he disappeared while on a flight from Nha Trang to the FOB. I find it rather curious that the plane he was on was a contract one flown by a merc pilot in the employ of the Company. The merc pilot was supposedly lost in the crash also, but I wasn't very surprised when I just happened to spot him two years later in Bangkok while I was on R & R."
"Did the mercenary tell you what happened to Killebrew?" Boomer asked.
"Before he died, he did." Skibicki looked Boomer in the eyes. "They killed Killebrew, and that's one of the reasons we 'didn't do' anything. Rison took care of the original and took care of dealing with The Line. They backed off and we backed off and that's the way it's been for twenty-six years until you showed up here in Hawaii and Trace started writing her book. And now the Colonel's dead too."
FORT SHAFTER, HAWAII
2 December
6:50 p.m. LOCAL/450 ZULU
Skibicki parked the Jeep on Radar Hill Road, one street removed from the tunnel. In between the two streets a lava ridge separated Boomer and him from their destination.
"We'll leave it here. I want to see if anyone's in the tunnel first and going up a dead-end street isn't my idea of going in smart," Skibicki said. "The fake DIA guys have to have our names by now from the cops so I wouldn't be too surprised to see company waiting for us."
Boomer didn't say anything. His mind was occupied with thoughts of Trace and what had happened to her today. He was less than thrilled about her going to West Point tomorrow, but there wasn't anything he could do about it and that was what rankled him the most. He had thought he'd be getting her out of harm's way by sending her back to the States.
They went up the ridge, getting down on their bellies as they came up to the crest. Peering over the top, they could see that the parking lot in front of the TASOSC tunnel was empty. Skibicki scanned the surrounding terrain in the fading light. "Looks clear. Let's go."
They stood and made their way down to the vault door. Skibicki picked up the phone that was on the concrete wall to the left of the door.
"What are you doing?" Boomer asked.
"On the weekend and at the end of each duty day the tunnel alarm is activated by the last person to leave. I have to call the Provost Marshall's office to have them turn the alarm off."
Skibicki dialed the number and talked to the duty sergeant. Then he punched in the code on the numeric keypad and pulled the door open. There was a rush of air as the pressure equalized and they stepped in, letting the door lock behind them.
Skibicki led the way to his desk where he pulled out a large keyring. "Keys to everything in here," he said. "So the enlisted people can clean everyone's office," he added.
They went to the end of the first tunnel and he opened Colonel Coulder's office. Boomer watched as Skibicki began spinning the dials on the secure filing cabinet behind the commander's desk.
"You have his combination?"
"Vasquez is security manager for the tunnel. She has all the combinations," Skibicki said as the tumblers clicked and he opened the top drawer. "So, naturally, that means I have all the combinations." He quickly began scanning the folders inside. "Since Coulder was in on the brief with Decker, I have to assume he's in on whatever's going on. He's a ring-knocker, too."
Boomer searched the colonel's desk while Skibicki worked the files. He looked up when Skibicki slapped a folder down on the desk. "The rest of the President's schedule. What wasn't in the OPORDER in the conference room."
"And?" Boomer asked.
"The night of the sixth. After the President attends the fundraiser downtown. A national command and control exercise is scheduled."
Skibicki considered the information he had just read to Boomer. "We've been focusing on the ceremony in Pearl Harbor, but that sounds like a good time for The Line to make its move. They'll have the President on their turf. Most likely on Looking Glass," he added, referring to the modified 747, E-4B com
mand and control aircraft. "I heard one of them was flying in, but I assumed that was simply because the Joint Chiefs were coming."
"Maybe," Boomer said. "But I've got to tell you, despite everything that's happened the past several days, I find it hard to believe that there is a plot against the President."
Skibicki threw down the folder. "You're the one who said your mission you were on in the Ukraine was a setup."
"Yeah, but there's a big difference between that and a plot directly against the President. In the history of our country there has never been—''
"Fuck!" Skibicki exclaimed. "Listen, Boomer, get your head out of your ass. First off, we've had the military go against the government numerous times before. Remember MacArthur during the Korean War? Some of the generals during the Civil War?"
