Special Access

by Mark A. Hewitt

  The President said as if on cue, “America will never know your courage and heroism, Gentlemen. On behalf of every American, please accept our deepest appreciation and gratitude. This grateful nation will forever be in your debt. Thank you and congratulations.”

  The four men stood stunned, each holding a heavy wooden presentation case, as the former Speaker of the House and new President uttered a few closing comments. Before he left the room, the President leaned toward Hunter and said, “Come see me soon.”

  The Acting DCI sidled up in front of the four men and said, “Congratulations, Gentlemen. Now I need those back. They’ll remain in the Director’s safe until…. Well, one of these days, Wraith will be declassified, but I doubt it. You know the drill. Congratulations, Gentlemen, and well done. This didn’t happen, and you can’t talk about it.”

  “Easy come, easy go,” Hunter said, as they surrendered their medals to the Acting DCI, who also left the room equally quickly.

  The Secretary of Defense emerged from behind the row of men. “I think you two can go. Please close the door behind you.” He pointed to the two Bobs. The SECDEF looked at Lynche and Hunter, shaking his head as if trying to clear an ugly thought from memory.

  Lynche felt anxious. Something was wrong about the situation. It was ominous to have the SECDEF be the last one in an awards rotation. They hadn’t done anything for DOD but use their gas.

  “Nice work, Gentlemen. I had no idea. My predecessors knew something was going on all around the planet. They’d get a little intel here, a little there, but the DCI would never share the source. Now I know why. There always was a question about what happened to the remaining YO-3A that was on loan to the FBI. I understand it’s in that container?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hunter replied.

  Lynche didn’t glance at Hunter.

  “And you have a G-four or five. You feel like you can come and go as you see fit from, let’s say, Diego Garcia. Do I want to know what you were doing in Diego Garcia?”

  “No, Sir. You do not.”

  “I think the President should’ve added ‘highly inventive and audacious’ to your citation. However, using a CIA-front company and the probable misuse of government aircraft, and who knows how much jet fuel you guys used to enrich yourselves, isn’t consistent with the theme just articulated by the President when he just declared you two national heroes. Since he also signed an executive order, in essence a blanket pardon, for anything you two did in the execution of national security for the America, it would be difficult for me to send you two to jail."

  “Here’s the deal. I’m willing to strike those aircraft from the government’s inventory and transfer ownership to you….”

  “What do you want, Sir?” Hunter asked.

  “The Acting DCI and I agree you have to start running a legitimate business. No more CIA-front company. And DOD wants to contract for some of your services….”

  “Can do easy, Sir,” Hunter blurted. He thought, “I’ll still have to work, but this will be harder with every Tom, Dick, and Harry at the Pentagon knowing about the YO-3A.”

  “…and I want to see what you did with that airplane. Do we have a deal?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Lynche and Hunter shook the SECDEF’s hand.

  As the Secretary of Defense left, Lynche turned to his friend. “I take it all back, Hunter. You’re the luckiest SOB on the planet.”

  The men were about to leave the conference room when the Secret Service Director chased them back inside. Hunter made introductions. O’Sullivan offered the men his congratulations.

  “I want you to know that Captain Bill McGee received the Navy Cross from the President,” he said. “Someone at the CIA provided information that the intel was wrong regarding Osama bin Laden’s whereabouts on Tora Bora, and McGee should not have been removed from command of SEAL Team Six. Bill’s at peace and is with his teenage girls at a racquetball tournament. He said, if I saw you, to tell you they can kick your ass on the racquetball court.”

  “Thank you, Marty.” Hunter pinched his lips, as the Secret Service Director turned and walked swiftly out of the room and down the hall.

  Once all the government’s senior executives were out of the conference room, Hunter and Lynche stepped into the hall to find their suitcases and a combat-ready Secret Service agent.

  “I’m to take you wherever you want to go,” the man in black said.

  “Let’s go. It’s been quite a day.”

