Execute Authority

by Dalton Fury

  “Damn it, Racer,” Webber growled. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Immediately Kolt knew why Doc Johnson was present.

  My decision-making process is being questioned?

  The tone wasn’t quite as harsh as Raynor had expected, but before he could reply, Webber added, “And don’t give me some sorry story about a training exercise.”

  Since Webber had not told him to sit down, Raynor stayed at the position of attention and kept staring straight ahead. “Sir, it was a training exercise. I crossed every i and dotted every t. Standard urban recce troop training. That said, I’m damn proud the boys just happened to inadvertently discover and disrupt a threat to POTUS. Right place, right time. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Bullshit. You broke the law.”

  Kolt realized now why the Unit lawyer was present. “We weren’t acting in an official law-enforcement capacity. Posse comitatus doesn’t apply.”

  Kolt noticed Webber look over at Major Taylor. “Well, partially true,” Taylor said, “not that simple though.”

  “And did you authorize your people to carry weapons? Are you aware of the laws concerning concealed weapons in the state of Maryland?”

  Ignoring Webber’s rapid-fire questions, Kolt said, “Sir, we deployed with cover creds. If rolled up, no official backstop was activated to cover their ass.”

  “Now that could be a problem,” Taylor said.

  “My God, Kolt,” Webber barked, “this command can’t keep turning a blind eye to your personal whims and repeated blowing off of established protocol.”

  Raynor clenched his teeth, but he wasn’t going to whimper. He had covered his ass on paper by stipulating that personal weapons would not be sanctioned, but he wasn’t going to throw his operators under the bus just to dodge that HEAT round. “Sir, we saved POTUS’s life. I’ll take responsibility—”

  “Your accepting responsibility doesn’t mean shit, Kolt,” Webber said, cutting him off.

  “Look, sir, with all due respect, I’m not going to downplay the significance of what we did in Baltimore. I took a chance and we got lucky,” Kolt said.

  A long moment of silence from Webber as he sat down behind his desk. Kolt tensed, sensing he was about to take it through the chest and be escorted off the compound.

  “Raynor, at this point I’m ready to have Doc give you a piss test and tell Taylor to pull your clearance.”

  Here it comes.

  “Unfortunately, the people that really matter are way above my pay grade. Those folks are so grateful that you stopped this threat that they have conveniently chosen to ignore a bunch of gunned-up mavericks roaming the streets of Baltimore. Which is the only reason you’re here and not in the slammer. Whether there’s still a place for you in our ranks remains to be seen.”

  Kolt felt a chill at the ominous statement. Webber didn’t make such threats lightly. “We didn’t,” he said.

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Stop the threat. Shiner got away.” Raynor paused a beat to let that sink in. “Respectfully, sir, no one else was even tracking this threat. I tried to do this the right way and it didn’t work, so I did what I could with what was left. If I hadn’t, POTUS would be dead. But Shiner is still out there and he’s going to try again. Shitcanning me isn’t going to change that.”

  Webber glowered at him and Kolt immediately felt as if he’d said way too much.

  “Shiner.” He spat the word out like a curse. “Where’s the intel confirming it was Shiner?”

  “Sir, it’s sketchy, but he is confirmed in the U.S. The key nuggets are that the building in Baltimore was outside the Secret Service’s protective ring, and one of the shooters had a Russian accent.”

  “How many other guys you know that could take that long of a shot, Kolt?” Webber said with a slight bit of sarcasm.

  “Only Unit snipers, sir,” Kolt said.

  Kolt and Webber locked eyes, almost as if they were at a standstill, not sure who should make the next move.

  “Sir, you told me to prove that Shiner was still alive,” Raynor said.

  “I did at that.” Webber let out a sigh. “You do realize that you just skated through a minefield. You’ve used up all your luck. Any more rogue ops will get you another ride on the Black Chinook.”

  “That bird has to land somewhere, sir.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Raynor. You upstaged the Secret Service on this one. If you keep pushing, they’re going to remember that you broke the law, and that will come back to bite us all in the ass. Stand down from this.”

