by Gordon Ryan
Recruiting a few of his former associates, Harford branched out, starting his own security firm with primarily bodyguard work initially, then progressing to contract killing, mostly on foreign soil.
A decade later, Harford remained in top physical shape, although his current position did not require “wet” work or even strenuous activity. He now had “people” for black ops. The only killing he did personally was character assassination of politicians who stood in his way.
Within those ten years, Strategic Initiatives had signed contracts with multiple U.S. government agencies and about a dozen foreign governments, ranging from personal protection to outright destabilization of smaller governments with shadow leaders who thought it was time for a change at the top. The bread-and-butter work came from domestic security in malls, sporting arenas, and federal buildings.
SI employed over 10,000 people, with several hundred more black ops staff who were paid off the books. Gross revenues in the previous fiscal year had topped fourteen billion dollars. Security work had been good to him. The prospects since 9/11, with the increased concern for domestic terrorism, had only enhanced his reputation and his revenue.
Noting the tone of rebuke in Harford’s voice, Rowley responded cautiously. “I apologize, John. I called you within twenty minutes of receiving your message, but I was in the South African bush with a client. In your business, I know you can appreciate the need for occasionally being out of touch.”
Harford just looked at the man standing before his desk for several long seconds, grunted his acknowledgement, then waved his hand toward a chair.
“Clay Cumberland’s dead, as the whole world knows. I put five million into his presidential campaign, and I got three hours from him. Worst investment I ever made. Where will Snow stand on issues of importance to SI?” Harford asked.
“In all candor, I don’t know,” Rowley said, “but it doesn’t matter. We have the votes we need in Congress, and our inside Pentagon source is moving, even as we speak, to close the loop. Snow won’t even find his private toilet before we have this locked up.”
Theodore Justin Rowley, T.J. to his associates, was the president of his own company, a public relations firm that worked exclusively for politicians, governments, and the military, both domestic and foreign. Not in any respect as large as SI, T.J. Rowley & Associates was, nonetheless, a force to be reckoned with when image was needed. From political campaigns to outright deception and manipulation of public interest, Rowley knew exactly how, and just as important, when, to present the “truth” through his vast media resources. No longer referred to as public relations, the high concept term had become “perception management.” T.J. Rowley and Associates was the best in the world at creating it. His boiler room Internet chat sites spewed forth his personal brand of truth twenty-four hours a day, ridiculing anyone who thought differently. If you wanted your idea to be “true” and popular with the public, Rowley could make it so. On Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and a hundred other blogs his operatives, mostly stay-in-their-room teenage nerds, had specific orders to combat any ideas contrary to T.J. Rowley & Associates’ opinion de jour.
Harford picked up where he left off. “And what about our progress for passage of the Domestic Tranquility bill? Is everything in place in the House and the Senate?”
Rowley nodded. “All done. Your choice of a project name was masterful. Even the liberals are onboard with the concept. Every congressman who addresses the issue invokes the Constitution when he’s speaking about it. I love it. It’s made my sales job that much easier.”
“That’s fine,” Harford commented. “On the operational side, I’ve arranged for an Irish associate to drop information into the European underground network. If all goes well, they’ll troll the bait. Then either the CIA or Homeland Security intelligence operatives will pick up on a warning, and if they act quickly, they’ll be fully aware of the coming domestic threat. Internal intelligence briefings to the congressional committee should do the rest, as far as passage of the bill is concerned.”
“Excellent,” Rowley said. “Are your operational people ready to react?”
Harford remained quiet for several long seconds before responding. He had long ago learned his basic premise: don’t share any information with subordinates. “You create the public perception, T.J. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Consider it done. Our congressional supporters have planted the seed, and General Wainscott has already created the position paper to reflect the insufficiency of an Army National Guard response to domestic terrorism. John, the upcoming California secession, whether it happens or not, only adds to our cause. America is in turmoil. SI will be the resource they turn to when domestic violence commences. Wainscott’s on it.”
Harford raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “Don’t let him get too far ahead, T.J. Being prescient is one thing—being clairvoyant is another. Do you believe California will follow through? Will the president let them go without military action or declaring martial law?”
“We’ve had four presidents in as many months. What this newest one will do is uncertain, but after the Battle of Capital Mall in Sacramento—well named, I might add—who knows? I doubt he wants military bloodshed any more than Eastman did. A civil war over freeing the slaves was a moral cause which much of the world understood. Sending troops to keep California in the Union is another matter. In my opinion, it would not justify open combat—body bags—in American cities.”
Harford nodded. “And Senator Culpepper? Is he convinced of the need for more domestic security resources—that the Domestic Tranquility bill is the answer?”
Rowley chuckled. “Culpepper used the term ‘promote the domestic tranquility’ himself the other day in committee. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“You better hope it’s only irony. We need Culpepper to support our White Paper on the need for increased domestic surveillance measures and arrest powers for the private security guard force. We need the Patriot Act expanded, more law enforcement authority. We also need to be able to offer a private security alternative to an unpopular activation of the National Guard.”
