Heroes Proved
Page 11
He turned back to her but before he could reply she said, “Oh, dear sir, I didn’t mean any offense by that. Please don’t report me to the authorities for offensive speech. I’m just an old lady with old habits. And you know, old habits die hard.”
James nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am, they do. But some old habits are worth keeping. God bless you, too.”
* * * *
When Carter and Newman arrived at the Pawleys Island North Causeway security gate, it was seven thirty and getting dark. The guard stepped out of the little booth and asked for identification. Carter gave him his U.S. Capitol Police ID and Newman handed over James Lehnert’s Senate staff badge.
The security guard held each one up to a scanner screen in the booth, nodded as the machine read their embedded data, handed the IDs back to Carter, and asked, “And who are you gentlemen going over to the island to see? I’m sorry to have to ask, but we don’t seem to have this vehicle or either of you in our database.”
“That’s because this is a government car,” Carter replied gruffly. “We’re on official U.S. government business, as you can see from our PERT data.”
“Well, I’m sure you are, sir,” said the guard politely. “And I don’t mean to delay you, but unless you are an invited, preregistered guest, or you have one of the owners’ ident codes, you will just have to wait here for an escort. I can have one here in a few minutes.”
Over the years, James had traversed this route thousands of times, and hundreds of times since the security gates were installed on the causeways in 2020. But he always came and went with his own car or in a vehicle his parents precleared and using his real identity. Then he recalled one of their family friends and their memorable identification code. He leaned over Carter and said, “Officer, we’re going to the McElveens’. The ident code is 1776.”
The security guard entered the name and number on the plastic touchscreen inside the booth. As the gate in front of the car swung up, the guard said, “Well, that must be right. These computer things are really something.”
“Yeah, aren’t they though,” Carter said under his breath as he swiped the dashboard touch panel to put the car in gear and headed east across the causeway. Then, turning to James, he said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Lehnert, but that guy isn’t an officer. I’m a sworn officer. He’s just a gate guard.”
James, immensely relieved the situation was resolved without attracting any more attention, meekly replied, “You’re right, Officer Carter. My mistake. Sorry.”
Five minutes later they were at the gate to Cair Paravel on the north end of Atlantic Avenue. Newman jumped out and punched a code into the security box. As the gate swung open, the police officer pulled the vehicle in and parked beneath the house.
Carter popped the trunk. James unloaded the groceries and his small bag and asked, “Want to come up and use the head? I can rustle up a cup of coffee.”
The policeman got out of the car, stretched, and said, “That would be good.” Then, looking around in the twilight, he added, “Man, some digs. You been here before?”
“Yeah,” James replied, “a few times. They are real nice folks.”
As they mounted the stairs and Newman punched yet another code into the home security system, Carter said, admiringly, “Well, if I had the kind of money these people have to afford a place like this, I would be real nice, too.”
James pointed Carter to the guest bathroom and went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. As the aroma of the fresh brew filled the air, Carter entered the kitchen and said, “Say, there is a picture of you with some hot chick on the wall in the bathroom.”
Newman was suddenly glad he hadn’t turned on any more lights. His mother’s idea of decorating was to put family photographs on every available wall and bookshelf. There were pictures of James, Elizabeth, their mates, and their children throughout the place, but he couldn’t recall which particular image was in the bathroom. So he said, “Yeah, I know the owner’s daughter.”
Carter shrugged and said, “Well, she’s eye candy. If I was her old man she wouldn’t be allowed to wear a bikini like that.”
James realized it had to be a photo of him and Sarah taken several years ago. He chuckled and said, “I don’t think I’ll tell him you said so.”
Newman poured two mugs of steaming coffee and asked, “Take anything in it?”
“Just the way it comes, thanks. Hate to take the mug. In the old days they used to make paper cups for this kind of thing, but not anymore.”
“Don’t worry about it,” James answered, trying to get the lawman out the door before he made further discoveries. “Just give it to the senator. He’s going to be here tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Well, I have to run. I’ll probably come back with the senator tomorrow.” At the door he said, “I sent my number to your PID. Contact me if you have any problems.”
As he watched the security gate open and the car pull out onto Atlantic Avenue, James breathed a sigh of relief. He then looked down at the SSCI PID that Senator Caperton gave him and noticed there were two unopened messages. One was the phone number Carter sent. The second message, from Mackintosh Caperton, was marked “URGENT.”