  Hunter and Lynche extended the handles of their rollerboards and followed the man in black down the long tiled hall. Lynche kept looking at Hunter, trying to say something, struggling to find the right words. Hunter noticed and stopped. So did Lynche. The man in black walked out the double doors, as the two friends faced each other.

  “Have you any idea what just happened to us?” Lynche asked. “Greg, you’re a hero,” Hunter said nonchalantly and patted Greg on the shoulder. “I’m the luckiest guy on the planet. Not bad for Billy Ray Joe Bob Average.”

  Lynche's facial expression changed so fast, Hunter couldn't read them.

  “No. That’s not it. How about this…?”

  Hunter could tell Lynche was on an emotional edge. Tears could form in his eyes.

  Through a shaking jaw, Lynche fought to speak. “This has been the most-exiting fifteen years of my life. I’ll miss you.”

  Hunter gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms around his mentor, partner, and friend as Lynche sobbed against him. When Lynche regained his composure, he pulled away.

  “Distinguished Intelligence Cross,” Lynche said. “They gave us a DIC! That’s incredible.”

  “Hold it. Did you say we got dicked? I’m sure it was just a rumor. Did you see a DIC? I didn’t see one.”

  Lynche burst out laughing. “You’re friggin’ incorrigible, Mav. OK, Asshole. That’s it. I have a story to tell. Want to hear it?”

  Hunter’s brows shot up, almost touching his hairline. “You’re finally going to tell me a story from your past? It has to be one hell of a story. You quit on me, and then you tell me a story. What is it, Mr. Lynche? I have to hear this.” He crossed his arms and smiled broadly, waiting for the first of the bottled-up secret war stories his friend carried without sharing.

  Greg looked down the hall to ensure they were alone and then at the ground. He raised his head and said impassionedly, “I recruited you, all the way back to 1982 when you were sent to OCS and then to flight school.”

  “What?” Hunter almost shouted. “I had no dealings with you until you visited me at the Border Patrol in…1996!”

  Lynche grinned like the Cheshire cat.

  Hunter’s brows furrowed, and his mind raced. Lynche never lied to him, but he couldn’t believe what his friend just said.

  “Mav, I ran the Special Activities Branch in the ‘80s. Your name crossed my desk. Somehow, you were some super-smartass world-class racquetball player who managed to get a commission in the Marines and get sent to flight school without a college degree. Have you any idea how unique that is? Of course not.

  “I personally tracked intellectual and physical rock stars, and I tracked your progress for years under a Special Access Program called 17 Nails. One of these days, I might tell you about it.

  “Do you remember filling out blue fingerprint cards for the FBI? Anyway, here and there, I…er, the Agency, helped with some of your assignments. I’ve known you for almost thirty years, and I’ve marveled at the last fifteen. You’re an amazing man, Duncan Hunter.

  “The secret is, I’m the luckiest man on the planet to know and work with you. Now please, no more with the Billy Ray Joe Bob Average bullshit.” He walked toward the doors, leaving Hunter standing there with his jaw open.

  The two men walked outside into a night of increasing fog. Hunter shook his head, his thoughts as foggy as the weather. He returned to the present when he saw men in black standing ready. A typical Secret Service black Suburban, antennas from every square inch on the roof, idled at the
curb.

  A man in black BDUs opened the rear door for Lynche.

  “High misties,” Hunter said, patting Lynche's back with his free hand. “Glad I’m not driving.”

  From the corner of his eye, Hunter saw a flash of red from a streetlamp. As Lynche got into the Suburban, Hunter waited for the flash and headlights to materialize into something more solid. He thought he recognized that particular shade of red even in the slightly swirling fog. More red came into view, as did chrome and the Tri-Star badge in the distinctive grille of a Mercedes SL.

  Hunter turned to Lynche. “My ride’s here. I’ll talk with you later, good Sir. Hugs and kisses to Connie.”

  Lynche looked over his shoulder, then at Hunter. “Luckiest guy I know. Good night, Maverick.”

