by Oliver North
Sarah Dornin said, “Well, sir, we've got to find some way to stop these radical imams from spewing this hatred. Encouraging young people to build bombs, put them in backpacks, and blow themselves up isn't religious speech protected by the First Amendment."
“I agree with Sarah," said Kilgannon. “And these attacks are likely to hit the financial markets even harder than what's already happened because it's an attack on us by our own people. Even without using a nuke the Islamic Brotherhood has severely crippled the U.S. financial markets. The stock markets, commodity exchanges, and many other institutions are still closed. We've never experienced anything like it— it's been the longest bank holiday in American history—worse than anything, even the ‘Crash of '29.’”
“Until yesterday's attacks, I thought maybe we had turned the corner, that things were going to start to improve," said the President.
The Treasury Secretary shook his head gloomily and said, “Some of the banks, credit unions, and savings and loan institutions with solid reserves tried to open for just a couple hours a day. But there was such a run as customers tried to withdraw all their cash, they had to shut the doors. It's pretty grim news all around. While you were talking to the families of the injured, I was listening to the guys from the NYSE and NASDQ. They aren't anxious to reopen anytime soon. I think we're going to find the same thing when we talk to the people from the Commodities Exchange when we get to Chicago."
The President looked at Sam Browning, his Secretary of Energy, and said, “Sam, can I tell the American people that they are going to be able to heat their homes this winter?"
“I hope so, sir," said Browning. “Our first two fully operational coal-conversion plants in southern Virginia and West Virginia will come on line at the end of the month. Every nuclear plant is now at peak electrical production and our ‘soybeans and corn to diesel’ program will be fully implemented by the end of December. On the downside, because of energy shortages and rationing most businesses are operating on less than 25 percent of employees—at least that's how many have been showing up in East and West coastal cities. The figure's a little better, about 50 to 75 percent in the Midwest. No one knows for sure if gas is being priced at some amount that reflects any business or industry standards. Nothing's logical. The price of gas is ‘whatever traffic will bear,’ and people seem to be willing to pay whatever it takes to get some fuel."
“The economy won't start to improve until we can get the price of gasoline back within reason," interjected Frank Kilgannon. “And now with this attack on mass-transit, even fewer people will be willing to take a train or bus to get to work."
“The problem is bigger than just rationing or lack of fuel," responded Browning. “Since the banks are shut down, no retailer wants to take a credit card because they can't be sure of ever getting paid. With ATMs shut down and pumps that won't take a credit card, there are increasing reports of an underground ‘barter economy’—people offering possessions or services in exchange for fuel. That means no sales taxes are being collected."
The President looked around the table and said, “You guys are giving it to me straight, without spin, and I appreciate that. I don't think we ought to sugarcoat things for the American people. But we've been through worse times as a country, and I'm convinced that we can weather this storm as well."
Before the Commander in Chief could continue, his Air Force aide entered the staff space and said, “Excuse me, Mr. President. You have a call from Senator James Waggoner."
The President grimaced and turned toward the others in the room and smiled. “I just said things could be worse. I guess they just got that way."
He took the call in his private quarters. “Hello, James…”
“Mr. President," Waggoner said, “I hope that when you get to Chicago you are more forceful about shutting down these radical mosques and Islamic centers than you were in New York a few hours ago."
“Well, thank you for your advice, Senator," said the President. “I can assure you that I am using all the authorities afforded me under the Constitution to protect our citizens and their rights."
“Rights?" said Waggoner. “These terrorists have no right to blow up innocent civilians and threaten us with nuclear blackmail! We need a firm hand at the helm, Mr. President. You and I see the same intelligence. You and I both know the Iranians are behind all this. They're the ones inspiring these radical mullahs or ayatollahs or whatever they call themselves here in the United States. It's time to cut off the head so that the rest of the snake dies."