“I’ll stay on it. Culpepper is not quite as susceptible as some of the others. He’s in his last senatorial term and looking for his legacy, not more campaign funds. But he’s always been in support of security measures, and from the tone of his last public announcement, he understands that Americans are going to have to make some tough choices between personal liberty and security.”
“If he’s not going to be with us, T.J, then it’s time he retired, voluntarily or otherwise. I’ve got over fifty million tied up in the latest generation metal detectors, bomb sniffing apparatus, unmanned aerial vehicles, camera equipment, and public building security measures, not to mention getting ready for over 150,000 security guards in public facilities around the country. This operation will dwarf the TSA build-up to secure airports. I need this policy accepted and the Patriot Act enhanced to permit its implementation. Domestic Tranquility hinges on Culpepper’s committee and the Pentagon’s recommendation.”
“The Pentagon is a lock, John, and Culpepper is only one man. With or without him, we’ll see it through Congress.”
“See that you do. Are you convinced that our new president can’t stand in the way?”
“What can he do? He doesn’t even have a cabinet lined up yet, and from what we hear, he’s considered turning his nose up at Cumberland’s promised appointments. That alone will set him against his own party. He’ll be impotent to get his initiatives through Congress, much less stand in the way of all these ‘patriotic’ congressman who are only thinking of their country and the security of the people. Perception management. That’s my business, remember?”
“Save your damned perception management spiel for those more gullible, T.J. As for cabinet officers, what can we do to override Snow’s reluctance to appoint Pat Collins as Secretary of Defense? That was part of my deal with Cumberland.”
“Actually, I hear that
still might go through. Nothing firm yet, but my Pentagon source says Snow has requested that the background check continue.”
“If you can massage that appointment, by all means get it done. Collins is ‘in the loop,’ if you understand my meaning. Did you arrange my interview with General Wainscott?”
“Friday. He’s champing at the bit to join SI.”
“Well, we need him to remain as Deputy Chief of Staff for the Army for the immediate future, but that doesn’t prevent him from going on salary—surreptitiously, of course. Sweeten the pot. Tell him we’ll put him on salary now and hold it until he signs with us, then we’ll call it a signing bonus.”
“Of course. I better go, John. I’ve got a few more legislators to convince that America is in need of domestic tranquility.”
“Keep me informed,” Harford said.
Chapter 6
Eisenhower Executive Office Building
Office of Information & Public Relations
Department of Homeland Security
Washington, D.C.
February
President Cumberland’s immediate death from a heart attack and William Snow’s elevation to the presidency, as traumatic as it seemed, had provided much grist for the mill of late night comedians. Hank Carter on Late Night Today quipped: “Did you hear that the president ordered his new business cards the other day? They came back with ‘President of the United States,’ followed by a signature line that says ‘fill in the blank.’” In two hundred twenty-five years, America had never experienced such turmoil in government.
With the creation of the Homeland Security Department over a decade ago under President Steadman, many of the traditional intelligence-gathering agencies had consolidated under the new banner. President Prescott, in her brief tenure, had been a bit more creative in forming a small group of military intelligence and special operations people reporting directly to the Secretary of Homeland Security, Anthony Weyland.
To head the new operation, a combat-experienced Marine Colonel, Pádraig ‘Pug’ Connor, with whom Prescott had worked on the California secession task force, was promoted to Brigadier General and placed in charge. The new team, still in its formative stages and recruiting staff, had been in place less than ninety days when President Cumberland took office.
The cover name given to the team was the Office of Information and Public Relations. It was designed to be a part of the president’s immediate advisory and quick reaction staff, without the need to consult the Joint Chiefs. In truth, it circumvented the established approval process for application of military force and was strongly opposed by the Pentagon.
They worked out of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, known as the EEOB, after its name was changed in 1999 from the Old Executive Office Building. The ornate structure, decried by some and praised by others, was located directly across the street from the White House.
General Connor, Sergeant Major—now Mr.—Castro, three Special Ops officers, and two enlisted NCO’s, plus a new secretary, composed the entire staff. With room for two more on the permanent staff, Connor had quietly solicited certain individuals from the special operations network to become a part of the team. The initial TO, or Table of Organization, numbered only seven people, plus two administrative support staff. But as General Connor had explained to Castro, Trojan was much more extensive.
For any mission that had been designated as security level “Troy” by the president, they had unrestricted access to military assets, including small, covert special ops units around the world, Army Delta, Recon Marines, or Navy Seals. They had authority to coordinate action with British, Australian, or New Zealand SAS troops, but only on a voluntary basis. Trojan’s tasking of military units did not require Pentagon approval, which was the primary source of military opposition. However, General Connor had decided to attempt coordination, if not cooperation, by giving notification as a matter of protocol mainly to assure that the field teams requested were not already involved in other missions.