  By the time Hunter shut the Suburban’s door and walked to the rear of the vehicle, a radiant Nazy Cunningham, in jeans and a polo, extricated herself from the coupe. The two ran into each other’s arms, meeting in the fog spotlighted by the car’s headlights.

  The three men in the Suburban didn’t move; their eyes focused on a screen between the front seats that gave the image of the man and woman embracing behind the vehicle. The Suburban’s rearview camera showed the couple in exceptional detail.

  “Wow,” the driver said. “I don’t get greeted like that when I come home.”

  “That’s one lucky dude,” the man in the passenger seat said.

  “You don’t know how right you are,” said Lynche. After a couple seconds, he added, “Gents, we probably ought to go.”

  The two lovers were so enraptured and entwined, they didn’t hear the Suburban drive away and were ignorant they were alone.

  Nearly breathless, Hunter slowly pulled his lips from Nazy’s. “Well, hello, Ms. Cunningham. That’s quite a greeting. Maybe we should get out of here.”

  With a nod, she walked to the passenger door on unsteady legs, holding Hunter’s hand for balance. As he opened the door, she slid into the seat, watching him and trying to follow his every move.

  They were soon leaving the big Air Force Base. He held her hand, and she stared at him with a grin that could only be described as devilish.

  “Your place or mine?” he asked.

  “The Gaylord is closer.”

  “The Gaylord it is. I was a little shocked to see you drive up.”

  “I would’ve been there earlier, but the President had business to attend to. Everyone had to wait until he was off the base.”

  An alarm rang in Hunter’s mind, and he paused to close his eyes momentarily. “You’ve been a busy girl, Ms. Cunningham.”

  “I have. It’s been a very busy week. I understand al-Zawahiri and a dozen other AQ were killed in Yemen.”

  “Your intelligence is very good. I wonder how you came by that information.”

  She smiled. “I have a new job in Operations and a portfolio of programs. I’m the Program Manager for several SAPs until they appoint a new DCI. I’m also the acting PM for an executive Special Access Program called Wraith. I learned that Wraith is a Scottish dialectical word for ghost or spirit. How apropos—and what a fascinating history. I was read in on it last week.”

  Hunter never shared the name of his program or what he and Greg did for the DCI, but now she knew all of it. The mood in the car grew somber.

  “The former DCI didn’t service that program very well,” Nazy added. “You probably heard he passed away shortly after becoming the vice president.”

  Hunter spoke toward the windshield, worried about something he couldn’t quite identify. “I heard something about that.”

  “It was fairly clear that the principals on Wraith had a remarkable string of successes going back almost fifteen years. They had a unique capability and performed some of the most-difficult missions for Langley, and no one but the Directors knew. The contract kept being extended, too.

  “Then the former DCI moved to shut it down. I believe he wanted to kill the contract and replace it with unmanned aircraft. The case history showed Air Branch politicked to replace the manned Special Access Program with Air Branch unmanned assets.”

  “You blew our cover.”

  Nazy exhaled deeply and turned to look at him. The acoustics in the Mercedes were sufficiently good for her to be heard even when she whispered. “I did. CTC and SOCOM were wringing their hands over their inability to positively ID al-Zawahiri at his compound. After the acting DCI assigned me Wraith, I was to brief him after I was read on.

  “I was surprised you were in Djibouti, very close to Yemen. The Acting DCI dragged me to the White House. I briefed the President, the Secretary of Defense, and the JCS Chairman. The President approved the change in the mission, then I had to fully debrief them on Wraith.”

  Tears streamed down her high cheekbones, falling onto her blouse. “Duncan, I made a mistake. I didn’t think it through. I thought you could get him. I convinced myself after bin Laden you’d want to get al-Zawahiri. Once I realized what I’d done, I thought I sent you to die.”

  Duncan pulled into the driveway of the National Gaylord and was about to speak, but Nazy wasn’t finished. She turned toward her window and squeezed his hand. “When I heard you had engine trouble, I almost had a nervous breakdown. I was so afraid I lost you, I wanted to die.”

