Colt's Crisis

by Tom Carroll

  He had requested the meeting with Secretary Garrett for two reasons, and he decided to get right to the point.

  “Sir, you mentioned you wanted to get a hop in a Growler. I spoke with CAG and he’s on board.”

  CAG was short for Commander Air Group, and as a title was a holdover from decades before. The current title was Commander Air Wing, but the old acronym CAG had remained in common use.

  “That would be great, Skipper! What do you need from me?”

  “Well, we’d like you to see a flight surgeon for a medical checkup, just to rule out any problems and to be sure there are no surprises. Dr. Beehler, the airwing doc, can arrange that at your convenience. After that, we’ll want to schedule an aerospace physiology briefing to go over hypoxia, the Valsalva maneuver, G-LOC, the Growler’s emergency egress system, and our ejection seat. I know you flew in the Prowler, but that was some time ago, so we want to be absolutely certain you are safe. Finally, after the systems briefs, we’ll get you fitted for flight gear, helmet, and an O2 mask.”

  “I’m guessing I’ll need a larger flight suit than the one I wore as a young lieutenant,” Colt confessed with a wry smile. “I hate getting old.”

  “No comment, Mr. Secretary. I’m pretty certain I couldn’t fit into my old flight suit either. I do remember watching an admiral climb out of a Prowler years ago and how shocked I was when I saw he had been sitting on an inflatable donut during the flight! I specifically remember laughing about that in the ready room. But now, every time I fly, I wish I had one of those pillows!”

  “Okay, Tom, when are you thinking of taking me up?” Colt asked, eager to fly in a tactical jet again.

  “You’ll need a driver to take you up, and the younger Mr. Garrett happens to be my best pilot. I’ve already talked with him, and he’s all in. CAG is planning an air show in a few days during a steel beach party, and each of the squadrons is flying a section to demonstrate their capabilities. We’ll have your flight as part of the show.”

  “Commander, you’ll be hearing about this in a few hours, but the steel beach party will likely be postponed. I’m asking you to keep this to yourself until you get it from your chain of command, but a covert operation is in the planning stages that might involve Reagan and her airwing.”

  “Roger that, sir. Understood.”

  Tom Robinson turned to go, and then remembered the second reason he wanted to talk with the secretary.

  “Sir, I have something else I’d like to discuss with you. This is more personal, so I wonder if we could take off the rank for a few minutes?”

  Colt was intrigued by the Naval officer’s request. He motioned to the chairs nearby, and the two men sat down. “Of course,” he assured Tom. “What’s this all about?”

  “It’s about your son, sir.”

  “My son? What is it? Is he okay?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, he’s in perfect health! Back a few minutes ago, when I said he’s my best pilot, I wasn’t just making that up. The kid’s got a natural talent for the air, with the brains to match. He and I have been talking about his future in the Navy, but I’m afraid he may decide to submit his resignation if he doesn’t get selected for test pilot school. I think it would be a mistake for him and a missed opportunity, and I wonder if you’d be willing to step in.”

  Colt let out a long sigh and stood up. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Tom?” He poured two cups and sat back down at the table with Tom.

  “Dan’s already spoken to me about test pilot school,” Colt said. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told him. I will not use this position of trust for personal gain or that of my family. Dan could have studied harder in college and been accepted into an engineering program, but studying wasn’t his priority at the time. I think the smells of alcohol, gasoline, and perfume combined to keep his mind from his books. We all make decisions in life, and they have impact. I suspect the technical degree required for test pilot selection is there for a reason. It’s a technical job and he simply hasn’t met the requirements.”

  “But you and I both know that most of the requirements for military program selection exist solely to create barriers. The uncorrected vision requirement for pilots is the best example. How many senior pilots have you noticed wearing glasses? Are you telling me it’s okay for old pilots to have bad vision? Hell, if not for that vision requirement, I would have been trained as a pilot rather than as a back-seater!”