"You may have been behind the fence at Bragg for the past couple of years," Skibicki continued, "but I've been out here in the real Army. People are not happy. They haven't been happy for years. In fact, they're downright pissed. Our benefits are getting eaten up by fat cats sitting in Washington. They'll cut our benefits but not their own."
"We don't have a contract guaranteeing any of the things we enlisted for. If Congress wants to change retirement benefits for the Army, they simply pass a law. As they did a couple of years ago by changing the base pay computation for retirement pay. Not a big deal by itself, but when you start adding in all the piddly shit over the past ten years, it comes to a lot. There's been a betrayal of trust. We put it on the line for this country, expecting that the benefits we enlisted under would be there when we retired and they're not."
Skibicki was on a roll. Boomer had never seem him so agitated. "The President's flying out here to make a speech at Pearl Harbor, over the graves of men who died because their peacetime military had been cut to the bone after World War I. It's not so different today."
"Add it up, Boomer. The cutbacks. Hard Glass getting sliced. The Backfire incident. The bullshit missions that have killed soldiers and kept thousands away from their families for months on end: Bosnia, Somalia, Haiti. Pile on top of all that the MRA and you have a pile of C-4 just waiting for a fuse to be dropped in and ignited."
"The thing you've got to accept, Boomer, is that people are scared," Skibicki said. "They will never admit it, but they are. They're threatened—from the Joint Chiefs down to the lowest snuffy. Scared people don't act according to logic. And sometimes they act in ways that are destructive all around. That's what I think we're seeing here."
"You seem to have thought about this a lot," Boomer said.
"I haven't exactly been overwhelmed with work here the past year or so," Skibicki said.
Both their heads snapped up as they felt the air pressure change. Boomer had his Browning High Power out.
"It's probably Vasquez," Skibicki said, but he had a gun in his own hand also. They waited until a figure turned the corner at the end of tunnel one. They both relaxed as they recognized the newcomer.
Vasquez was wearing biker shorts and a sleeveless shirt, both of which accented the sleek lines of her sculpted muscles, but her tousled hair and drawn face looked like she had had a rough night. She had a can of soda in her hand and popped the top as she entered Coulder's office. She looked around, then settled into the colonel's chair.
"What do you have?" Skibicki said without preamble, ignoring her breach of etiquette.
"This one is gonna cost you big time, sergeant major," Vasquez said. "I want off the duty roster for the next two months."
Skibicki waved that aside. "What have you got?"
Vasquez looked at Boomer. "First off, sir, you was right. That Ethan Allen Class sub—the Sam Houston. It isn't a current missile carrier. It works for Navy Special Ops."
"The question is," Boomer said, "is what is it doing now?"
"It's heading for the unidentified sub and the Glomar Explorer," Vasquez said, laying out her Xeroxed maps. "The other sub moved in and has been lying still for the past twelve hours, here, about 150 miles southwest of Oahu. The Glomar is steaming toward it and should rendezvous in about six hours. The Sam Houston is closing in on both of them very slowly and at its current rate of speed should be in the immediate vicinity the afternoon of December sixth."
"What about the other sub?" Skibicki asked. "Anything on what it is?"
Vasquez took a deep breath. "Sergeant major, what I'm about to tell you is classified Top Secret, Q Clearance. Don't ask me how I got the information. Just trust me that I got it and it's true. If anyone finds out that I know, never mind that I told you, we're both going away for a long time."
Skibicki nodded and looked at Boomer who also nodded.
"The bogey sub is called the SHARCC. That's S-H-A-R-C-C," she added, spelling out the acronym. "It stands for Submerged Headquarters and Reserve Command and Control. It's the Navy's version of Looking Glass, the post-attack airborne command and control system for use in case all our fixed facilities get nuked."
Boomer looked at Skibicki who returned the eye contact.
"We got Looking Glass coming in also for a command and control exercise." Boomer said. "Why both?"