CHAPTER FIVE
STORM WARNING
CAIR PARAVEL
ATLANTIC AVENUE
PAWLEYS ISLAND, SC
WEDNESDAY, 15 SEPTEMBER 2032
0305 HOURS, LOCAL
In low-level flight, a V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor makes a sound unlike anything else in the air. Part helicopter and part fixed-wing aircraft, the plane has twin Rolls-Royce Allison turboshaft engines and thirty-eight-foot-diameter rotors that create a deep and distinctive growl. As the craft clips along at an altitude of one hundred feet and speed of 275 knots, the roar comes and goes so swiftly it can be utterly terrifying to someone on the ground not expecting it. In combat, the effect on the enemy is an attribute. In peacetime it is sure to arouse complaints. The Marines dismiss the noise as “the sound of freedom.”
James Newman was asleep for less than an hour when two MV-22Cs from VMM-263, on a low-level, night training flight out of New River Marine Corps Air Station, North Carolina, swept south, past Cair Paravel. Awakened by the sudden reverberation just a hundred yards off the beach, his heart racing, James instinctively rolled off the bed onto the floor. In one fluid motion he grabbed the old shoulder-holstered Colt .45 automatic from the nightstand and bolted for the door. He chambered a round, thumbed the safety on, and was halfway downstairs when the noise faded as fast as it started.
He stopped, holding his breath to listen. Hearing nothing but the thumping of his own pulse, he crept slowly downstairs—the aluminum foil, wrapped around his right foot, crinkling against his skin. Reaching the first floor without turning on any lights, James picked up a set of binoculars off the mantel, slowly opened the door to the beach, and scanned the water, looking for swimmers. Seeing nothing, he finally went outside, sat down in a rocking chair, and listened to the sound of the surf breaking on the sand.
The regular rhythm of waves rolling ashore and the scent of salt air were soporific for everyone in the Newman family. But tonight, after sitting in the dark for a half hour, James accepted that his mind was racing too fast for sleep to return. He finally rose, went into the house, picked up the PID that Mack Caperton had given him the previous afternoon, and reread the communications he and the senator had exchanged since eight fifteen that evening.
The first electronic missive from the vice chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence once again prompted a rush of adrenaline in James Newman’s gut.
U.S. SENATE PRIVILEGED COMMUNICATION
PRECEDENCE: FLASH
150115ZSEP32
FM: SSCIMC001
TO: SSCIJL001
CC: SSCIPJ001
SUBJ: URGENT UPDATE
1. CANADIAN SCIENTIST STEVEN TEMPLETON, COLLEAGUE OF DR. MARTIN COHEN, HOSPITALIZED IN CALGARY. HE AND WIFE JANE APPARENTLY DISCOVERED NEARLY ASPHYXIAT
ED BY CARBON MONOXIDE FM FAULTY HOME HEATING SYSTEM. CONDITION CRITICAL. PROGNOSIS UNCERTAIN.
2. FBI DIR. VIC FOSTER WILL RESIGN ON WEDNESDAY, 15 SEP. HE INTENDS TO INFORM POTUS IN MORNING WHEN SHE RETURNS FM CALIFORNIA. FOSTER APPARENTLY IRATE OVER WHITE HOUSE INTERFERENCE IN INVESTIGATION OF HOUSTON ATTACK ON 11 SEP 32.
3. DRAFT FBI REPORT TO SSCI RE HOUSTON ATTACK HAS BEEN RECALLED BY DNI AT WHITE HOUSE DIRECTION. DRAFT REPORT CONCLUDES ATTACK IN HOUSTON WAS PERPETRATED BY TERROR CELL DISPATCHED FROM CALIPHATE TO PREVENT COHEN/TEMPLETON/DAVIS DEVICE FROM REACHING COMMERCIAL MARKETPLACE.
4. DOJ APPARENTLY DRAFTING A WARRANT FOR APPREHENSION OF JAMES STUART NEWMAN FOR “AIDING AND/OR ABETTING AN ACT OF TERROR.” U.S. ATTORNEY IN D.C. PLANS TO PRESENT INFORMATION TO A GRAND JURY ON FRIDAY 17 SEP AND OBTAIN A SEALED INDICTMENT.
5. WX: NOAA REPORTS EYE OF HURRICANE LUCY NOW 80 MI NE OF MONTEGO BAY, JAMAICA, WITH MAX WINDS OF 104 MPH. CURRENT STORM TRACK 290° AT 25 MPH WILL TAKE LUCY INTO GULF OF MEXICO IN NEXT 24–36 HOURS. NO ANTICIPATED RISK TO U.S. MAINLAND, USCG HAS ISSUED NOTICE TO MARINERS TRANSITING PATH OF STORM AND ORDERED EVACUATION OF OFFSHORE OIL & GAS RIGS.
6. JL: HOLD CURRENT POSITION. MAINTAIN COVER, CONCEALMENT, AND SITUATIONAL AWARENESS. MAINTAIN DATA COMMS, NO VOICE, THRU THIS PRIVILEGED CHANNEL ONLY. I WILL ARRIVE YOUR POS NLT NOON, 15 SEP.