“Well, Senator, there is something else that you and I both know," interrupted the President. “This is an open, nonsecure phone circuit that can be monitored by too many people for me to discuss these matters further with you. Thank you for your call. I hope we can talk more when I return to Washington. If you need to talk to me sooner, please use the secure voice instrument in the SSCI secure space. Good-bye."
With that, the President hung up the phone. As he returned to the staff compartment he said, “I sure hope our party can field a serious candidate for the 2008 election. Senator Waggoner already has his campaign slogan."
“What's that?" asked Bruce Allen.
“It's time to cut off the head so that the rest of the snake dies.”
BLAME
AMERICA FIRST
___________________________________________________
___________________________________________________
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CJR Warehouse
________________________________________
867 Avenida Maiquetia, Caracas, Venezuela
Saturday, 03 November 2007
0930 Hours Local
Dan, I don't know quite what to make of it,” said Brig. Gen. Peter Newman to Lt. Col. Dan Hart. He was staring at the computer screen, rereading the lengthy Operations Order that he had received by encrypted e-mail from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff a half hour ago. “This op order clearly states that we are now ‘Operational Control of Special Operations Command’—but that as a ‘Special Unit’ we will continue to receive ‘tasking’ from and ‘report to’ the JCS. How can we be under the Op Con to SOCOM and still take orders from and report directly to the Joint Chiefs?"
“I agree, it doesn't fit any task organization or chain of command that I've ever seen, sir," said Hart, looking over his shoulder. “I think it's because of that paragraph in the ‘Coordinating Instructions’ where it refers to our ‘Initial Primary Mission.’ My guess is that back in Washington they're worried about us not carrying out the ‘Threat Mitigation’ mission, given all the political fallout from yesterday's transit system attacks."
“Brother, do I regret the decision I made not to bring any portable printers on this mission," said Newman, scrolling back through the text on the screen. “I want to make sure that we're both reading this the same way. You're saying that we're to carry out the Mubassa tasking and find out what's causing the radiation in that hangar—as long as the two missions don't conflict?"
“Yes, sir," said Hart.
“Well that's how I see it too," said Newman, shaking his head, “but I don't see how they don't conflict. What time is Mubassa supposed to show up at that museum?"
“At noon, sir," replied Hart. “Chief Suazo and his people left here last night at 2100 to get in position. They're reporting in every hour by D-DACT."
“Well if that goes down as planned, as soon as the hit on Mubassa happens, Valdez will turn this country inside out trying to catch the perpetrators. And that's going to make getting into that hangar where the radiation is coming from a whole lot harder than it is already."
“There's no doubt about that, sir," said Hart. “I talked at length with Eduardo about it. He thinks that he can get two, maybe three, of our people onto the military side of the base. He's rounding up the appropriate uniforms and IDs, and I've picked our three best Spanish speakers to try just walking in the front door, but Eduardo won't have any of that stuff ready until
tomorrow at the earliest."
“What did Sergeant First Class Nievos say this morning after the recon he conducted last night?" asked Newman.
“The chain-link fence is alarmed with both seismic and laser sensors. He said the lasers around the perimeter of the building can be seen very clearly with NVGs. There are cameras mounted all over the place, and at night at least a dozen armed guards and two dogs patrol the back and sides of the structure. He also suspects that just inside the perimeter fence there may be anti-personnel mines planted since the guards avoid the area. At one point a guard dog slipped its collar and went over to the fence to pee, and the dog handler hid behind one of the concrete revetments until the dog came back."
Newman chuckled, shook his head, looked at his watch, and said, “A little over two hours before Mubassa shows up in the scope of Chief Suazo's .50 cal. sniper rifle. According to everything in this op order, by that time they'll have two attack subs off the Venezuelan coast, an F-16 squadron with tankers at Roosevelt Roads, Puerto Rico, and the Eisenhower Carrier Battle Group headed into the Caribbean. Sure would hate to waste all that firepower just because we ‘needed’ to take out this guy Mubassa."
