Forged in Honor (1995)

by Leonard B Scott

Jennings shook his head as if dealing with a child. "That's ridiculous. We'll need months to build a case. You're suggesting a cowboy operation that breaks the first rule of the community-plausible denial. Gordy, in our business we must establish a cover story so that our government and the Agency aren't fingered if an operation turns sour. We can't mount an operation without-"

  Thorton shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? The president doesn't give a shit about plausible denial. He knows his so-called drug war is a toothless tiger; he knows it and wants to take some real action. These assholes killing our people gives us an excuse to do something that will eliminate at least the heroin problem once and for all. Plausible denial is not a factor in this. It's in this country's national interests to eliminate the junta and shut down its drug production, and no third-world country's whining to the U. N. is going to mean a flying fuck to us. I'll give you three weeks. That's as long as I can keep the press from knowing we're stalling.

  Gentlemen, I have to brief the president on this. Find him something that proves or disproves the Burmese government's involvement in the bombing. I will ensure that the president gives you the authority to do so, tonight. Now if you will please excuse me." Pushing back his chair, he stood, dipped his chin toward the three men, and walked out the conference room door.

  The CIA director looked at the other men at the table and slowly shook his head. "The president might want to get tough, but the congressional oversight committee will have to have its say."

  "They'll approve it," said Cutter flatly. "The mood has changed in Congress since Senator Walker's wife was killed by the junkie last month at Tyson's Corner mall. And don't forget that Post article revealing those four congressmen's kids being addicts. My guess is they'll let the mission go and jump on the president's bandwagon. Burma doesn't have any friends in the international community except for China, and when it comes to drugs they wouldn't dare protest U. S. action. The president smells blood and sees an easy, quick solution. He can get rid of their government and at the same time get rid of one of the world's principal heroin producers."

  General Summer furrowed his brow. "This is not how we've done business in the past. It's a major shift in policy that, frankly, I think has been needed for a long time."

  Jennings looked at the two men with a rigid stare. "The immediate problem is that Thorton has just told us to throw together a cowboy operation. That's asking for a damn miracle in the time he's given us."

  Cutter stood with a weary frown. "I suggest we take a break, order some sandwiches up here, and then see what miracles we can come up with."

  General Summer pushed back his chair and stood up, signaling a unanimous decision.

  Hours later, Director Jennings puffed on a cigar and paced back and forth in front of the other two committee members.

  "All right, we've discussed this thing to death. Let me try and summarize what we've decided tonight. First, we all agree that the military government was involved in the murders of our people. Second, based on the evidence we have, we're going with the theory that the bastards ordered the hit to cover up their involvement in heroin production. Third, we agree that our efforts in finding proof should be directed at linking the government with heroin production or trafficking.

  Fourth, we agree to send in teams to find the proof as soon as we can assemble assets. Fifth, we agree to bring in Justice and Treasury so the FBI, Immigration, and Customs boys can work on the tape. We all feel the tape of the agent's phone message is the key to this whole mess. FBI and Customs will have to confirm or rule out that we have Burmese nationals in the United States with bogus visas. If they are here, the FBI will find out why." Jennings stopped pacing and faced the other committee members.

  "Anything else?" 'Cutter looked over the rims of his glasses. "We'll need to bring in the DEA. We'll need their resources and backing on the heroin theory."

  Jennings's brow furrowed as if he were in pain. "Yeah, you're right, but we're going to have to put up with them screaming foul when they find out they weren't brought in from the beginning. John T. will stick it to us and go crying to the president. You know him as well as I do."

  Summer raised an eyebrow. "I'll try and settle his ruffled feathers."

  Jennings blew out another cloud of smoke. "Good luck trying to talk to that asshole. All right, I think we should go home, clear our minds, and get some sleep. But first let's contact our staffs and have them put together folders on assets for the infiltration. I'll take care of the calls to Justice and Treasury. Nathan, you call John T. and see if you can smooth the waters. We'll have a full working group meeting at ten to get them all on board, then afterward the three of us will meet again to compare assets and begin initial planning for the operation."

  "Have you thought of a name for this operation?" asked General Summers.

  Jennings took the cigar from his mouth. "Yeah. We'll name it what it is. We'll call it Operation Miracle."

  Josh glanced at the crowd in the bar at Pier 7. The shift was almost over. He nodded toward two men sitting at a table. "The one on the right is the one they called us about.

  He might be trouble."

  Bob gave the man a casual glance and turned back to the bar. "He's big and he looks drunk."

  "He is," Josh said. He leaned against the bar but kept his eyes on the heavy customer. "Okay, we've made the rounds twice and I've explained the business. You think you've got it down?"

  Bob's brow furrowed. "I think so. You've got two officers watching the two access roads off of Maine Avenue onto Water Street. Their job is to report anything out of the ordinary like cars making multiple passes or gang cars. They also keep a watch on the cars parked on the street for break-ins.

