“As beautiful and sexy as ever. I told you she visited a couple weeks ago. I laughed when she said all she’s doing anymore is reading dispatches from Middle East embassies, morning, noon, and night, and running a few spies. I hear your old place loves her enough to promote her again.”
“That’s an understatement. The Agency has always had trouble recruiting Middle Easterners and Muslims, even for administrative work like transcribing documents or being an interpreter. When Nazy passed a full poly on her first try, which was unheard of for Muslims, current or former, she was set. She’s been a gold mine for the Near East Division. She’ll be SIS. That’ll be a first. You know how to find ‘em.”
“Wasn’t that hard. She chased me. She renounced Islam and is no longer a Muslim in my eyes or hers. Once that bond was broken, like you said, she was off. God, that woman’s beautiful.”
“Like I said, I don’t know how you do it, but you know how to find ‘em.”
“I guess I’m a chick magnet.”
“What you really are is full of shit. You’re just lucky.”
“I was thinking we could swing by Elmira and check on 007 on the way back.”
“That’ll work. Saul's been going through the airplane and updating it with better threat-detection systems.”
“You mean our modified fuzz busters weren’t good enough? They saved our bacon.”
“You saved our bacon. I still dream about that night, thinking we were going to die. I wake up sweating and nearly out of breath. If that’s what PTSD is about, then I’m a believer. I was fucking terrified and couldn’t do anything about it but watch.”
“Are you serious?”
“I swear I don’t know how you did it and why it doesn’t affect you.”
Concerned, Hunter looked at his friend to see if he was being serious or making banter, then he returned to scanning the instruments and sky. The color weather radar showed no systems up the coast or ahead to Rhode Island. It was one of those rare, clear days when, at 35,000 feet, he could see the lights of Washington, DC, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York City all the way to Boston.
“You know I taught a course on human factors in aviation, and I’d say if it didn’t affect me it’s because of training. It’s hard to provide a level of realistic training for kids going into combat, because all the training in the world can’t prepare you for the horror of seeing a buddy blown up beside you.”
“I can understand that,” said Lynche.
“In the fighter community, we train for combat as best we can. The realism is very good to the point that when you’re actually in a situation, such as hurtling jets at one another at 1,000 mph or having SAMs come at you; a pilot has seen it before. He has practiced defensive maneuvers and can react properly.
“You’re still scared shitless, but, after a few hours in a simulator, it becomes a ‘no-brainer, I can do that’ issue. The reality is, there are guys who can do it and guys who can’t. They stop and move on to something else. For the young ground troops, watching body parts flying through the air isn’t part of the training and can’t be. I hate to say it, but that fucks up even the most-hardened trooper, at least for a while.
“The kids who returned from Iwo Jima weren’t the same and wouldn’t talk about the war. We’re a lot smarter now and can better train our troops and even treat some of the shock. Greg, they’ve got guys returning from multiple deployments who are locked up. They can’t talk to their wives or kids, but you put a trained golden retriever in the room, and the dude acts normal. He talks to the dog and reacts with his family like he’s OK again. He just unlocks. You can’t believe it unless you see it.”
“I won’t get a dog.”
“Come on, Greg. He’ll keep you warm when he isn’t humping your leg.”
“OK. That’s enough. Break, break. New subject. What will we do when we land?”
“When I landed at Easton, I sent Bill a text message giving our ETA. He wrote back and said he’d meet us at the airport. I sent him the tail number.”
“He’s running it like an op. Maybe we should just meet in the jet with the APU running. No one can eavesdrop with that on. If this is really important, I wouldn’t feel safe talking inside the FBO.”
“I’m curious what could get the most-decorated SEAL to call and want to see me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was afraid of something.”
The two men looked at each other with a sense of dread. They flew the remaining leg of the flight in near silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
2030 June 9, 2011
Newport State Airport Newport, Rhode Island
Lynche piloted the whole way, landed, and taxied to the FBO. A marshaler with flashlight wands directed them to a parking spot in front of the executive terminal. Hunter unstrapped, started the APU, and headed for the door.
