The Land of the Free

by TJ Tucker

  Hanna Morgensen looked up and glanced at the faces around the room. Every glance confirmed what she knew would be the outcome. Nobody was willing to argue the point any further, which meant that as far as she was concerned the matter was settled. Any misgivings now had to be set aside. Torres likewise understood that he could not win the argument, and even engaging in it would demonstrate to all in the room that he was not the de facto head of the government. Instead, he leaned forward in a gesture of confidence, and issued instructions. “Hanna, have your people send the letter. Have the Joint Chiefs organize the deployment, to commence immediately. Make sure our forces arrive by the time the Chinese receive their response. Also, if I remember, there was talk of conducting joint exercises with the South Koreans. Let’s move that up. Do it as fast as we can assemble the forces.”

  “I can do it right away,” said Tyler Matheson, the Defense Secretary. “Most of the forces are ready for exercises anyway.” Matheson was young at 41, in his first stint in government, and not yet jaded by his experiences.

  “To put adequate pressure on the Chinese, there will have to be an incident with the North Koreans,” added Morgensen. “They always sweat when they think their retarded client has again destabilized the region. Bill, make it discreet, as usual.” Bill Connolly nodded. He had just the idea.

  Torres couldn’t help but glance over at the Cobra, and shuddered when he caught himself appreciating her look of satisfaction, like a junior employee might enjoy the approval of a boss. Morgensen had rarely looked or sounded this happy. She actually smiled and said, “Very good, Mr. President. We’ll also arrange for a sloppy leak of a diplomatic communiqué stating that we read their intentions as wanting to dominate the Western Pacific, starting with an overt takeover of Taiwan. That should ensure they won’t miss the message that our deployment will send.”

  Torres adjourned the meeting and made a straight path for his private study, feeling disgusted with what he had just agreed to, against his better judgment. He was in favor of reinforcing Taiwan, but not trying to destabilize China. He was going to back a dangerous animal into a corner, hoping the pressure caused it to break down rather than attack. In his mind, he wrestled with the thought that the attempt on his life may have been arranged by the Chinese, and he was afraid. His government was moving towards a confrontation he did not want any part of, but for which he would be held responsible. And the exercises he had proposed in Korea were now going to encounter an “incident” arranged by the CIA. He would be responsible for needless deaths. He consoled himself with the thought that his next act as President would go some distance to making things right.

  Chapter 12: A Leg Wound

  Cam Burrows crawled back under the fence surrounding the San Gustavo complex, again disturbing the trip wire on his way out. He began the return hike to his Tahoe across the ridge, now during the hottest time of day. His water was running out just when he needed it most. He was talking to himself out loud. The climb will be the worst part, so I’ll make my water last to the top. After that, I’ll make it on momentum. Behind him, several helicopters took to the air and flew right over him, continuing over the ridge. They did not seem to notice him, or so he thought. He made it to the top of the ridge and drank the final few ounces from his canteen. He could now see the gully where he had left the Tahoe, and there was more water in there. He made it down the hill in short order and walked the dry riverbed for a few hundred feet. As he was about to enter the gully where he was parked, three armed men emerged from the gully and shouted something he couldn’t understand. It was not Spanish, he was sure of that. He had learned some Spanish, to communicate with the poor migrants he had to intercept for a living. It sounded so different.

  Burrows turned around and ran in the opposite direction down the dry riverbed, not knowing where he would go now that he had been discovered, but sure he did not want to be caught. As he ran past a cluster of bushes, two more armed men emerged and one took a shot, hitting him in the leg. Burrows fell to the ground in pain, clutching his wound, and preparing for the worst. The armed man said something into his radio and walked up to Burrows with his partner, still pointing his assault rifle. Seeing no point in trying to fight further, Burrows raised his hands in the air. One of the men took Burrows’ sidearm, while the other pulled him up to a sitting position. He then got his first close look at the man who had just shot him. “You’re not Mexican,” he said to the man. He looked at the other man. “You’re Chinese.”

  The helicopter arrived within minutes of being called, and they loaded Burrows, together with the men who had captured him. They applied a tourniquet to his leg. He was in some pain, but was confident that they had not hit an artery. He would survive if he got medical attention.

  …

  “Welcome to San Gustavo, Officer Burrows,” said the Chinese man dressed in a military uniform. Burrows sat in the infirmary after being treated for his bullet wound. “We paid the locals very well to leave us alone, so we knew you weren’t some Mexican drug smuggler or anyone from the area. You’re a nosy Border Patrol Agent. I’m confident your government does not even know you’re here. I could have you executed right now and nobody would ever know what became of you.”

  Burrows said nothing and did not look at his interrogator. The Chinese man continued. “I’m also not worried that you even understand what this operation is about. I won’t kill you yet. Not until I get instructions to do so. If you’re lucky, they might have other plans for you. How does that sound?”

  “Your people never gave Jason Gilbert that courtesy, so why should I expect it now?”

  “Our patrols have instructions to avoid capture at all costs, Mr. Burrows. They were simply following orders. You, on the other hand, are not a threat to us as long as you aren’t allowed to describe what you saw here.”