  Hunter released her hand, put the transmission in Park, and reached for her chin, turning her head until she met his eyes. “Nazy Cunningham, you’re going to be the death of me, but I can’t live without you. Something has to give.”

  Nazy struggled to remove her engagement ring. Trembling and uncontrollably sobbing, she said, “I need to give this back to you. I…betrayed you.”

  Hunter exhaled as if punched in the solar plexus. When he recovered, he spoke over the steering wheel and closed his eyes. “Other than that, how’d you like Dallas, Mrs. Kennedy? I’ve lost my job, my partner, and now my girl. This has been one hell of a day. And I didn’t see any of it coming.”

  He turned his head to see Nazy confused and in despair. Even with mascara running down her cheeks, she was stunning.

  Duncan shook his head and spoke over the steering wheel. “What am I going to do with you?” He fingered the large diamond ring back and forth several times as she sobbed. Finally, he reached for her trembling hand and slid the ring back on her finger.

  Nazy held onto his shoulders as hard as she could. They struggled to kiss, wiping away tears with their shirtsleeves.

  “I think we have to discuss the conditions of your future employment, Mr. Hunter.” She moved into playful role-playing and trembled with excitement.

  Hunter immediately played along. “Can I at least get a decent meal before you send me back out?” he asked.

  “Negotiations might take several days.”

  “I’m fairly certain we can reach an agreement, Ms. Cunningham, though it may take a while. This place seems as good as any. What do you say?” He stroked the hand with the ring and looked into the eyes that captivated him from the first day he first saw her.

  “You’re lucky to get me. I’ve been a very busy woman.”

  He turned off the engine. He turned and looked deep into her dark green eyes. “Well, I am the luckiest guy I know. Time’s wasting, Ms. Cunningham. I think you’ll find me to be a hard negotiator.”

  “Then let’s get at it.”

  GLOSSARY

  A - Attack Aircraft

  AB - Afterburner

  AC - Attack Cargo

  AFB - Air Force Base

  AFCS - Automatic Flight Control System

  AG - Attorney General

  AGL - Above Ground Level

  AH - Attack Helicopter

  AIDS - Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome

  AK - Avtomat Kalashnikova: Automatic Kalashnikov

  AN/PRQ-7 - Personal Radio, Combat Survivor

  ANVIS - Aviator’s Night Vision Imaging System

  AOR - Area of Responsibility

  APU - Auxiliary Power Unit

  AQ - al-Qaeda

 
AR - Automatic Rifle

  ATC - Air Traffic Control

  ATIS - Automatic Terminal Information Service, a continuous broadcast of recorded information at airports

  BOQ - Bachelor Officer Quarters

  C - Cargo Aircraft

  CALA - Combat Aircraft Loading Area

  C&M - Concealment and Maneuver

  CAT - Crisis Action Team

  CEO - Chief Executive Officer

  CG - Commanding General

  CH - Cargo Helicopter

  CIA - Central Intelligence Agency

  CMC - Commandant of the Marine Corps

  CNO - Chief of Naval Operations

  Code 2 - Distinguished visitor codes: President is Code 1, VP is Code 2

  CONOP - Concept of Operations

  COS - Chief of Station

  CTC - Counterterrorism Center

  D - Drone Aircraft

  DC - Douglas Aircraft Corporation

  DCI - Director of Central Intelligence DEA - Drug Enforcement Administration

  DEVGRU - United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group

  DOD - Department of Defense

  DOJ - Department of Justice

  DOS - Department of State

  DRMO - Defense Reutilization and Marketing Office

  DSS - Defense Security Service

  EA - Electronic Attack Aircraft

  ECP - Enlisted Commissioning Program

  EDA - Excess Defense Article

  EP - Electronic Patrol Aircraft

  ETA - Estimated Time of Arrival

  F - Fighter Aircraft

  F/A - Fighter/Attack Aircraft