  The squadron commander paused for a moment, then tried another tack.

  “I’m just asking you to consider how important this is to Dan and realize that you are in the perfect position to help him. You may not be secretary of defense for very long, but you’re going to be Dan’s father for the rest of your life.”

  Colt saw the conviction on Tom’s face. He was pleased the Navy had rewarded this fine man with the command of a squadron — especially a squadron in which his son was serving.

  “Thank you for your input and perspective, Tom. I appreciate your efforts on behalf of one of your officers, and I’ll give your comments additional consideration, but as I said, I’m not certain there’s anything I can do.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Thank you for listening.”

  Ship’s Library, the Reagan

  VADIM and Malcolm were sharing a table in the Reagan’s library after breakfast. Several books and periodicals dealing with Chinese history were spread out in front of VADIM, while Malcolm was glancing through a gaming magazine. Looking casually around the room, Malcomb verified they were the only people in the library, other than the young Sailor at the front desk at the other end of the large room.

  “Were you able to check out Garrett’s cabin?” Malcomb asked. “Anything useful?”

  Malcolm was anxious to start working on the plan to assassinate Colton Garratt, as the GRU had ordered. It still had to be approved by Sara back in Bremerton, and then he needed enough time to prepare the selected device.

  “I was able to spend a few minutes in his cabin,” VADIM answered. “I looked in the bedroom, and there is a clock radio, but I think we have a problem. The flag cabin is unlike any other space on the ship in that most of the fixtures and appliances are not Navy standard issue and were probably purchased specifically for the cabin. Our plan assumed we could temporarily replace an appliance with another while you made the necessary mods to it, but a similar clock radio does not exist onboard. I just don’t see how we could remove the clock from the cabin without Garrett noticing it was gone. I think you need to come up with another plan.”

  “Me? Malcolm snapped back. “Don’t expect me to do it all!”

  Malcolm had noticed over the past few months that VADIM had become less interested in the operation, and perhaps was even getting cold feet. He knew it was going to take both of them to pull off the elimination of the secretary of defense.

  “Get a grip! I’ll do my part! In fact, I overheard CAG say that Garrett will be flying in a Growler in an air show later this week. How much time would you need to mess with the Magic Carpet landing system?”

  VADIM had been intrigued with using the landing system for this operation ever since Malcolm had first mentioned it as an option several days earlier. Not wanting to attract attention by directly asking questions about the system, VADIM instead found mountains of information regarding Magic Carpet on the Internet. A newspaper article published in 2015 described the new Magic Carpet system in the Navy’s F-35C. The carrier version of the Joint Strike Fighter, the F-35C and its Magic Carpet system simplified the task of landing an aircraft on a carrier. The Navy was now in the process of working with Boeing to back-fit the Super Hornets and Growlers with the software necessary to give the more traditional airframes the same automatic landing system installed in the stealthy F-35C. All of the Reagan’s Super Hornets and Growlers had received the software update during the past year, and now pilots were required to use the system on each approach. As the Navy had projected, the software had reduced pilot training time and had even minimized maintenance
costs. As an additional benefit of the reduced number of flights, the Navy was anticipating a lessening of public resentment toward the noise created by pilots practicing landings near populated areas in the United States.

  Malcolm thought for a moment before answering VADIM’s question. “I’d need about 20 minutes with the plane’s landing control module to upload the software changes, but the problem isn’t just how much time I’ll need. I’ll need to know which exact aircraft Garrett will be flying. The Scorpions have five planes, and one of them is always in maintenance. I’d have only a 25 percent chance of guessing the right airplane.”

  “Couldn’t you just make the software modification to all four airplanes?” VADIM asked.

  “I could, but after Garrett’s plane crashed, they would stop flying the remaining aircraft until they determined the cause, and that would lead right back to me.”

  “So, what we need is a way to ensure that Garrett flies in one particular Growler,” VADIM concluded, “and we’d need to know which one it’s going to be several hours before the flight.”