Lynche shut down the engines, navigation, and communication gear but left the external lights on. Hunter unlocked and opened the door, then lowered it. When it touched down, Hunter was surprised to see McGee racing up the stairs carrying a backpack. Once at the top step, he filled the doorway momentarily before stepping into the cabin away from the entrance. He shook Hunter’s hand.
“You brought a jet?” he asked.
“It’s good to see you, too.” Hunter smiled; McGee was very serious.
“Can we go somewhere?”
“In this, or in town?”
“Away from here. When you said the airport, I hoped we could fly someplace where I’d feel a lot safer.”
“OK.” Hunter turned to look over his shoulder. “Greg, let’s fly direct to Saul’s. Now.” He pulled up the stairs, closed and locked the door, while Lynche started the starboard engine.
Hunter pointed to the captain’s chairs in the cabin. McGee filled up the closest one and leaned back, while Hunter sat on the edge of the second seat to face the old SEAL. Hunter continued to smile, but McGee continued to be stoic.
“You probably haven’t heard, but some SEALs have been killed—by a sniper.”
“I’m sorry, Bill. I haven’t heard anything about that. Where?”
“Memphis, Denver, Key West, and I think Norfolk and Washington, DC.”
“Holy shit!”
“Remember the SEAL in your seminar group? Jorgenson? He was killed a few days ago in Key West. I don’t know if you knew Reyes, “Disco” Ford, Petersen, and McCreedy.”
“Those don’t ring a bell. You and Jorgenson were the only SEALs I really knew at the War College. This is so incredible, I don’t know what to say. In the States? A sniper? How’s that possible?”
“All those guys were in our war college class.”
Hunter asked the obvious. “Are you saying you’re on someone’s hit list?”
“That’s part of it. Here’s the other part.” He reached into his backpack and brought out a black metal case the size and shape of a paperback novel with wires hanging loose. “This is an old tracking device. It was on my Riviera. I started to restore the car a couple months ago and found this sitting on my gas tank with the wires spliced into the hot wire of the sending unit. At first, I thought it was a bomb, but I had it checked out. It’s a first-generation GPS tracking device made in Germany, circa 2002.”
”The time we were at school?” McGee nodded.
“The other part is there was a note left near Jorgie’s body. We think he went out to his rental in the parking lot and found the note on the windshield. It read, Kill the one who ordered the hit on Osama bin Laden, and I’ll stop killing SEALs.”
“How many other SEALs were in our class? I vaguely recall somewhere between eight and twelve.”
“Ten.”
Lynche started the other engine.
“You’re in danger,” Hunter said. “OK. We can get you somewhere safe. What about your family?”
“Angela and the girls are in Europe with her parents. I think they’re OK. They’re after us, some of the SEALs from Team Six.”
“Why? Payback for killing Osama b
in Laden?”
“Maybe. I think there’s more, but I don’t know if there’s a connection.”
“OK. Let me help Greg get this beast airborne. You can have the jump seat.”
As Hunter stepped into the cockpit, Lynche said, “I called Saul. He’ll meet us at the airport.”
“Ten-four. Good thinking, Grinch.”
Lynche and McGee traded salutations and handshakes, as McGee unfolded the jump seat and wedged himself in the remaining cockpit space. Hunter handed him a set of headphones. “I really appreciate your coming,” McGee said. “I’m at my wit’s end, and there’s no one I could turn to or trust. The more I thought about what was going on, I felt you might not think I lost my mind and would hear me out.”
He paused for the men to run their takeoff checks and radio calls. McGee watched Hunter’s legs moving, as the jet turned. Looking out over the nose, he saw they were tracking perfectly down the taxiway’s centerline.
Ten minutes later, Hunter said to Lynche, “Your jet,” and turned in his seat.