7. PJ: AM LOOKING FWD TO SEEING U & YRS @ CP WHEN I ARRIVE.
CAPERTON
James resisted the urge to use his father’s desktop computer or either of the two PIDs in his possession to check for information on the MESH. Instead he turned on the HD radio in the kitchen and listened for any news about a hospitalized Canadian scientist, the pending resignation of the FBI director, or potential indictments resulting from the attack in Houston. He heard nothing about any of these things. The only “breaking news” stories were about the U.S. presidential campaign and Hurricane Lucy in the Gulf of Mexico. He ignored them.
Newman’s focus was on the first four paragraphs of the senator’s message. It was only after he carefully reread the communiqué that James realized Caperton had carefully avoided mentioning any locations or real names other than his own. He also noted the senator addressed his message to “JL001”—the Intelligence Committee designator for James Lehnert’s PID—and a copy was forwarded to another SSCI addressee: “PJ001.”
It took a third read-through for James to grasp Caperton’s clever “brevity code” and what it all meant: “PJ” was the moniker Peter J. Newman’s parents gave him as a child. It stuck through his days at the Academy and with close friends and family ever since. “CP,” military shorthand for “Command Post,” was how his father referred to Cair Paravel—another nickname known to few outside the Newman family.
James smiled as he realized his father must also have an SSCI PID and that the senator intended to meet with father and son at Pawleys Island on Wednesday the fifteenth. It also occurred to James that Caperton would not be using code and military jargon if he knew for certain that the “Privileged” SSCI PID channel really was completely secure.
Newman hit REPLY and tapped out a terse response:
U.S. SENATE PRIVILEGED COMMUNICATION
PRECEDENCE: FLASH
150137ZSEP32
FM: SSCIJL001
TO: SSCIMC001
SUBJ: RESPONSE TO YR URGENT UPDATE
SENATOR CAPERTON:
ROGER YR LAST. WILCO. PLS ADVISE WHO WILL ACCOMPANY YOU TO CP. MAY HAVE TO CLEAN UP.
V/R, LEHNERT
Newman’s “clean up” reference had nothing to do with dust on the floor or the garbage container beneath the kitchen sink. His concern was that the senator would be accompanied by U.S. Capitol Police Officer Mark Carter and others. Receiving no immediate response from his PID message to Caperton, James spent the next hour “sanitizing” the premises by removing photos of himself from walls and shelves throughout the house. By the time he was finished, he had more than thirty framed pictures carefully stacked in a locked closet beneath the stairs. The only one left in place was the one in the bathroom that officer Carter had already seen.
It was nearly eleven forty-five when “Lehnert” received another PID message from Caperton. This one had a classification heading the previous message did not contain:
SECRET
U.S. SENATE PRIVILEGED COMMUNICATION
PRECEDENCE: FLASH
150443ZSEP32
FM: SSCIMC001
TO: SSCIJL001
CC: SSCIPJ001
SUBJ: LATEST SSCI INFO [S]
1. IRT YR LAST, OUR A/C DISPLACING FM CHS TO MYR AT 0800 EDT. WILL ARRIVE CP APPROX 0830 EDT ACCOMP BY OFFICER ALREADY KNOWN TO YOU. REQ. YOU PROVIDE CLEARANCE THRU FRIENDLY LINES TO CP. NEW INFO FOLLOWS IN ORDER OF RECEIPT:
2. NOAA-MIAMI WEATHER SERVICE UNIT: STORM-TRACK SATELLITE REPORTS HURRICANE LUCY LIKELY TO COME ASHORE VIC CANCUN ON YUCATAN PENINSULA ON OR ABOUT 0400 EDT 16 SEP.
3. NGIA–FORT BELVOIR, VA: SATELLITE IMAGERY SHOWS 31 VESSELS ATTEMPTING TO AVOID STORM TRACK AND MAKE PORT IN CARIBBEAN OR GULF OF MEXICO. TWO COASTAL TANKERS, ILEANA ROSARIO AND ORFEO, ARE APPARENTLY IN DISTRESS. INTERCEPTED VOICE & DATA COMMS INDICATE ILEANA ROSARIO IS REPORTING INCORRECT/FALSE IMO REGISTRATION NUMBER. USCG SUSPECTS VESSEL MAY HAVE CONTRABAND ABOARD.
4. FBI-WASH. DC: FBI DIRECTOR VIC FOSTER RUSHED TO GW MED CENTER WITH APPARENT SELF-INFLICTED GUNSHOT WOUND TO HEAD. WIFE TOLD REPORTER AT HOSPITAL THAT HER HUSBAND “HAD BECOME DESPONDENT AND HAS BEEN SUFFERING FROM EXHAUSTION AND DEPRESSION SINCE 9-11-32 ATTACK BUT REFUSED TO TAKE HIS MEDICINE.”