  Malcolm stood and replaced his magazine on the rack. “I think I have an idea.”

  Secretary of Defense Cabin, the Reagan

  Television journalist Carissa Curtis had spent the last ten minutes trying to get her digital recorder to work while Secretary of Defense Colton Garrett sat patiently at the table waiting to be interviewed. Garrett didn’t mind the delay. It reminded him of sitting in a dentist’s chair while the hygienist took x-rays and measured his periodontal pocket depths — activities that significantly reduced the amount of time he actually had to suffer through the teeth cleaning process. Now, every minute that the reporter spent fiddling with her recorder was another minute Colt didn’t have to deal with her questions, which he figured would be as much fun as a teeth cleaning appointment.

  Colt noticed Carissa was getting increasingly flustered and frustrated with her technical glitch. “Take your time, Ms. Curtis. No need to rush,” he said as he watched the clock on the bulkhead count down on his scheduled interview time.

  “Oh, well,” said Carissa, clearly exasperated. “I’ll just have to take very good notes.”

  Garrett noted the clock once more and reminded her, “Please remember that I have another meeting at noon that I need to take.”

  Carissa realized not only that she had wasted valuable interview time, but also that Colt Garrett had probably enjoyed watching her do it.

  “Well, then let’s get started,” she said to Garrett, pad and pen in front of her. “I understand that at one time you were in the Navy, Mr. Secretary. Perhaps it would be best if you could give me an overview of your career and then I can ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I attended Navy Officer Candidate School in Newport. My first duty was in a minesweeper. I fleeted up to serve as executive officer and then submitted a change of designator request to become a special intelligence officer.”

  “What prompted you to do that? Didn’t you like the minesweeper duty?”

  “I really did like that tour. A 172-foot wooden ship is a great place to learn seamanship and, more importantly, leadership. I guess I was looking for a role that had a broader perspective and impact. After intel school in Denver, I was assigned to a squadron at Whidbey Island. I got myself qualified to fly in the squadron aircraft, and we made two deployments to the Mediterranean during that tour.”

  Carissa furiously wrote everything she could catch on her pad, then stopped for a moment. “So, when did you leave the squadron?”

  “That was in the fall of 1986. My wife and I were married in November, and I reported to FOSIF Rota, Spain, just two weeks later.”

  “FOSIF?”

  “Sorry. Fleet Ocean Surveillance Information Facility. The Navy maintained several of these intelligence centers throughout the world. Rota’s particular responsibility was the Mediterranean and its Atlantic approaches, the Black Sea, and the Red Sea. We were also responsible for Southern Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East. If it walked, drove, flew, floated, or sank, we tracked it. The best part was that we were an intelligence fusion center, which meant we gathered all sources of intelligence and then synthesized the information into a cohesive picture. I loved the work.”

  “And yet at the end of that three-year tour, you abruptly submitted your resignation from the Navy and requested a reserve commission, this time as a surface officer again. Can you tell me why?”

  Colt was surprised the young reporter had somehow managed to excavate the details of his service record, and he wondered how much else she knew.

  “There really was no one reason. First, the Cold War was over, so I figured the Navy would be downsizing soon, and I wanted to make the transition to a civilian career before everyone else figured it out. Plus, our daughter Alexandra had just been born, and I wanted to be more of a full-time dad.”

  Carissa paused for a moment to check her notes and then looked up. “Forgive me, Mr. Secretary, but it doesn’t really track. You had an outstanding future in the Navy. You were an early selection for lieutenant commander and you were awarded a a Navy Cross. The Navy Cross is the country’s second-highest decoration, awarded for valor in combat. The U.S. wasn’t even at war in 1989.”

  “Actually, the Cold War was just ending at that time,” Colt responded. “The Berlin Wall fell in November, and the Warsaw Pack wasn’t dissolved until 1991.”

  “Okay, let’s move on to the Navy Cross. The citation in your service record is mostly redacted. What can you tell me about that?”

