by Lewis, Rykar
“You think Iran’s moving against Israel?”
“All I know sir, is that on the surface it appears that when Lebanon’s happy with Israel, there are no Iranian-based Hezbollah terrorist attacks. But when Lebanon’s unhappy with Israel, Hezbollah sends in their Iranian terrorists. Now, that would seem like Hezbollah is being a hired-gun for Lebanon, but we have to delve deeper into the matter. Who really owns and controls Hezbollah? Not Lebanon, but Iran. It would seem likely that Lebanon is trying to get back at Israel when these terrorists attack. But maybe Iran is striking Israel by using their terrorists under the guise of being ‘gunners’ for Lebanon. That would make it look like the terrorists were ordered into Israel by the Lebanese. But really Iran is calling the shots for the terrorists, telling them when, where, and how to attack. So all these attacks and bombings are destroying Israel by Iran’s command, not Lebanon’s.”
“But Lebanon is upset over how the Israelis denied their peace plan. Couldn’t that have some effect on whether or not Lebanon moves against Israel?” the President questioned.
“You’re right Mr. President, Lebanon is upset about their UNON Plan being denied, but I don’t see them making war against Israel, in any form – terrorists or military,” Cummins explained, cracking the knuckles on his left hand.
“Do you have a reason for that belief, Mike?”
“Yes, quite frankly I do,” he told the President. “You see, Lebanon’s goal of passing the UNON Plan was not only to bring peace, but to disarm Israel of its nuclear weapons. Prime Minister Jamil Zacka is petrified of Israel’s missile supply. He thinks Israel is the “Big Bad Wolf” and they could swallow his little military in one sitting. I really think that Israel’s threat of nuking Beirut would keep Zacka’s hands from moving against them for a good long while. If he had the power, there is no way he’d send in terrorists that could be traced back to him. He knows Israel would take out his sorry government in a heartbeat. Sure he wants the Golan Heights, but who doesn’t? The question is would he attack Israel, again, to try and take the Golan? Most likely not. That’s why he spent so long forming a peace treaty that would force Israel to give the Golan to Lebanon without any fighting involved. If he felt his military could take them, would he lower himself to make a peace plan? Iran and Iraq have not. Think about it. Would Zacka show the weakness of his country by making a peace plan if he really felt his military could take the Golan? Of course not. The only way Lebanon has ever gotten its way is by war, bloodshed, and destruction, not by peace and uniting with the State of Israel. And if they thought they could gain something by making war, they wouldn’t make a peace plan, they’d take what they wanted by force.”
“You think Lebanon is too weak to take the Golan so they made up a peace plan that would try to make Israel give it to them?” the President wondered.
“That would sum it up, sir. They’re just too afraid right now to invade Israel when they’ve got nukes and Lebanon doesn’t. But Iran...” Cummins let his point sink in.
“Has the nukes, the military force, the will to destroy Israel, and the terrorists and brains to think up a plan like this that would shift the blame to Lebanon while they just sit behind the scenes ordering in terrorists and allowing Lebanon to take Israel’s punches,” Winnfield finished for Cummins.
“Exactly. You must admit it’s a brilliant plan.”
“If it’s really their plan,” the President corrected. “There’s still a small chance that Zacka has the guts to retaliate against Israel for denying his plan, is there not?”
“There is sir,” Cummins agreed. “But I must tell you that Iran is looking guilty in my eyes more so than Lebanon.”
Winnfield pushed back from his desk and scooted his swivel chair to the nearby window. What threat can this be to my country? And how am I supposed to respond? he thought to himself.
“All right Mike, do an investigation on Qasim. Find all you can and report to me the instant you find something of value. But be careful; I want this investigation to have no leaks whatsoever. I don’t want Iran – or Lebanon for that matter – to catch wind of what we’re doing,” the President said, starring out the window at the bloomless Rose Garden.
“I will sir,” Cummins promised. “We always are careful. You may not like what I find though.”
* * *
Parks looked around his roomy and comfortable office. There were two desks in the center of the office, a conference table by the windows, and two small couches off to one side, with a small coffee table in between them. A computer was positioned on each desk, along with a phone, and an empty bookshelf by the door.
Parks sat down in the black swivel chair in front of the left desk. He pulled open the middle drawer and found a directory inside. He opened the small binder and scanned the names. The National Security Advisor and everyone that was on his team had their phone numbers and home addresses written down. It would be a very useful item in the near future, Parks figured.
As Parks was flipping through the directory, the desk phone rang and he picked it up hesitantly.
“Major Parks,” he said, hoping he’d answered in the right way.
“Major Parks, this is the White House operator. Please hold for the National Security Advisor,” the lady stated.
“Yes ma’am.”
Seconds later, the tired, burnt-out voice of the NSA came onto the line. “Keith, this is Tom Smith. How’re you?”
“Great sir. How are you doing?”
“Don’t ask, please. But anyway, to get to the point of my call, I want to say I’m sorry. I was supposed to have that long briefing with you as soon as you were finished talking with your team. But we have had a slight occurrence, and I’m going in a million different directions. I’m afraid I just can’t find the time to do it right now.”
“I understand sir,” Parks replied.