  Three officers are rovers and make the rounds of the parking lots and the restaurants, checking the bars, kitchen, receiving area, and back. Base's job is to screen the incoming calls and notify us if there are real problems. Base is also responsible for calling the First Precinct if we need backup, right?"

  Josh still kept his eyes on the customer. "Yeah, it's a simple but effective operation. You've been working the day shift where all you do is answer calls and pass them on. I thought it was time you saw what we really do. The reason is this: I want you to start taking over for Stefne. She's been able to manage school and the admin stuff, but she starts law school in the fall. I'll up your salary to five hundred a week for the extra work. You think you can handle it?"

  Bob began to respond when Josh pushed off the bar and nodded toward the customer. "Now we're gonna see if our boy starts trouble."

  A waitress had gone to the table to pick up the empty glasses. The big customer ordered more drinks. The young, mini-skirted waitress smiled and followed procedure. "Sir, I'm sorry, but we're not allowed to serve more than six drinks per customer."

  The big man gave her a lopsided smile. "Get the drinks, honey, and you'll find a big tip waiting."

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  His smile turned into an angry scowl. "Get 'us the damn drinks or-"

  Josh stepped up to the table with a pleasant smile. He sat down uninvited and spoke evenly. "Sir, this young lady is just doing her job. She is trying to protect both herself and you, since the law says it's illegal for her to serve you more drinks. Please understand and have coffee instead."

  The customer snorted through his nose. "Who the hell are you? I'm not drunk, and you have no right to insinuate I am."

  Josh kept his smile. "Sir, I am the chief of security for the Waterfront. I didn't say you were intoxicated." He raised his hand from beneath the table to expose the slender Motorola.

  "But according to the law, you have consumed enough alcohol to be in trouble if you were to drive. Please have some coffee on the house."

  The other customer leaned over to his heavy friend.

  "Come on, let's get a cab back to the hotel."

  The big man leered at Josh. "What would you do if I said `Fuck you, shorty'?"

  Josh's smile turned into an exaggerate
d frown. "Then you would be causing a scene, sir. I would be forced to demand that you leave and you'd probably say no, and I'd have to call the police and then, sir, you would be embarrassed, because you would be escorted out by Washington's finest and-"

  "Shut up. I'm going. I can't stand your voice." The big man got up and glared down at Josh. "I could shove that little radio up your ass if I wanted."

  Josh lowered his head to avoid eye contact. "Yes sir, you probably could, but that would be assault and get you five to ten from the judges in this town. Don't forget to pay your tab on the way out."

  Only after the men left did Josh get up. He walked straight to the bar and told the cute cocktail waitress, "You did a good job. I'll pass it on to your manager."

  The waitress looked at him worriedly. "What would you have done if he got violent?"

  Josh smiled. "He didn't-that's my job."

  A woman's voice came over the Motorola. "Hawk One, this is base. We have an India Charlie situation at El Torito's, over."

  Josh held up the radio to his lips. "Roger, base. I'm inbound. Out."

  Bob looked puzzled. "India Charlie?"

  "Intoxicated customer."

  "Looks like it's your night, boss."

  Josh motioned toward the door with one hand and held out the radio to Bob with the other. "Not anymore, the rest are yours. I wanna see if you've learned anything."

  Josh walked along the lighted pier down to Lil' Darlin' and stepped down to the deck. It had been a relatively quiet night and he'd found out Bob had what it took, at least in understanding the business. He was an all right guy, thought Josh. He stepped up onto the top deck and sat down, leaning against the mast. It was a beautiful night. He'd seen hundreds of such nights sitting in the exact same spot, but those times had been very special because Jill had shared them with him.

  He shut his eyes and could see them on the boat, working, laughing, not a care in the world.

  "Darn you, Dad, you scared me. I heard the footsteps and ... What are you doing up here?"

  Josh looked at his daughter, who was standing on the catwalk. "Just sittin' here," he said in a whisper as if he were in church. "It's beautiful out. How come you didn't go back to your apartment?"

  "I got caught up studying. I'll just sleep on the couch tonight and go back in the morning."

  Josh patted the spot beside him. "Come on, sit down. Did I ever tell ya about the old Shan teacher I had?"

  Stefne sat down and cuddled against him. "About a hundred times. 'Knowledge will give you strength,' right? You told me and Mom those stories so many times we used to pretend we were asleep so we wouldn't have to hear them."

  "She wouldn't have done that. You would-you don't appreciate anything-but not my Jill. She loved my stories."

  "Da-aad?"

  "Okay, maybe a few times she pretended."

  Stefne laughed softly and looked up at the stars. "I miss her, Dad. I really miss her."

  Josh felt a familiar ache. "Me too."

  They remained silent for a long time, each absorbed in memories. Finally Josh broke the spell. He reached out and patted his daughter's hand. "I know I'm not doing a very good job of being a 'Father Knows Best' kind of dad, but I wanted to tell ya ... well, I'm real proud of how you turned out."