Skibicki rubbed his chin. "I never heard that we had an underwater system like that, but if you think about it, it makes sense. The airborne platforms were designed in case of nuclear war. That way the national command could take to the air and become less of a target. The only problem is that Looking Glass can only stay airborne for so long. Even with in-flight refueling, they eventually have to land somewhere. But this sub could probably stay out at sea for six months or more."
Vasquez nodded. "It's a nuclear-powered boat, using the same keel as the Ohio Class missile subs, but set up totally different on the inside for command and control. My source tells me there are two of them, one in the Atlantic and this one in the Pacific. My source also tells me that since they were launched two years ago, they have never gone back into port."
"What?" Skibicki said. "How can they do that?"
Vasquez tapped the imagery she'd brought the previous day. "The Glomar. It shuttles between the Pacific and the Atlantic. The SHARCC can dock with the underwater barge, then be brought up into the hold of the Glomar for repairs and maintenance. The crews are rotated then too. Since the SHARCC never surfaces, it can never get spotted."
"So maybe this C&C exercise on the sixth will be on board the SHARCC involving both the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President," Boomer said.
There was a long pause before Skibicki spoke. "Now it all makes sense," he said. "It's not going to be Pearl on the morning of the seventh. They're going to take down the SHARCC from the Sam Houston on the sixth while our friends from Okinawa take out the Vice President up at Turtle Bay."
"If that SHARCC is set up just like Looking Glass then once they have it, they can cut in and take over all command and control for the military and even use the emergency overrides to cut into all civilian satellite traffic. Since practically all television feeds through satellites nowadays, they can effectively control the media."
"It's perfect," Boomer said. "No one will even know."
"We need to report this," Vasquez said.
"To who?" Skibicki asked.
"Someone," Vasquez said. "We can't just let this happen.
"We don't know for sure that it is going to happen," Skibicki said.
"But we know something is going to happen," Vasquez exclaimed.
"The problem is that we have no proof," Boomer said.
"What about the men who attacked you at Kaena Point?" Vasquez asked. "It was in the paper. The police have the bodies."
"If we brought that up to anyone," Boomer said, "it would only cause Skibicki and me to be thrown in jail." He looked at the phone on the colonel's desk. "No, what we need is solid proof that The Line exists, and Major Trace should be calling anytime."
"How about if I go to the police?" Vasquez offered. "I wasn't involved in the shooting the other night and I can tell them all that has happened and what you all are afraid is g
oing to happen."
"We still have no proof," Boomer replied.
"But at least the President could be warned," she argued. "He doesn't have to go out to the SHARCC for the exercise and maybe the Vice President could leave Turtle Bay early or something. We wait for proof, we might be waiting a long time," she added.
"Trace will come up with something," Boomer said.
"We still have two days," Skibicki reminded them.
Boomer thought about it. "Even if the information about the Sam Houston and the SHARCC is correct, and there is a plan to take down the SHARCC if these guys have planned this correctly, and there's no reason to believe they haven't, then I'm sure they have one, if not several, backup plans."
Skibicki agreed. "If the night of the sixth doesn't work, they still can come into Pearl Harbor on the morning of the seventh off the Sam Houston using the SDVs. Those guys are trained on that kind of infiltration and they'll be infiltrating their own back yard." He made a decision. "We don't hear anything from Major Trace by tomorrow morning, we're going to have to take action regardless."
"So what do we do in the meantime?" Boomer wondered aloud. "We're—" He paused as the air pressure changed again.
They all turned and looked. As the first person turned the corner, Boomer drew his gun again. It was Decker and he wasn't alone.
"Take them!" Decker yelled as he dove behind a desk.
Boomer fired once then hit the deck as the pair of men who had followed Decker opened fire with submachine guns. The glass that had separated Colonel Coulder's office from the rest of the tunnel exploded inward.
Boomer stuck his hand up over the three-feet-high wall and fired blindly. He heard the roar of Skibicki's gun a few feet to the other side and glanced over. The sergeant major was hunched behind the wall also, firing blindly to keep them from getting closer.
"You OK, Vasquez?" Skibicki yelled out.
"Yeah, but I wish I was smaller," her voice came from under the colonel's desk.
Chips splattered off the wall as the intruders fired again.