  “That’s highly classified, Ms. Curtis. And now, unless you have specific questions on another topic, I need to get going.”

  Carissa noticed the frustration in Garrett’s tone, jotted down a comment in her notes, took a quick breath, and regrouped. “Why are you still on the Reagan?” she asked. “I understand that as undersecretary, you were in the Pacific conducting a defense policy review, but I would think your appointment as acting secretary would require you to immediately return to Washington. What is it that’s keeping you here?”

  Colt had anticipated this question, so he had worked with the White House communications office to prepare a response.

  “I assume you’ve been following the news regarding the claims of missing biological weapons in South Korea. It’s been widely covered by the press.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of the Anthrax issue,” she said. “I understand the South Koreans have denied that our weapons are in their country.”

  “That’s true. President Kim had requested that the U.S. send a diplomatic delegation to Seoul to discuss the issue. President Harrison and Secretary of State Unger decided to take advantage of my presence in the region and asked me to lead the delegation. We met with President Kim two days ago.”

  Carissa was surprised to hear that Garrett had led a delegation to Seoul. The fact had not been released to the press, so she was eager to conclude the interview so she could file it as an exclusive story with her network. But before she left, she needed to be certain that Garrett fully understood not only that he had provided her with new information but also that she fully intended to report it and name him as her source.

  “I’d like to be clear, Mr. Secretary. You just told me, on the record, that you were in Seoul two days ago meeting with the South Korean president about the missing warheads. What was discussed in that meeting?”

  Colt stood up from the conference table and led the reporter to the cabin door.

  “I think I’ll leave it up to Secretary Unger and the State Department to answer that question, Ms. Curtis.” Looking at the clock once more, Colt said, “I see our time is up. Thank you for an enjoyable interview.”

  Colt opened the door, and Carissa took a few steps before racing down the passageway to draft and submit her story.

  Neptune’s Grounds Café, Bremerton, Washington

  Sara watched the customers in the coffee shop as they talked with one another while sipping the drinks she had just pr
epared. Thinking back on her GRU training in Russia for this assignment in America, the workers who frequented the café didn’t appear to be exploited or ill-treated as her instructors had claimed they would be. Instead, they seemed reasonably well paid, and for the most part, they seemed to enjoy their work and the comfortable lifestyle it allowed them. She listened in as they discussed upcoming vacations to exotic locations, or their plans to buy a new car or even a home. They talked about their families and friends and they appeared to thoroughly enjoy their lives, planning for the future with hope and optimism. Although her trainers had stressed the fact that Americans were simply deluded into a state of compliance and acceptance, Sara’s own observations since coming to the states had convinced her that the American system was actually much better than the Russian system. At times she allowed herself to daydream about how her life might have been different had she been born in Bremerton, Washington.

  Sara had received the draft plan from NIKITA and VADIM to eliminate the American secretary of defense and had passed it on to her controller, Colonel Petrov. The plan itself seemed overly complex as it depended upon a number of different steps to be implemented. She suspected the plan was drafted because it provided a reasonable degree of deniability and distance for her operatives onboard the Reagan — not that she could blame them. The prospect of being arrested for the execution of an American cabinet member would certainly influence the amount of risk the operatives might be willing to assume. Just because the GRU considered VADIM and NIKITA to be expendable didn’t mean the operatives themselves felt the same way.

  Sara had obtained details on the Magic Carpet system from GRU Moscow, and from the file, it appeared the method selected to execute Garrett was at least plausible. NIKITA and VADIM were extremely lucky he was planning to fly in the aircraft. They even had enough advanced notice of the flight to allow them to make the necessary software modifications. She was concerned the two inexperienced operatives had underestimated the ability of the American counterintelligence forces to quickly determine the cause of the accident. She also felt they were naive enough to think they could survive the resulting investigation. How long would they be able to endure relentless questioning by experienced interrogators while not revealing Sara’s own role in the entire operation?