by TJ Tucker
“I appreciate the offer, Colonel, but I need to be sure you’re going to take action here. The reason I went into Mexico was to pursue armed trucks that were making incursions on US soil. They’d almost killed a good friend of mine, and to be honest, I have no idea if he’s alive or not.”
“You’re talking about Jason Gilbert? It was in the news. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but he didn’t make it. Your disappearance has been in the news too.”
Burrows recoiled at the word of Gilbert’s death. He curled over, arms over his legs, starting to feel sick. He could not tell if it was from hearing the news, his hunger and exhaustion, or from the water he had drank.
“I followed some raiders back across the border, to see where they were based. I thought it was going to be a small drug smuggling operation, and that I would go to the press and embarrass the Border Patrol over their stupid policies. But what I found was a force big enough to pull off D-day. Now I’m going to embarrass the military. That is unless you go there and ‘discover’ it before I do. Am I making myself clear, Colonel March?”
“Very clear, Mr. Burrows. And I give you my personal guarantee, we will have the situation resolved before you’re even released from the infirmary.”
“Thank you, Colonel. I’m ready to get checked out now. By the way, where is everyone? The base is dead. There are no flights taking off, and there couldn’t be more than a dozen troops from what I’ve seen.”
“They’re mostly in Taiwan and the Middle East. There’s just nothing left stateside after the President deployed everything we had.”
“Then you’re seriously outnumbered, Colonel. They could overwhelm you with what they have there in San Gustavo.”
“I respect that, Mr. Burrows. Once I can confirm the activities at the base, it should not be a problem to recall sufficient forces to protect our borders.”
Colonel March accompanied Burrows to the infirmary, where the doctor on duty gave him an intravenous to hydrate him, along with a high dose of antibiotics to stop any infection in its tracks. March whispered something to the doctor, and Burrows was not paying close attention when the doctor injected another substance into the IV bag. Burrows began to feel very groggy and fell into a deep sleep.
Back in his office, March was on the phone before he even sat down. “Derek, we got him. He knew it was you in charge. He didn’t think it was just the Chinese.”
“Yeah, he could have blown it out of the water.”
“He’s sedated now.”
“It shouldn’t be any problem keeping him under for that long.”
“Oh really? Yeah, I can do that.”
Chapter 61: Dropping the Pretense
Hanna Morgensen brought CIA Director Bill Connolly along on her morning visit to Torres. “I thought I would have Bill brief you in person on some unfortunate developments.”
“Sir, we targeted a list of engineers working on the Chinese missile defense system. We carried out a hit in Hong Kong on one of the people on the list, but it turned out to be a high ranking Chinese politician by the same name. Go figure, Chinese names being so similar and all.” Connolly finished with a morbid chuckle.
“You assassinated a Chinese politician?” asked Torres, wide eyed and aghast.
“That’s not all,” said Morgensen. “The idiot he sent to do the job got caught. He wasn’t counting on the kind of security that attends politicians. As soon as they find out who he is, there’s going to be hell to pay with the Chinese government.”
“There should be plausible deniability”, said Connolly. “We won’t back our operatives when they screw up this badly.”
“Why are your operatives even doing this?” asked Torres, nearly screaming, veins bulging in his forehead.
“Since you banned us from dealing with the professionals at Morningstar, we’ve had to take on their roles ourselves,” said Connolly. “These are the results.”
Morgensen waited a moment for that news item to be fully digested before continuing. “That’s not all. They’ve mistakenly killed Chinese agents in Pakistan.”
Torres was numb by now, and simply shook his head.
“It was a drone strike, and our intelligence indicated they were militants opposed to US activities in Afghanistan,” said Connolly. “The intelligence was mistaken, and they were Pakistani regulars with Chinese attachés.”
“And who authorized you to carry out any of these attacks?” asked Torres.
“It was my understanding from Secretary Morgensen that you did,” said Connolly.
“Hanna, would you please leave us?” asked Torres. She stood up and left without a word.
“Mr. Connolly, can you show me a memo with my signature on it which specifically authorizes any of this?”
“No Sir, it was all verbal.”
“Then I could have you charged with murder, or treason.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sir. I was acting in the national interest, and you know it.”
“And who in your opinion defines the national interest, Mr. Connolly? The CIA Director or the President?”
“Presidents come and go,” said Connolly. “If it was the President, we’d have chaos. The bureaucracy, working together with the corporate entities, has always defined our national interest. With all due respect Sir, your skill set is suited only to sell the decisions to the public.”
“I also have to answer to foreign governments when you murder their citizens. I demand you clear every decision with me first.”
“That’s simply not practical. We would never be able to act quickly enough, and your political cronies would leak information all over the place. If this is not okay, I can resign. But then you’d have two high profile resignations at once, and the rumors would start flying.”
“I will confer with my Attorney General, and we’ll decide together whether you will be charged, Mr. Connolly. If you are, you will resign in disgrace.”
Bill Connolly shrugged as if he could not care one way or the other what Torres had to say. He stood up and left without a word.