  Raynor knew that Webber was giving him an out, but there was too much at stake for him to simply let it go. “Sir, that is absolutely the wrong move. Shiner lost this round, but he’s not done. He will try again, and this time he’ll be twice as careful. We’re already pre-positioned to go after him. We just need the attorney general to waive posse comitatus so we can make it official.”

  “That isn’t going to happen, Raynor.”

  “Sir, we can’t just stand by and let this happen.” Raynor realized he was shouting and paused long enough to dial it down a notch. “There is a clear and present danger to POTUS. At least let us keep doing what we’re doing. I’ll make nice with the Secret Service, give them the credit. The training exercise story gives us cover from posse comitatus. Let’s keep using it.”

  “You’re a JAG lawyer now?” Webber drummed his fingers on the desktop.

  Kolt’s eyes turned toward Major Taylor as Webber addressed him.

  “Judge, what do you think?” Webber asked.

  “Handled delicately, sir, it’s within your authority,” Taylor said.

  “If I say yes to this, you have to lock up the weapons. That’s one line you don’t get to cross.”

  “Actually, sir, our standard workaround should suffice. As long as all operators are using their official federal credentials, we are covered,” Taylor said, “from a legal perspective.”

  “From a legal perspective, huh,” Webber said, obviously still on the fence. He pondered it all for a few more moments, then gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to think about all the ways this could blow up in my face. But it is the president of the United States. JSOC is too busy downrange in two dozen hot spots to add this to the plate.”

  He raised his eyes to meet Raynor’s gaze. “I meant what I said about rogue ops. If you’re going to do this, even as some kind of bullshit pseudo-FTX, at a minimum you need to bring the Secret Service on board. It’s a joint exercise or none at all. If they don’t want your help, this doesn’t happen.”

  Raynor was pretty sure he could convince Jess Simmons to at least tolerate their continued presence in an unofficial status. “Understood.”

  “As for carrying weapons, I would prefer to avoid subjecting your questionable legal interpretations to a test in a court of law. Standard creds, appropriately backstopped.

  “Do not dick this up. You are out of favors. And I don’t need to remind you that Noble goes on alert status in four weeks. I’ll indulge you that long, but not a day longer.” Webber shook his head. “Honestly, Racer, I don’t know if I’m supposed to hope that you’re right about all this or not.”

  “Frankly, sir, I wish to God I was wrong. Because if we can’t stop Shiner, getting fired will be the least of my worries.”

  * * *

  The minor success in Baltimore, combined with tacit approval from higher for the ongoing shadow operation and open cooperation with the presidential protection detail, supplied a much-needed boost to morale. It also gave Kolt the opportunity to recall the rest of Noble Squadron and read them in.

  Despite Webber’s assertion that they had made the Secret Service look bad, SAIC Simmons seemed, if not contrite, then at least grateful for the unofficial assist in Baltimore. It probably helped that Raynor resisted the urge to remind Simmons that his earlier attitude had nearly cost the president his life. Special Agent Todd Kearney was assigned to act as a training liaison, and because Raynor was now able
to coordinate directly with the protective service instead of sneaking around behind their backs, he was able to implement a five-on, four-off troop rotation, which was fortunate since there was little actual work for any of them to do.

  It was another week before POTUS left the safety of the White House, this time for a jaunt to the West Coast to visit San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle. The outing gave the squadron a chance to satisfy the notional conditions of the training exercise and conduct a search of every rooftop and balcony within two thousand meters using fresh satellite imagery, Predator overhead coverage, and cell phone intercepts, all courtesy of Brian Kelly from the SCIF. This yielded nothing interesting. Likewise, a recce of each and every location where POTUS would be in the open yielded nothing actionable. An unplanned visit to Houston, New Orleans, and Biloxi, prompted by heavy flooding in the wake of a category three hurricane, was likewise uneventful.