5. DNI–WASH. DC: NEW DRAFT “INTERAGENCY REPORT” INDICATES HOUSTON ATTACK “LIKELY PERPETRATED BY PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN ANARK/CARTEL ENTITY WITH ASSISTANCE OF ‘SLEEPERS’ FROM JEWISH TERROR ORGANIZATIONS OPERATING IN THE U.S.”
CAPERTON
“Lehnert” replied to this message with a brief PID transmission to Caperton, instructing him to use the “McElveen 1776” ident code when he arrived at the Pawleys Island North Causeway security gate. He then made one final sweep through the house, looking for any other photographs in which he appeared. Finally, he sat down at the kitchen table with two sheets of paper to make the lists of “positive attributes” Caperton had asked him to compile earlier in the day.
By one thirty in the morning his list held twenty-one items on the sheet titled “Sarah” and thirteen on the one labeled “James.” Exhausted, he turned out the lights, went upstairs, brushed his teeth, and slipped into a lightweight running suit—his normal sleeping attire.
In the bedroom, he opened a front window so he could hear the sound of the surf, removed an ancient Colt .45 model 1911A1 pistol and shoulder holster from a locked case in the closet, placed the weapon on the nightstand, and slipped between the sheets of the bed he and Sarah shared when together at Cair Paravel. He tossed and turned for more than an hour before getting to sleep, only to be startled awake shortly after 0300 by the low-flying MV-22s.
* * * *
Newman glanced at the digital display on the PID: 0415. He shook his head, picked up the .45, a pen, and the two lists he worked on before going to bed, walked into the living room, and sat down on the couch. That’s where he was—sleeping soundly at six thirty in the morning—when the slam of a car door beneath the house and the sound of footsteps on the back stairs startled him awake. He sat up and reached for the .45 automatic.
ABOARD ILEANA ROSARIO
NORTHWEST OF YUCATAN CHANNEL
22°42’55"N, 88°11’14"W
WEDNESDAY, 15 SEPTEMBER 2032
0615 HOURS, LOCAL
From the time they boarded the Ileana Rosario in the hours just before dawn on September 11, almost everything had gone wrong for “Vargas” and his five comrades. Since that morning, nothing had gone as planned by the kidnappers or those who sent them on their mission.
For Cohen, bound like a foil-covered mummy, the experience was less terrifying than his captors might have expected. Once he determined he did not have the ability to free himself, Cohen resolved—as he had with so
many other things in his life—to learn as much as he could. In this situation he set out to discover who seized him and why.
Deprived of mobility and sight, he listened carefully to everything going on around him, noting movement, smells, even changes of temperature. By the time the speedboat pulled alongside the Ileana Rosario, Cohen had discerned the smaller vessel was gasoline powered, had two engines—hydro-jets instead of screws—and was capable of very high speeds in open seas.
Though he initially didn’t know the larger vessel’s name, he knew immediately after being hoisted aboard that the Ileana Rosario was powered by an old-fashioned diesel engine and had a single screw. He also caught the distinctive scent of heavy petroleum and correctly deduced it was a tanker. By the way it rolled on the swells he figured it was not fully loaded or ballasted and it was probably about 150 feet long. The scraping and squeaking he heard from the tackle, hoists, and hinges convinced him the vessel was in poor repair.
As his captors conversed with each other, Cohen also cataloged their voices and quickly determined the ringleader’s name wasn’t Vargas but in fact Ahmad. He also concluded the man who piloted the speedboat was named Ebi; he sounded older than the rest and was probably the number two in the kidnappers’ chain of command. The other four were apparently named Hassan, Karim, Massoud, and Rostam.
From his decades of service all over the world in the U.S. Navy and teaching at MIT afterward, Cohen recognized the first five names to be of Arabic origin and that those individuals could be from anywhere in the Middle East. But he also knew that Rostam, a name from the mythic, epic poem Shahnameh, was uniquely Persian. By listening carefully to their conversations he realized his captors were speaking a mixture of Arabic and Farsi—Persian—languages he briefly studied at the Naval Academy in 1975. With nothing else to do, he probed his memory for phrases and vocabulary he had memorized a half century earlier.
Within an hour of being carried aboard the larger vessel it was clear to Cohen the captain of the dilapidated coastal oiler spoke no Arabic or Farsi and apparently little English. Of the kidnappers, only Ahmad appeared to speak any Spanish. Communications—such as they were—between the six captors and the five-man crew of the Ileana Rosario were conducted in broken “Spanglish”—with Ahmad acting as translator.