President Prescott had given Pug free reign to develop the team, but since the change of administration, they had received no briefing on how the Office of Information and Public Relations, OIPR, would operate under the new president, either Cumberland or Snow. The turmoil of transition from Prescott to Cumberland to Snow, all within a matter of hours, had only exacerbated the situation.
Unfamiliar with such high-level political maneuvering, Pug had consulted his old boss at the CIA, Lieutenant General Bill Austin. Under Austin’s guidance, and in established military tradition, the Trojan team continued to ‘operate until relieved,’ pressing forward to establish a further foothold against intrusions, foreign or domestic. In this case, “domestic” was defined as any political or Pentagon-based assault on their domain. It was common knowledge that the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the JCS, would love—and had tried—to assume control over the group, resenting their ability to call upon military assets without standard approval procedure.
The widespread uncertainty among Cumberland’s designated cabinet officers, none of whom had received Senate confirmation, and all of whom were concerned about retaining their own anticipated power base, aided in Trojan’s ability to remain operationally independent. Everyone at an authority level, or presumed to be heading in that direction, was more concerned about their own survival than an assault on a small, non-descript military outfit.
The morning after his return from Ireland, Carlos Castro arrived at the EEOB and contacted Alice Hall, General Connor’s secretary, who now stood in the general’s doorway. “General, Mr. Castro is asking if you have a few moments to see him.”
“Thank you, Alice. Have him come in.”
Carlos was wearing civilian clothes, as was General Connor, a routine procedure for the Homeland Security military personnel working in the central Washington complex. Military officers working at DHS frequently dealt with other civilian government departments and had come to realize that uniforms sometimes put them at a disadvantage. The use of civilian attire had also reduced the military post atmosphere and the rank-induced protocol that existed at the Pentagon. The civilian atmosphere only carried so far, however, and even when a general officer wore a Brooks Brothers or Armani suit and referred to his military staff officers with a degree of informality, it was not intended to be reciprocal.
Carlos stopped in front of the general’s desk. “Good morning, General.”
Pug looked up. “Welcome back, Carlos. How did it go in Ireland?”
“Quite well, actually. I’ve been invited to an asshole convention,” Carlos said.
Pug smiled and shuffled a stack of papers into a pile, shoving them toward the corner of his desk. “Some might say you qualify.”
“Touché,” Carlos acknowledged. “I didn’t see anyone until I received a cryptic note at the embassy, instructing me to be on St. Stephen’s Green at a designated time. Then, after being driven blindfolded out to a secluded location, we switched vehicles. I then had a twenty-minute personal meeting with Kevin Donahue while he drove me to the airport. He knew about our new public relations function and your promotion. He said to give the general his regards.”
Pug nodded. “I told you he was well informed.”
“After I checked in and was waiting for my flight, I got this email at the Dublin airport,” Carlos said, placing a printed version on General Connor’s desk.
Pug scanned the paper quickly. “East Timor’s far too small to hold all the assholes I’ve met,” the general continued, a sharp grin crossing his face as he handed the note back. “Do you believe this information?”
Carlos nodded. “Yes, sir, I do. As you told me, Donahue had no reason to provide any information. He was not the least bit evasive. Why would he lay a false trail? I called Brigadier Colin McIntyre, military attaché at the British Embassy here in Washington, early this morning. He’s heard Wolff’s name through his channels. He felt certain this would get instant response from MI6 and suggested we’d be hearing from the Brits
within a couple of days, if not immediately.”
“You think they’ll want to crash the convention?” Pug asked.
“Wouldn’t surprise me, General. Sounds like something right up their alley.”
“What about the Indonesians or the Timor government?”
“I doubt the Brits would share this information. They’ll probably just send some SAS guys in as tourists and snatch him.”
“Something a recon marine might like to get involved in while working with a FAST team, I suppose?” Pug said, referring to one of the main components of their available assets, a Fleet Anti-Terrorist Security Team, mostly Force Recon Marines, located aboard each CBG, or Carrier Battle Group, throughout the world. Pug himself had commanded such a team several years before coming to the NSA and then the CIA.
“We could get some worthwhile information, sir. We’ve both been down that path before.”
Pug nodded. “I do miss that part of the game, Sergeant Major, but I’m on the bench now, and in short order, you’ll most likely become indispensible to this office. When that happens, I’ll bench you too. We might have to rely on our new assets to handle the field work. Don’t turn in your web gear just yet, but understand what I’m saying. Operational planning is just as important, maybe more so, than field ops. Speaking of that, we have three SEALS and two ranger candidates to interview tomorrow for our last two slots. I want you to go over their service records today. All good men, by first accounts. I know two of them. You probably do too. Besides, if we’re both benched, Trojan has to learn to rely on these guys. I think that after last week’s KLM drama, we’ll get more authority to go operational. The climate is feverish in the west wing.”