  Raynor was acutely aware of the ticking clock. He had nothing to show for his efforts, and Simmons was becoming increasingly territorial, even antagonistic. Worse, the nationwide manhunt for the sniper and his still unidentified accomplice was going nowhere. None of the leads generated in Baltimore had panned out. They had no video imagery of the would-be assassins, but the pair likely would have been careful to avoid looking at the cameras, keeping their heads tilted down at all times so that the visors of the caps they wore hid their faces. The DNA and fingerprints recovered from the shooting blind on the rooftop had yielded no matches.

  Raynor wasn’t sure what to make of Shiner’s accomplice. Everything Raynor had heard about Shiner over the years, which admittedly was mostly rumor and hearsay, indicated that he was a loner. Raynor had assumed that he had been acting alone in Greece, but now he wasn’t so sure. Was the other man his spotter? His apprentice? His employer, perhaps?

  Which raised the further question of motive. The working theory was that Revolutionary Struggle had hired Miric for the assassination of the Greek PM, but who was calling the shots now?

  With less than two weeks to go, Raynor was facing the very real likelihood that he would never know the answer. There was zero chance that he would be able to pick up the hunt again after Noble stood down from alert status, and the longer Shiner stayed off the radar, the less of a threat he would seem to the Secret Service.

  Yet, Raynor did not believe the sniper would wait months or even weeks to strike. The dust from the assassination in Greece was already beginning to settle, and while the fate of the EU and NATO remained uncertain, it looked as if cooler heads would prevail. Despite the nationalistic rhetoric of the new PM, Greece simply couldn’t afford to leave the EU, and POTUS and the State Department were doing everything they could to keep NATO together. If Shiner’s plan was to deliver a one-two punch to utterly destabilize the West, he would have to strike before the figurative glue dried.

  Then, with just a few days left before the switch to alert status, the White House press office announced that POTUS was heading to New York to commemorate the anniversary of 9/11. He would give a rousing speech about America’s ongoing commitment to fight extremism everywhere, after which he and the first lady would place a wreath at the National 9/11 Memorial.

  Raynor was certain that Shiner wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like that, but whether he did or did not, it would be Kolt’s last opportunity to stop him.

  * * *

  Standing at the edge of the pool that occupied the space that had once been the foundation of the South Tower of the World Trade Center, it was impossible for Raynor not to think about that moment, sixteen years ago to the day, when nearly three thousand lives had been lost in what remained the deadliest terrorist incident in history.

  He had been on the other side of the world, racked out with the rest of his squadron in a large yellow-and-white festival tent, preparing for a still-classified joint readiness exercise, when an operations officer had burst in and delivered the news. News that would put the entire Joint Special Operations community on a permanent war footing. A war that he was still fighting.

  Raynor had not come to the 9/11 Memorial to reminisce, nor was he here to sightsee. He knew better than to expend any brain cells on the ghosts of the place, and concentrated on the security briefing. SAIC Simmons was putting out the final itinerary for POTUS’s visit, information that would not be made public, but that was essential for those assigned to protect the president and first lady. That included not only the agents of the presidential detail, but also several hundred NYPD officers, as well as two troops from Noble Squadron who were there strictly “for training purposes.”

  The visit to the memorial was only one of several stops that POTUS would be making in New York City, which meant that there would be several opportunities for Shiner to strike, but Raynor’s gut told him it would happen here. Not only were there the symbolic considerations, but the openness of the site and the length of time POTUS would be exposed made it the obvious location from a tactical point of view. This fact was not lost on Simmons. There was a secure cordon of several blocks in every direction, with police patrols on every street, checking every building that faced the plaza. Raynor was hard-pressed to find any holes in the security plan, but he knew that if there was even one, Shiner would exploit it.

  After dismissing the bulk of the gathering, Simmons moved over to where the Delta operators were clustered. “So,” he said, making no effort to keep his voice down, “where are the Hardy Boys”—he glanced at Hawk—“and Nancy Drew going to be while the rest of us are working?”