“What are you going to do?" asked Hart.
“I'm going to do something that's very uncharacteristic," said Newman. “I'm going to send a message to Washington and see if they will make the call on this one."
USS Dallas, SSN 700
________________________________________
67° W 11° N, Approx 25nm N of Caracas
Saturday, 03 November 2007
1130 Hours Local
Capt. Ross Conner was justifiably proud of his crew. Just forty-seven hours and 1,600 miles ago the USS Dallas had been in port at Hamilton, Bermuda, awaiting the arrival of a SEAL team that was flying in from Dam Neck, Virginia. Now the fast attack sub was hovering at a depth of two hundred feet, just twenty-five miles due north of the Venezuelan coastal city of La Guaira, the main port for nearby Caracas. The high-speed run the Dallas had made south, down the Atlantic Basin, across the Milwaukee Depth, and through the narrow Canal de la Mona, between Puerto Rico and Santo Domingo, had been one for the record books.
After checking their location one final time on the paper chart and the electronic display above the chart table, Conner looked up and said, “Well, we did it. We're where we're supposed to be. XO, pass a ‘Bravo Zulu’ to everyone."
“Will do, sir," replied Lt. Cmdr. Mike O'Malley, the executive officer of the boat. “But before I pass that word, you better take a look at the new op order. As soon as we put out the trailing wire antenna, we took in a message from SubLant with a ‘Shoot to Kill’ order for any of the Saudi boats that they have been looking for."
Conner looked up from the chart at his XO and asked, “Is that just for us, or is it for everyone?"
“It's for everyone—aircraft as well. They even sent it to the P-3 detachment they moved to Guantanamo," answered O'Malley, handing the captain the printout.
Conner bent over the chart table and read the operative paragraph ordering all ships and aircraft to “sink without warning” any pirated Saudi vessels that were “located on the high seas in international waters."
“Well, in my twenty years in the Navy, that's the first time I've seen that written down. I sure hope that the guys running this show have told everyone else where we are. I sure don't want to take a hit from someone else's weapon," said Conner, handing the op order back to O'Malley.
“Yes, sir," said the XO. “Theoretically, no other ‘friendlies’ are supposed to be in our ‘operating box.’ The Virginia's position is off Maracaibo. I'm having the chief plot her operating area on the display. The boundary between us and them is 69 degrees west."
“I'm trying to remember the original op order that we got before leaving Bermuda," said Conner. “Does Virginia have a sixteen-man SEAL team aboard as well?"
“Yes, sir," replied O'Malley, “they picked theirs up at Key West."
“Man, she must have been hauling through the Yucatan Channel and across the Cayman Ridge to get on station that fast," said Conner.
“Yes, sir," agreed O'Malley. “And that's no pleasure cruise. There are all kinds of seamounts, uncharted wrecks, and things to bump into to be going fast on that course."
“Well," Conner shrugged, “they wanted us in position—and we're here. Do they have any satellite imagery for us on any of our targets?"
O'Malley consulted the printout of the message he had just received from SubLant and said, “The imagery is coming in on Norfolk's noon ‘data dump,’ but according to the info here, three of the pirated Saudi vessels are tied up at the Venezuelan Navy pier in La Guaira at berths 23, 24, and 25. There is a large container ship beside them at berth 20. There are a total of twenty-two vessels in port. Most of them are commercial container and bulk cargo ships, one inter-island cruise ship, and a ferry that comes and goes every eight hours between La Guaira and Isla de Margarita."
“Enough of the tour guide stuff, O'Malley," said the captain good naturedly “Have any of the Venezuelan Navy vessels moved since the last satellite pass? And where are the other Saudi boats?"
O'Malley pointed back at the printout and said, “Three Venezuelan frigates are still at Maracaibo, there's one here, and two at Puerto La Cruz. Two patrol boats remain in port at La Guaira, two at Cumana, two more are tied up at Maracaibo. Both of their subs are in port—one at Punta Fijo, the other one at Cumana. In addition to the three Saudi vessels up above us at La Guaira, there is one pier-side at Maracaibo and another—a big one, almost 230 feet—en route in this direction from Aruba."