“However, I’d like to meet with you in an hour or so, at my office, and I’ll try to answer all the questions I’m sure you still have. I wanted to get you acquainted with your team this morning so they could get back to their offices. That’s why I cut our first meeting short and planned for another.”
“Right sir, that’s fine,” Parks said.
“Okay that’s all. Take care, Keith.”
“All right, I’ll see you in an hour then, sir.”
Parks heard Smith hang up the phone and he did the same. One hour until he received answers to all of his questions. He still had much to learn about this job, mainly because it was not military in nature. But he’d know the answers soon; all he had was an hour to wait.
16
Monday, March 17th – 1230 hours
The Office of the National Security Advisor
Smith was shuffling through some last-minute papers just as Parks walked through the door and stood at attention. The National Security Advisor was very busy, but he had his orders from the President to answer any questions that Parks may have and to brief him thoroughly on his job. So that was what he was going to do. Smith threw the papers in a heap on the floor and cleared away the empty bottles of water resting on his desk.
Smith’s office was large and positioned in the West Wing of the White House. It was twice as large as Parks’ seemingly “mansion suite.” Additionally, the black walnut desk in front of the NSA was enormous and obviously made by a very skilled craftsman.
“You’ll need a secure Blackberry,” the National Security Advisor suddenly announced, digging into one of the desk drawers and pulling one out.
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather not have one of those high-speed, low-drag things,” Parks said honestly, standing straight and still.
“Oh. Cell phone?”
“That’d be fine, sir.”
Smith traded the Blackberry for a cell phone but kept it in his hand instead of giving it to Parks.
“Come in Keith. Have a seat over there,” he offered, motioning to the couches by the large windows.
Parks walked to the couches and remained
standing until he was joined by a clearly disturbed Smith. The National Security Advisor sat down, and then and only then, did Parks take a seat.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Smith asked kindly, gesturing with his head to a small refrigerator in the corner.
“No sir, I’m fine, thanks.”
“Good, then you wouldn’t mind grabbing me a bottle of water?”
In a moment, Parks had retrieved the bottle of Fiji water from the fridge, and had set it down on the small table next to Smith.
“Thanks,” he acknowledged, gulping the entire bottle down in just a couple swallows. “Ahhh,” he sighed, as he threw the bottle at a nearby trashcan. It actually landed inside it, to Parks’ amusement. “You have any questions for me?” Smith asked.
“Yes sir, I do have a couple,” Parks said.
Smith nodded for him to go on.
“My biggest concern, sir, is that it’s a known fact that the U.S. military does not engage in combat roles in the United States. I feel I need to double-check and see what kind of authority I have to do so.”
Smith rubbed his hands together vigorously. “Okay then, let’s get technical. You are aware that Marines do not conduct operations inside the United States. Nor do CIA agents for that matter. So in order for you to be permitted to do this job, the President had to write an executive order.” The NSA grabbed a top secret folder from an end-table, took out a piece of paper, and handed it to Parks. “Check it over just to be sure.”
Trust and verify, Parks thought as he looked over the executive order on Presidential letterhead.
“Executive Order 54029 allows you to perform operations inside the U.S. to a great extent. You are now free to take out terrorists when ordered, topple hostile forces, and the like. That order covers everyone on your team.”
Parks took note of President Winnfield’s signature at the very bottom of the paper.
“Go ahead and keep that in the safe in your office. But I must stress that the information that page contains is highly classified,” the NSA pointed out.
“Don’t worry, sir, it’ll be safe,” Parks assured.
“If we’re good on that issue then I’ll take your next question.”
Parks took a deep breath. “I’m somewhat hesitant to ask this, sir, but I have noticed that some of my team members are less than enthusiastic about me commanding the team. I hate to suggest this, but should one of them be unbearably uncooperative, do I have the authority to fire that man?”
“You betcha,” Smith hastily confirmed. “Anyone who holds up progress for your team is not worth having around. But let me know before you actually fire someone or change the command in any way.”
“Yes sir.”
“Your work hours are from 0600 to 1800 but those are just estimated times for normal days. Keep in mind that if we believe we’ve located a terrorist you will be on duty for much longer. Sometimes days non-stop,” he stated. “As for leave, each member of your team will get one full week off per year. But, you are forbidden to leave the D.C. area during your time off unless you are within an hour’s drive from this very spot.”
Parks hardly thought of that as time off.
“Also, the President must agree before I sign off on any leave you take. And you may not have time off when we’re in a high threat level. So you can take leave on occasion, but your freedoms are limited.”
Smith peeled off his suit coat and continued. “Your office phone number, email account address and password – which of course you’ll need to change – and cell phone number, are all written here.” Smith shoved a small, yellow piece of stationary toward him and then tossed him the secure cell phone. “Your team members already have your work numbers.” The National Security Advisor closed his eyes and breathed deeply before going on. “Your password for your intel email account needs to be unbreakable. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Excellent. Does that settle everything on the immediate questions, Major Parks?” The National Security Advisor secretly hoped it did.
“It does, sir.”
“Good, then I have a question for you. Did you know that your team will need to train almost every day?”