  “Laughlin will see you here before long. You can’t keep something like this secret.”

  “We’ll see about that. In the meantime, I’ll put you up in a reasonably comfortable room. You’ll be locked in, of course, but I see no harm in being civil. I may be ordered to kill you soon anyway.”

  “In that case, thank you for your hospitality, Mr. uh –”

  “General Kim. My name is General Kim, Mr. Burrows.”

  Chapter 13: Closure

  Torres would receive his next visitor in the Oval Office. The formality of the office was essential to get across the message he intended to send. The fallout from Zheng’s visit and the attempt on his life had left Torres despondent over his inability to control the agenda. He was glad to finally be able to take an action he knew to be moral. His phone beeped and announced the arrival of his visitor. Torres barked back with, “Tell him to wait.” He was too preoccupied with what was to come to actually do anything else, but he felt it essential to do this on his timetable.

  Torres opened a dossier on Derek Ellis, the founder and CEO of Morningstar Security Services. He saw the picture of the tall man with slightly graying but perfectly styled hair, about 50 years old, with an athletic build. He was handsome enough to be an actor. He reviewed the notes that read, Ellis is extremely well groomed, always has perfect hair and never goes a day without shaving. Ellis is obsessive about his personal hygiene, including the excessive use of strong perfumes.

  Torres raised his eyes from the dossier and flipped his reading glasses up off his face by pinching the bridge. A sweet smell to cover up dirty work, he thought to himself. It seems Mr. Ellis has a subconscious awareness that what he does is evil. It’s funny how some things show through.

  Torres had suspended Morningstar’s contracts several months ago, but the measure was officially temporary, pending a review of their case. That review was now complete, and Torres was going to announce the final decision in person.

  Torres checked the news on his computer, read a few stories and shut it down. He then picked up the phone, buzzed the outside office and said, “Tell him to come in.” The door opened and Ellis walked in along with his overpowering s
cent. “Good morning, Mr. President. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  “Sit down, Mr. Ellis,” said Torres tersely, signaling that this was not to be a pleasant exchange.

  Derek Ellis sat down. He was imposing in such close proximity, particularly with his overwhelming perfume.

  After some nervous silence, Ellis started off. “Sir, I’d like to make my case for you to restore Morningstar’s status as preferred contractor. Your predecessor clearly understood the value we brought to your operations in Afghanistan.”

  “You had a cozy arrangement with my predecessor, didn’t you, Mr. Ellis?”

  Ellis just nodded in reply.

  “I’ve reviewed the history of your involvement in Afghanistan, the rationale for hiring you in the first place, and the allegations against you, proven and unproven. It’s obvious to me that there’s a pattern at work. Your organization is a brutal collection of mercenaries, with the morals of gangsters. You are a disgrace to the United States, and you have tarnished our reputation in the international community for generations to come. Possibly beyond repair. The number of young Afghans willing to fight us to the death has proliferated beyond all count, inspired by the desire to avenge your actions. I’m sticking to my decision. For as long as the United States maintains a presence in those countries, it will be our professional soldiers who do the job.”

  “The conduct of war is not always a tidy affair Mr. President. What you so dislike is seen by other international leaders as effectiveness.”

  “I anticipated that comment, Mr. Ellis. So I looked up the records of our other military contractors and compared them to Morningstar. We have similar intelligence issues in Iraq. In fact they exist on a larger scale than Afghanistan, but the contractors have at least avoided widespread accusations of war crimes. It’s only Morningstar that seems to have this pattern of abuses. I next spoke with various heads of state that had any interactions with your organization. Not one was willing to vouch for your integrity and to the last, all were supremely relieved to not have to face you anymore.”

  Ellis interrupted. “I should think they would say that. We were at some point trying to overthrow or assassinate half the world leaders we’ve dealt with. We provide that service to the US government. No other contractor has had such an aggressive mandate. Mr. President, the charges come with the territory.”

  “Regardless if that’s the case, the reputation of your organization has become an albatross I cannot carry any longer. You may have acted at the instruction of the government, but you chose to be brutal far beyond what was necessary. I’ve issued an executive order barring any agency of the US government from entering into any agreements with Morningstar Security Services or you personally, Mr. Ellis. I’ve also called for an investigation by the Attorney General of what appear to be well founded allegations of war crimes.”

  “That’s a mistake, Mr. President,” replied Ellis. “Morningstar has more options than you’re aware of.”

  “If that’s a threat Mr. Ellis, it’s ill advised. You have no allies with any power, and no Warren Commission is going to cover up anything stupid you may be considering. Now, get out of my office and out of the White House, or I’ll have you arrested right now.”

  Ellis was nothing if not practical, so he realized this approach was at a dead end. He got up and left without another word. Torres looked down at his notes as he did this, not giving Ellis another glance.

  …

  Once Ellis was out of the area of the White House, he picked up a phone he carried that was not registered in his name, and made a call.

  “It’s Ellis.”

  “His decision was irrevocable.”

  “I’ve reached that conclusion too.”

  “I had initially agreed only to plan it out.”