“Headed this way, and not toward Maracaibo?" asked Conner. “I wonder why. Maracaibo is a lot closer to Aruba than Caracas."
“According to that long message we received in Bermuda, the intel boys believe that the nuclear weapons are in Caracas and are probably going to be loaded aboard ships here in La Guaira. There's nothing here to change that assessment," answered the XO, scanning the message again.
“What's it say about the big vessel headed here from Aruba?" asked the skipper. “Do they have an ETA?"
O'Malley read out loud, “She was built in Italy, twin screws, supposed to have a crew of thirty-five, draws eighteen feet, and has a max speed of thirty knots. She was named Arabian Star but has been renamed Scimitar—blue hull, white superstructure, helo deck on fantail. The vessel is—or was—owned by Sheikh Abdullah al-Aziz, a cousin of the Saudi Interior Minister. Sheikh Aziz was killed in Riyadh. If she holds current course and speed, the Scimitar's ETA at La Guaira is 2100 local this evening."
“Since we have to take her in international waters, she should be coming this way at about 1930 or so," said Conner, doing the math in his head. “And that means we had better be ready an hour or so before that to send her to the bottom."
Room 1527, Tanausu Tower Hotel
________________________________________
Avenida Las Acacias
Caracas, Venezuela
Saturday, 03 November 2007
1150 Hours Local
It was a very long shot. Master Chief Manuel Suazo had estimated it by eyeball to be 1,300 yards. The laser rangefinder had confirmed that it was actually 1,293.2 yards when he conducted his final recon twenty-four hours ago. The SEAL sniper took another look through the Leupold 10X scope atop his Barrett M82A3 .50 cal., rolled onto his side, and stretched his shoulders and neck.
“What do you think, Chief?" First Class Petty Officer Tony Avila asked his brother SEAL as he lowered his binoculars.
“I think you guys have been living pretty high on the hog for too long in this hotel suite and it's time you went back to work, that's what I think," said Suazo with a grin. “What are you seeing over there, Sanchez?"
Danny Sanchez, a Delta Force staff sergeant, was posted on the north-facing windows of the luxurious suite. Like Suazo and Avila, he too was positioned six feet back inside the room, looking out over the balcony toward Boulevard Sabana Grande. “N
othing yet," Sanchez replied, “but it looks like the motorcade might be on time. There's no more civilian traffic on the boulevard, and I've seen two sets of motorcycle cops going the wrong way up the highway."
“OK," said Suazo, “let's get ready. Everybody put your earplugs in. Pam, everything quiet out in the hallway?"
“Yep," said a female voice from the main entryway of the suite. Pamela Browne, one of the two females “on loan” from the CIA Operations Directorate, had checked into the suite three days ago with Sanchez. When Suazo had arrived last night, she had pitched in with the men to turn the luxury suite into a sniper's nest.
Six feet back from the sliding glass doors on the west side of the suite, the four of them had labored to construct a prone firing position high enough for Suazo to fire through the open door and over the balcony railing from deep inside the room. First, they placed four wooden chairs facing inward, atop the suite's dining room table, and then put one of the double bed innerspring mattresses on top of the chair seats. Using bed and chair pillows, Suazo then made a stable position on the mattress for the front bipod and customized rear monopod of the .50 cal. sniper rifle. From his position, six feet above the floor, Suazo had a clear shot 1,300 yards to the west—all the way to the front door of the museum in the Parque Los Caobos.
As Suazo rolled back into position, Sanchez said, “Here comes the motorcade. You'll see it in a few seconds moving from your right to your left. There are four motorcycles out in front, followed by two SUVs with guns sticking out the side and rear windows, then two black Mercedes, then two more SUVs."