  Stefne smiled in the darkness and took his hand. "You're doin' okay." Leaning over, she kissed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder. "Dad, it's been a long time since Mom passed away. I want you to know that if you find someone who makes you happy ... it's okay with me."

  Josh gave her a gentle hug. "I'm happy, hon, but thanks."

  "Are you, Dad? I mean, are you happy living on a boat all alone with just the Front for a family?"

  "I've got you."

  "But I'm not going to be here all the time. What will you do when I'm gone?'

  Josh hugged her tighter. "I'll think about it when that day comes. Let's not talk about it."

  She sat back and looked at him. "Dad, I'm worried about you. You're getting as weird as Meg. You won't wear a watch except at work, you putter up and down the river all morning playing that god-awful music. You scull or play racquetball in the afternoons and then work all night. You own only two ties and drive a rusted-out Jeep. And nobody owns an eight-track anymore. Dad, you need to get a life."

  Josh shrugged. "I enjoy what I do. I'm as normal as the next guy. And I want you to know my eight-track works great. I get the tapes for almost nothin'."

  "You call catching turtles normal? Dad, people are talking about you."

  Josh stretched his arms and looked back up at the stars.

  "Don't worry about me, hon. Your old man ain't over the hill. Not yet, not by a long shot." He pointed at a star. "That one is yours, remember?"

  Stefne nodded. She was wasting her time trying to change him ... but she'd known that for years. She saw that he was still looking at the stars and knew he was with her mother again. She got up and walked quietly to the cabin, telling him in a whisper that she loved him.

  Chapter 10.

  6 June.

  The waitress saw her regular walk in and sit down at his usual table at the window. She poured a cup of coffee, picked up the morning paper, and walked over to set them both in front of the early riser. "The usual?" she asked, smacking her gum.

  Josh glanced at the headlines, then at the waitress. "Yeah, Jean, and don't forget the-"

  "Yeah, yeah, hot sauce. I know. You don't have any taste buds left, Josh. You've burned them off with that stuff."

  Josh's eyes gleamed. "Just feed me; I need it for strength.

  Today is the day."

  Jean eyed him as she chewed furiously on her gum. "You said that last week and the week before that. You remind me of my husband when it comes to taking me out. He says yeah, sure, but he don't deliver."

  Josh took a sip of coffee and waved his hand as if brushing her away. "Go away, nonbeliever."

  She rolled her eyes, swung a hip into his shoulder, and strode for the kitchen. Josh read the first three paragraphs of the lead story and felt his chest tighten. Burma again. If the press only knew the truth, he thought.

  A disheveled, middle-aged man with a receding hairline walked into the cafe and pulled up a chair beside Josh. He took a gulp of Josh's coffee and held out his hand. "Gimme the sports."

  Josh tossed the sports section down without looking at his new tablemate and continued reading the front page. Jean headed for the table but the balding man waved her back and barked, "The usual, Jean, but how's about not burning the toast this time, huh?"

  Jean smirked and smacked her gum. "Yeah, yeah." Sticking the pencil behind her ear, she turned around and headed back toward the kitchen.

  Josh finished reading the front page and turned to the second. "Who won?"

  Detective Terrance Kelly, of the Narcotics and Special Investigations Division for the District of Washington's Metropolitan Police Department, shook his head as he read down the box scores. "Nobody that counts." He lowered the page and tapped the paper in Josh's hands. "Who's winning in the world?"

  Josh sighed and dropped the paper to the table. "Nobody.

  Hey, tell me the truth. Am I gettin' weird?"

  Kelly gave his friend of four years a "what the fuck?" look but saw that he was serious. He shook his head and picked up Josh's coffee cup again. "Well, you're a little strange, but compared to the weirdos I deal with every day on the streets you're a regular A number-one citizen. What's up? Stef worried about her ole man?"

  "How'd y'know?"

  " 'Cause you wouldn't listen to nobody else. I know you, remember? I carry your ass on the racquetball court and make the excuses when you fuck up."

  Josh took the cup away from his friend and took a sip before looking out the plate-glass window. "It's tough gettin' old ... how's it feel when you're over the hill?"

  Kelly bristled. "Hey, I'm not even close, look in the mirror, Hawk, and answer that one."

  Josh began to retort, but Jean set a plate in front of him. />
  "One Hawk special, cheese and onion omelet, hash browns and sausage gravy over it all. Eck, what a mess. How can y'stand to even look at it, let alone eat it?"

  Kelly frowned as he looked up at the woman. "Last week it was a 'Kelly's special.' You playin' favorites, Jean?"

  She cocked up a painted eyebrow. "Josh 'tips' and he says `today is his day.' "

  Kelly snorted a half-laugh and picked up his fork. "Yeah, he said the same thing last week." Reaching over, he cut an end off of Josh's omelet and stuck it in his mouth. Chewing, he looked up at Jean and waved his fork at her to emphasize his words. "He ain't never gonna catch him except in his dreams."

  Josh gave them both a sneer. "Today is the day. Just you both wait and see."