  “No, there’s nobody else who could run it properly.”

  “And my subsequent role?”

  “That will work for me. I still have a few inquiries out there. Give me 24 hours. If nothing lands, I’m in.”

  Chapter 14: Irregular Procedures

  “I need to fax this memo to you,” said Evan Bozak, on the phone with Robbie first thing that morning. “I can’t email it. If my emails were ever read, I’d be dead meat.”

  “What’s the fuss?”

  “It’s about San Marcos. The memo speaks for itself, but there’s also this. The place here is buzzing about a special payment that’s just been okayed by the CFO. They’re writing a check for $20 million to Morningstar Security Services. Have you heard of them?”

  “Yeah, they’re a paramilitary group. They got kicked out of Afghanistan, if I’m not mistaken. And we’re paying them 20 million? That’s a big chunk of change.”

  “Rumor is there’s more to come. I heard they’ve signed on for three more payments of $10 million each. And it’s just booked as ‘services rendered.’”

  “That’s nuts,” replied Robbie. “There’s no way to hide that in a financial statement. The auditors will flip. Do you know what the payment is really for?”

  “I don’t know, but I have a guess. Remember when we talked in Kingston and I said I thought what’s going down in San Marcos is actually the only reason Smithfield bought out Tilbury?”

  “Sure, that comment’s fresh in my mind.”

  “Well, I’m as sure of it as ever. The memo talks about modifying shipping containers for a specific operation that’s supposed to go down this fall.”

  “What sort of operation do you think it is?”

  “I’ve heard a rumor. I don’t want to say anything more right now.”

  “How about you call me at home tonight then?” asked Robbie.

  “I’ll do that. Meanwhile, you read the memo and decide what you think it means. We’ll talk about it tonight.”

  “Okay, let me give you a different fax number. I don’t want this going to the common area where anyone could read it as it’s printing out.”

  Robbie Linssman moved hastily to the fax machine, almost running. The little used inkjet slowly printed his message as he fidgeted impatiently. As he read the memo, Robbie thought he might know what the operation was. Evan was right to hold off discussing it until they were away from the office, because if this was real, their lives would be in jeopardy if it was known they had this information. Robbie was unable to concentrate on his work for the remainder of the day, and had no appetite for his dinner. All he could think about now was the call to come from Bozak, and what he thought his friend would say.

  Time passed, and no call came. Finally late for bed and unable to bear the suspense any longer, Robbie called Evan’s house to find out what had happened.

  “Shirley, it’s Robbie Linssman.”

  “Robbie, have you heard from Evan?”

  “No, that’s why I’m calling. I was expecting a call from him tonight.”

  “He hasn’t come home. He almost never stays out late, and he always tells me if he’s planning it. But he hasn’t said anything today.”

  “I think you should call the police right away. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Chapter 15: Answers to Demands

  One week after Zheng’s visit to the White House, a memo from the State Department arrived at the Chinese Embassy. The signature was that of an undersecretary of State, leaving an unmistakable message. The matter was not a priority for the US government. Across the Pacific, the USS Clinton carrier battle group was arriving in the Yellow Sea for exercises with the South Korean navy. What was not widely discussed was that the extent of American deployment not only in Iraq and Afghanistan, but even in stable regions of the world had stretched America’s forces too far. Following discussions between Defense Secretary Tyler Matheson and Hanna Morgensen, who insisted that Matheson “simply find the troops somewhere,” forces were sent to Taiwan, leaving America nearly undefended. Even National Guard troops were depleted to the point of irrelevance.

  Torres’ Friday morning meeting was with Morgensen, Tyler Matheson and Treasury Secretary Tom Gal
lant. “It’s about midnight in Beijing right now. It’s probably a couple of hours since they learned that we ignored their demands. It’s also likely that they’ve been briefed on our military moves. Any thoughts on what to expect?”

  “Much of their reaction will be preplanned,” replied Morgensen without a hint of prickliness. “Anything in the financial markets could occur as early as today. Any military action might happen in the next day or two. Perhaps Mr. Gallant can fill us in on moves they might make and what countermeasures we intend to take.”

  Gallant was doodling something on his notepad and looked up, startled at being called upon to express an opinion. “What are you thinking they’ll do?”

  Torres cringed momentarily then stepped in to defend his Treasury Secretary. “Tom, yields on 10-year Treasuries and gold prices are of most interest. Are you seeing any action there?”

  “Nothing,” said Gallant, quickly scanning his laptop. “It looks like the price hasn’t moved since last evening.”

  “The markets haven’t opened yet, Tom,” said Morgensen with a wry smile at the obvious embarrassment he had incurred. “The Asian markets are closed for the weekend, so only London is open. And I’ll help you out here. It’s been a relatively quiet day by recent standards. Gold looks like it’s down a little and yields on the T-bill are down, but only a little. This afternoon might look different.”

  “Tyler, what about Defense?” asked Torres.

  Matheson had a folder open and was ready for the question. “Deployments are underway in Taiwan, and the Clinton has inserted into Korea’s waters. I haven’t heard of any reactions yet.”