“My jet.” Lynche promptly switched on the autopilot and turned in his seat to face McGee, eliciting a smirk and frown from Hunter. Lynche didn’t intend to miss any of the conversation.
“What do you think’s going on, Bill?”
“In my thirty-plus years in the Navy, I never shared classified information with anyone unless he had the clearances and accesses and need to know—until now. I know you were cleared, and this can’t leave the airplane or be traced back to me.”
“That’s fair. You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. Deal, good Sir.”
“I was part of a discrete group of SEALs read in on a program called Broken Lance. It was an op to rescue or take out the president if he was taken hostage by unfriendlies.”
“Holy shit!” Lynche exclaimed.
“You’re probably heard of the term Broken Arrow for the loss of a nuclear weapon,” McGee added.
The two men nodded.
“Bent Spear, Dull Sword, and Empty Quiver were other reporting terms that resulted from the accidental launching, firing, detonating, theft, or loss of a nuke. When we weren’t chasing terrorists around the world, we did a lot of exercises in various places practicing scenarios, such as if we lost a nuclear weapon. All those programs came from a strategic plan to deal with the loss of a nuke. In the case of Broken Lance, though, it was the loss of the president.”
“I never heard of Broken Lance, but that doesn’t mean a lot,” Lynche said. “By the time I was senior enough to be trusted with strategic information, I was knee-deep into counterterrorism.”
“I doubt you would’ve heard of it,” McGee said. “It was a Special Access Program; only fifteen bodies read onto it at one time. Anyway, I was under the impression that no more than ten SEALs from Team Six had been active and read-on the program at any one time, all officers. We ran scenarios and practiced the op two or three times a year.”
“What do you mean?” Hunter asked.
“We’d get an op order, and two-man sniper teams would jump on an AC-130 or C-17 and jump into an area to make our way toward the target and shoot a facsimile—at a range of over one mile in the dark.”
“Hold it. You were part of a team that planned to assassinate a sitting president, even held hostage? What kind of program is that?”
“One that only about fifteen people in the US government know about. There are ten SEALs, POTUS, the SECDEF, the DCI, the Attorney General, and the Secret Service Director. When I retired I was read-off, and someone else should have taken my place.”
“That’s incredible. How would you initiate something like that?”
“SEALs always accompanied the president overseas. They were totally undercover, usually part of the advance party that did pre-security checks for Air Force One. Once it was confirmed that POTUS was kidnapped and held hostage, the SECDEF, the DCI, and the Attorney General had to agree to the provisions of a secret executive order signed by JFK in 1962. He was the original Lance or Lancer, living in Lancelot or some such shit. If the three of them agreed, Operation Broken Lance would be authorized. If we were in-country with POTUS, we’d be notified and try to rescue him. If that wasn’t possible, we’d execute our orders.”
“Were there times you didn’t travel with him?”
“If we weren’t traveling with POTUS, well, we were on twenty-four-seven recall. Anything we did was priority one. Only half of us could be out of the country at one time. What was briefed when we were read-on was that Kennedy determined the American people didn’t want to see their president subject to torture or paraded around after being captured. A president would likely be tortured for information. The country would be at risk, and the government would become completely dysfunctional.
“The vision I have is when the Iranian hostages were taken in 1980 for 444 days, imagine if POTUS had been visiting the embassy. Or when Saddam was abused by his people after they found him in a hole in the ground and was turned over to the Iraqis. It was also considered a suicide mission, as once in-country, we didn’t expect to get out alive. It was a volunteer assignment.”
Hunter shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. That’s incredible, Bill.”
“Now five of the more senior former Lancers have been taken out by what we think is a sniper, ironically using the method and weapon we trained on to take out the president.”
“You mentioned the Secret Service director also knew. I guess he didn’t get a vote?”