Parks thought that he needed to on occasion but managed to respond, “I do now, sir.”
“You will need to conduct a lot of training,” Smith confirmed.
“Understood sir,” Parks said.
“When I refer to training,” the NSA continued, “I am referring to both physical and strategic. For example, physical training as in shooting, real-life scenarios, hand-to-hand combat, such and so forth. Strategic training as in war-gaming counterterrorism plans by conferring with each other to see what the best plan of attack will be for random situations, and so on. I will leave the details up to your personal preferences and ideas. But I must advise you,” Smith said, “I would jump on the training part. Who knows how much time your team has before being called into action? And the last thing anyone would want is to have seven independent minds during an operation – you want one cohesive team. Now I know in the Marine Corps they train you all to think and act as one man. The President likes that mindset. He wants you to instill it in each one of your team members, and if I were you, I’d do it quickly.”
“Thank you sir, I appreciate the advice. I most certainly will get on that,” Parks told him.
“When will you get on that?” the National Security Advisor pressed. “The President has put me in charge of your team’s fine details, and I intend to see to them.”
“Uh...tomorrow, sir. We will start PT tomorrow,” Parks threw out, hoping his answer was acceptable.
“Good, that’s fine,” Smith said happily. “I know just the place for you to train too. Now, could you give me a rough plan of what your training session will consist of?”
Parks was surprised at the NSA’s enthusiasm. He hesitated, and then spit out a response. “Well, we’ll focus on physical training first, sir. Like running, pull-ups, push-ups, and sit-ups for starts.”
Smith nodded. “How long will you train each day?”
“Depends on the ability of the men, sir. I’d like to see how far along they are before I say,” Parks explained, hoping to buy some time. He squirmed nervously in his seat before he asked a question. “Could you tell me where we’ll train, sir?”
“We’ve secured a gym that’s just down the road from here that’ll serve well for the physical part. For shooting and maneuvers we also have a special place nearby.”
“All right sir.”
“Oh, that email account and cell phone I just gave you is for White House business only,” the NSA stated. “Not for personal things. And I must tell you that when communicating with your team I want you only to use your work email and phones. Understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s just for security reasons. We don’t want anyone finding out about your team. As far as the rest of the world knows, you died and were buried back at Camp Lejeune.”
* * *
“Good afternoon, Mr. President,” Aziza answered his phone.
Winnfield dove into the conversation without any formalities. “Mr. Prime Minister, I would like to address the attempted terrorist attack performed on the Israeli-Lebanese border.”
“Go ahead, Mr. President,” the prime minister allowed, also in no mood for formalities.
“First off, I’d like to condemn the attacks and, as stated earlier today by my National Security Advisor, we offer you our complete assistance. However, I would like to ask you a few questions concerning the attack.”
“Please, feel free.”
“Thank you. Our CIA has very limited information concerning Qasim, and we are trying to dig deeper and find more. It would be appreciated if your Mossad could send us all the information they have on him. Um, also, are you sure that Lebanon is to blame here?”
Aziza was irritable and in a state of panic, and he didn’t want to hear “are you sure?” from anyone. “Mr. President, yo
ur agency has as little, or as much, information as we do. We have nothing. All we know is that Qasim is an Iranian working for Hezbollah, which can be traced back to Lebanon. It’s simple; it should be simple enough for even you to understand,” he said harshly.
The President was slightly taken aback. “I should be offended by that last statement, but at the present time, considering all that’s been going on, I’m not. But I will reiterate the fact that we should not fly off the handle and hit the wrong target.”
“In other words, don’t get trigger happy?” the prime minister shot back.
“Please, Mr. Prime Minister, I feel the urgency you do. Really. Believe me, my country was severely attacked just two months ago. I almost lost my life. I know what hard times these can be. I just want to make sure we retaliate against the right country.”
“We?” Aziza questioned, seeming somewhat astonished.
“Yes, we will watch your back. We will support every move you make. Also, I feel that the same people who just tried to attack your country could be behind the attacks on mine. And if that’s the case, we’ll spare you the trouble of a war. But again, you and I both want to be sure we hit the right country,” the President pointed out again.
“I am sure enough, Mr. President, and so should you be. Lebanon is upset, and it’d be no wonder that they’d try to strike back at us with suicide bombers. Eventually, when the time is right, they’ll invade the Golan Heights. We cannot let that happen. We cannot let terrorists come into our borders.”
“Mr. Prime Minister,” the President argued, “there is no real evidence that points to that affect. It is not ground in stone that Lebanon’s to blame. But, some of my most trusted advisors have made a stunning point to me, and I’d like to pass it on to you.”
* * *
The Israeli borders were locked down. Military units were on guard at every major checkpoint, and were scattered throughout the desert borders. Israel had slacked off, and fortunately had not been bitten by the consequences. Israel was not going to make the same mistake twice. Military units were now crawling everywhere in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Haifa. The Golan Heights was the only place where military units were not swarming. Prime Minister Aziza had not yet ordered in more troops, or allowed units already there to beef up their defenses. He had taken Hazeroth’s advice on that. He had agreed that mobilizing the military units in the Golan could push them into an all-out war with Lebanon.