  Raynor felt a flush of anger. “The Hardy Boys” was a well-known nickname for Delta Force, mostly used by other Special Forces operators. If just one of the NYPD officers in earshot was a former Ranger, or even a reader of military literature, their cover was blown. As Kolt fought the urge to take a swing at the Secret Service agent, Slapshot stepped out to meet Simmons. “Well, I’m going for coffee,” he said. “How ’bout I pick you up a nice big cup of shut-the-fuck-up.”

  The SAIC froze. Special Agent Kearney, who had been standing next to Digger during the briefing, stiffened as if preparing for a fight, one he knew he would lose. After a few tense seconds, Simmons managed a nervous chuckle. “Jeez. Lighten up.”

  “OPSEC isn’t a ‘lighten up’ kind of thing,” Raynor shot back. “You of all people should get that.”

  Simmons grunted. “Look, we took your advice seriously. You see that, right? Your guy would have to be a special kind of stupid to even show his one-eyed face in Lower Manhattan, much less try and take a shot at Champ.”

  “I hope there’s more to your plan than ‘be on the lookout for a guy that looks like a pirate,’” Hawk remarked.

  “As a matter of fact—”

  Raynor cut him off. “Jess, your precautions are fine. You’re right. Shiner isn’t stupid and he’s not going to make the same mistake twice. But he’s got the easy job. He only has to be in that one perfect spot at just the right moment, while you have to be everywhere all the time. So let us help you.”

  “I’m telling you, he’s not getting inside our perimeter.”

  “Unless he’s already here,” Hawk said. “Hiding out like he was in Baltimore.”

  Simmons shook his head. “He’s not. We’ve canvassed the area, checked every surveillance camera for a thousand yards out, kicked every box and every Dumpster in every alley. Maybe we aren’t going to find him, but we’re sure as hell not going to let him get the chance to take a shot. Protection is about denial of opportunity. That’s what we’ve done here, and it’s what we’re going to keep doing.”

  “I guess you’ve got it covered, then,” Raynor said.

  “We do. So, I ask again, where are you going to be?”

  “Don’t worry, Jess. We’ll stay out of your way.”

  Simmons held his stare for a moment, then shook his head and walked away. Kearney looked like he might follow his boss for a moment, but then he relaxed. “Sorry. He can be a jackass sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?” Digger sai
d with a grin.

  “His question stands,” Barnes said. “What are we even doing here?”

  Raynor stared out across the memorial grounds for several seconds, trying to see the area as Shiner did. “The same thing we’ve been doing. Figure out what they missed.”

  There was a long silence, which Slapshot finally broke. “I don’t think they missed anything, boss. It’s not completely airtight, but this place is locked down.”

  Raynor turned back, gazed at each of his operators in turn. “Hawk, you almost had him in Baltimore. Do you agree?”

  “We were aiming high in Baltimore,” she answered. “Giving him the benefit of the doubt that he could make that shot. I’m not sure he could have done it. Maybe that’s the real reason he bolted.”

  “We’ve pushed the perimeter out a lot further,” Kearney said. “Put a lot of resources into watching the faraway threat. But we are concerned that maybe that’s what he wants.”

  “Misdirection?” Kolt murmured. It didn’t feel like the right answer. Everything he knew about the man told him that Shiner was an artist, specializing in long-distance murder and pathologically driven to sign his work with a bullet through the eye of his target. Yet he knew he couldn’t afford to dismiss the possibility that he was wrong. And there was the matter of the second man, Shiner’s accomplice. Maybe Baltimore had been a ruse. A feint designed to draw attention away from the close-in threat.

  “Anyone else?”

  “I think Kearney might be on to something, boss,” Digger said.

  “It’s classic psy-ops,” Slapshot added. “Like you said. He’s been fucking with us.”

  Raynor nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll go with that. Assault teams go foxtrot, take the memorial plaza. Blend in with the crowd. If you see something, you say something. Then you do something.”