Several minutes passed, during which Torres became aware of a conversation taking place outside his office. It did not last long. Morgensen walked back into the Oval Office and went right on offense. “If you hadn’t been such an obstructionist at the beginning and approved the covert operation, they would have kept you in the loop at least as a formality. Instead they had to keep it from you, and now you’re going to lose face when you have to back down on your threats to Bill Connolly.”
“Suppose I don’t back down, Hanna. Suppose I go on the air and tell them the truth about who runs the government. Suppose people knew they were electing a figurehead who executes the will of the elite with no regard for the people?”
“If you forced us to drop the pretense, we would reluctantly do so, Mr. President. Do you really want a United States with a formal oligarchy, out in the open? Because that’s where this is heading if you follow through.”
Torres stewed for a few moments, looking at the Cobra with such hatred that even she appeared to show some fear. “That’s not what I want, Hanna,” he finally said. “But I do want to be kept in the loop for anything we do as a government, where I will be held to account by those who believe the pretense.”
“That can be arranged,” said the Cobra, actually showing relief that she had won that standoff. She stood and left in a bit more of a hurry than was customary for her.
Chapter 62: A Stunt
Bill Connolly left the Oval Office and went straight to see Tyler Matheson, the Defense Secretary, who was in the White House for a meeting with Torres. Connolly waited patiently until he was done. “Hey Tyler, I have something I need to discuss with you.”
“Sure thing, Bill. What’s up?”
“Let’s go out for some lunch. I don’t want to talk here.”
The two men took a cab to a private café in an upscale part of Georgetown that looked like any other mansion from the outside. Access was to members only, and while very expensi
ve, cash never changed hands on site. They took a table off in the corner.
After the pleasantries, Connolly began. “I’m having difficulty with the Chief. I can’t get him to appreciate the importance of maintaining a dominant military position in the world. Morgensen and I were rebuked pretty strongly today.”
“I would’ve thought Morgensen the root of the problem,” replied Matheson. “She’s the one who pushed him to over commit our troops in the first place.”
“She’s definitely in favor of forward positioning,” said Connolly. “But we were pushing for building up the forces at home also,” said Connolly, misrepresenting their meeting with Torres.
“He did seem a little out of sorts when I met with him after you were done.”
“Tyler, there’s no way to really put this delicately, so I won’t try. President Torres is out of his depth. He can’t cope with the demands of the job, he doesn’t understand what’s at stake, and he knows he’s failing. This can make him a little unstable at times.”
“I’ve suspected some of that myself,” said Matheson empathetically.
“So while the ideal way to accomplish the right thing is usually to convince the Chief of it, sometimes you have to be a little manipulative, if you get my drift,” said Connolly.
“I understand. Morgensen does it all the time, in plain sight.”
“Right. But she pushes her own agenda. If you want to build up the home defense, you’ve got to do your own manipulation.”
“I’m not much good at that, Bill. It’s pretty much straight up with me.”
“You’re an honest man, Tyler,” said Connolly. I appreciate that about you. But as I said, I’m on your side here, and I have some skill in that department.”
“And what’s in it for you, Bill?”
“I owe some favors to the Defense industry, and they can be generous after you retire. They know this can’t happen without your okay, so you won’t be left out either.”
“I’ve seen how generous they are to my predecessor,” said Matheson.
“That’s done for you to see. When you retire, they’ll be generous to you, for your successor to see.”
“So what did you have in mind?” asked Matheson, showing genuine interest for the first time.
“How would you like to help me stage a little stunt that exposes our vulnerability?” asked Connolly.
“Am I going to take the heat?”
“No. If there’s any heat, it’s my fingerprints that’ll be all over it,” said Connolly.
“What do you have in mind?”
“There’s going to be a Hall of Heroes ceremony at the Pentagon in a couple of days. That means all eyes will be on the place. We want access to the sub-levels of the Pentagon that previous night. In the morning, we’ll stage a little drill simulating a takeover. There will be several such drills around the country, but it really needs the high profile one at the Pentagon. When it’s all done, we’ll tell the press it was a test of preparedness, and the system was found wanting.”
“The shit’ll hit the fan,” said Matheson. “They’ll figure out they have no defense.”
“Precisely. The administration will have to pretend they were in on it all along, so they don’t look even worse. Then they’ll have to build up our forces at home. How can we lose?”
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing much,” said Connolly. “Just access codes for the Pentagon.”
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Connolly, making it seem a trivial request. “I’d really like to add some drama to it, and make it seem like we got hold of the launch codes for our nuclear weapons. That would really get the press’ attention.”
“As long as you promise not to actually launch our nukes, I guess that’s okay,” said Matheson.
Connolly laughed. “Yeah, the headline ‘CIA Director Blows Up the World’ would be a bummer for my career. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you in the loop, Tyler. On the night it goes down, you’ll hear some weird reports from all over the country. Don’t panic. Come by my house that morning and I’ll give you a full briefing.”