“Several of the Secret Service directors were former SEALs and a former Lancer. Like O’Sullivan is, or was. I’m not sure what JFK was thinking when he put the onus on the Navy for that work, other than he was once a naval officer. In ’62, he created special operations commands and the Green Berets and SEALs. I guess if someone had to take him down, he wanted a fellow naval officer to put him out of his misery.”
“So what do you think is happening with your guys?”
“I don’t know. Five of my friends are dead, and most likely I’m targeted as a former Lance member and leader, or because I was at the war college the same time you were. Remember, we were under surveillance the whole time we were at school and never knew why or who was responsible. Then I find a tracking device on my car.”
“All Nazy knew was to get info on why I was hanging out with you. She never mentioned anything about tracking devices.”
“Duncan…who’s Nazy?”
“Sorry. She was the woman sent to spy on me. She’s now a….”
“She’s SIS, Chief of Near East Division,” Lynche said quickly. “She’s also Duncan’s fiancée.”
The information confused McGee more than it helped, but the retried Senior Intelligence Service agent in the left seat knew how to condense information.
“Bill, you were the focus of everything back then,” Hunter said. “I assumed it was something to do with your role in chasing Osama bin Laden or killing al-Qaeda shitheads. I was collateral.”
“So did I.”
“But once Nazy came over to the dark side, that operation soon ceased, as I understand it. Greg, didn’t the FBI take it down?”
Greg nodded. “I don’t get any of the connections. It seems pretty weak.”
“I agree it’s weak, but it’s a better connection than what the National Security Council thinks it might be—someone from the Middle East with an ax to grind against Team Six after they took down Osama bin Laden.”
Hunter frowned as he thought. Then he said, “OBL and OBL.”
“What?” the other two men asked simultaneously.
“Osama bin Laden and Operation Broken Lance. That’s weird. Is that weird? What do you think’s going on? Who’s behind this?”
“Duncan, I don’t know,” McGee said. “You’re the smartest guy I know, and you see things us Billy Ray Joe Bob Average types don’t. That’s why I called the CEO at Schweizer. I didn’t know where you were, but he did. I’m glad you came. You have to tell me how you’ve got a jet. Part of me wants to h
ear you stole it from a scumbag when he wasn’t looking.”
“That’s pretty close. Try drug-forfeiture program. It’s a former drug lord’s private coach. We got it from the DEA several years ago.”
“Why does that not surprise me? That’s a great story.”
“You really have no idea who might be involved?”
“My knee-jerk reaction is al-Qaeda or the Pakis or Saudis, but the Broken Lance connection is screaming, ‘Look at me!’ and I can’t see anything obvious. Those who are read-in on the program are patriots.”
“I’d argue that the previous group was patriots. I’m not convinced this crop is anything but closet communists. The current AG isn’t friendly, and the DCI’s a flaming queer. Both have a different agenda by direction of the president. As much as I dislike them, I can’t conceive of how they’d organize anything that would put you and the other SEALs in the crosshairs, unless he put a contract on you guys; but why would he do that?”
“You know the AG wanted to try a couple SEALs for interrogating an AQ terrorist. The idiot isn’t on our Christmas card list. For that matter, neither is the DCI or the President. The whole SEAL community is infuriated with them, specially the president, who’s running around the country high-fiving every swinging dick he sees. We feel his politics have put the whole SOF community in the crosshairs. Now we’ve got five dead SEALs.”
Hunter and Lynche let that simmer for a moment before Hunter tried to vector the discussion into more informative directions. Lynche said, “I haven’t considered the Attorney General, but you’re right about him. Why him, or why not him?”
“He’s too stupid and too wrapped up in trying to establish social justice bullshit at the DOJ,” Hunter said. “He’s not smart enough for something like this.”
“OK, not the AG. Too stupid. The SECDEF? That makes no sense at all,” said McGee.
“Agreed.”
“What about the DCI?” asked Hunter.
“That bothers me more than a little,” Lynche admitted. “I know he is not one of your favorites and I still have a problem with motive.”
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