Chapter 63: Langley
The trip from Annapolis to the Virginia suburbs of DC took Millie Howe, John Corson and Frank Goworski through what might be the only corridor of economic boom left in America. That it was funded by new government debt was lost on nobody. But most who lived in the area believed this boom could avoid the bust that affected rest of America, since most of the debt was held by the central bank and as a rule, never repaid. In this last bastion, the attitude remained that deficits simply don’t matter.
They reached Langley and arrived at the Jefferson Deli, just down the street from CIA headquarters. There was a buzz in the room, as though everyone were talking about an event just breaking in the news, and they felt they were the only ones not in the loop.
Snyder walked in within a few minutes, his head hung low as it always was, looking grumpy as he always did. He quickly acknowledged the wave from Millie, and walked to their table, where Millie made the introductions.
“Where’s Stanley?” asked Snyder with a distracted affect that showed he was not exactly thrilled to be there.
“Hiding out,” said Millie. “With the trouble we’re facing, we thought it best for him to keep a low profile.” She left out the news he was wounded, instinctively not divulging more than necessary.
“We understand you’ve been put on a treadmill of busy-work,” started John. “I wonder if it might be intended to keep you busy so you can’t pursue something we think you possibly know about, something that’s of serious concern to us.”
John’s cryptic comment elicited the first sign of a smile from Snyder. “I wouldn’t put it past that bastard Connolly,” he said. “He had me on a project where I couldn’t talk to myself in the shower. But it’s done and I’m not touching it now. There’s already been one spook killed over it.”
“Stanley’s been shot over it too,” interjected Millie, finally showing her cards. “He’s recovering right now, but I felt this important enough to leave him, to see to it that you help these gentlemen.”
“What makes you think you’re onto the same thing?” asked a now softened Snyder.
“Because nothing else could be going on simultaneously with something this big,” said John. “My friend Robbie was murdered after he found something out. Frank here was almost killed. Both were employees of Helsing-Tilbury shipping.”
The expression on Snyder’s face changed instantaneously and dramatically at the mention of Tilbury.
John continued. “What they stumbled on were multiple irrational financial transactions that started in earnest after the takeover. The trail led directly to San Marcos, an island off Panama that Tilbury’s new owners had bought outright. Our colleagues checked it out and found a compact city of cargo containers converted into troop carriers, along with large caches of small arms. The containers are probably en route to US ports right now. Those ports have security provided by a new subsidiary of Morningstar Security Services. We visited one in New Jersey and found them to be rehearsing a quick unload of the containers, with more security officers than union guys doing the work. We think the Chinese are behind this, and that this is the first phase of an invasion force to occupy the United States. The Chinese have a large military base in northern Mexico where at least a segment of the supporting forces might originate. There’s probably more, but that’s what we’ve learned.”
Snyder started to turn red in the face. “That shit eating bastard, Connolly! He’s in on it. That’s why my reports went straight to him, and only him. And why I’ve been doing this crap that nobody cares about.”
“I take it this all rings a bell,” said Frank.
“Sure as hell does. The Chief himself told Connolly to get a report on Morningstar and Derek Ellis.”
“We’ve made his acquaintance,” said John with a bitter expression.
“After the Chief banned them
from government contracts, they were as good as sunk,” said Snyder. Then Ellis loaned millions of his own money to Morningstar and kept it completely intact. No layoffs, nothing. Nightwatch comes in soon after that, I think. Tilbury was the mystery to me. We had a dossier on them, ordered up after the takeover. But when I saw it any mention of the takeover was gone. Central details, like who it was that took them over. Not only that, but the Agent who developed it was bumped off. Have you heard about the DC area sniper?”
John nodded, and Snyder continued. “Well, our guy’s ballistics reports are sealed. None of the other victims’ reports are sealed, only his.”
“Couldn’t that just be a CIA thing?” asked Frank.
“If it was a low-level seal, say to keep the report away from the media, yes,” said Snyder. “But I can’t access them, and it takes the permission of the FBI Director to see them. That’s extraordinary.”
“And it means the FBI Director may be complicit,” said Millie. “Gentlemen, be very careful.”
“Robbie Linssman went to the FBI with his suspicions and he’s dead. It fits with the evidence, that’s for sure.” Frank stopped himself before saying anything about the FBI’s interest in them, deciding that this knowledge would only complicate matters with the CIA Agent.
“Did your report reach the President?” John asked of Snyder.
“Very improbable. The Chief’s too busy and too impatient to read our reports. In any event, I keep my reports dry. I describe facts and avoid interpretation. Connolly would have given the Chief a short note in his regular briefing, but if that sniveling chickenshit is what I think he is, he’d have given it a spin to make it seem like a dead end.”
“So who can we tell what we know?” asked Frank. “Who’s in a position to do something with the info, and won’t kill us for the effort?”
“Nobody,” said Snyder flatly, as he poked the remnants of his sandwich. “If you want to stay alive, you don’t tell anybody.”