The Monkey Handlers
Page 38
“Chief Petty Officer Arno H. Bitt, retired?”
“Present.”
“And Mr. Michael C. Stone.”
“Correct.”
“You may go in. The admiral is expecting you.”
Stone led the way to the inner door. It bore the stenciled words COMMANDING OFFICER. He gave a single knock and, at the prompt “Come in,” opened it and held it for the other three. They entered and marched into a line abreast in front of the big walnut desk behind which sat Rear Admiral Joseph Lee Dietz, USN. On the left breast of his whites were about half the decorations of Wings Harper and Arno Bitt and a third of those of Pappy Saye. Atop them sat the big golden Trident, the “Budweiser” emblem of a SEAL. Starting with Pappy Saye, the three retired noncommissioned officers barked their rank and names as they saluted smartly, each following his identification with the words Reporting as ordered, sir. Michael Stone quietly closed the door, walked up to join the other three in line, and said, “Michael Stone, sir.”
“Yes,” Dietz acknowledged, returning the uniformed men’s salute, “at ease.” He didn’t ask them to sit down. On the desk before him, at his left hand, lay a pile of documents. Dietz proceeded to pick up each in turn, identify it, then put it down to his right. His tone of voice was annoyed at first, but as he read off the titles of each succeeding document, it got increasingly irritated and he put the papers back down on the desk with more and more force. “Memorandum of Inquiry from the Secretary of Defense to the Chief of Naval Operations, with enclosures. Buck slip, immediate attention, deadline reply from CNO to commanding officer, Naval Special Warfare Command—that’s me, in case any of you have forgotten. Attachments: Tab A, Letter of Inquiry from Director of Central Intelligence to SECDEF, with enclosures as follows: letterhead memorandum report of preliminary investigation with inquiry to the DCI from Director, FBI. SIGINT intercept report and code word TEMPEST classified inquiry to DCI from Director, National Security Agency. Memorandum of Inquiry from Director, Defense Intelligence Agency to DCI, enclosing Letter of Inquiry from Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Preliminary report of incident and request for instructions to SECDEF from the Executive Secretary, National Security Council. Letter of Protest, no less, from SECSTATE to SECDEF, enclosing copies of correspondence with the embassy of Israel. Request for Guidance to SECDEF from the Press Secretary of the President. Demand for Explanation to SECDEF from the White House Chief of Staff, enclosing copies of newspaper stories from all over the country and the world, not to mention assorted rations of shit from the police department of the city of Rhinekill, the police department of the city of New York, the Mohawk County Sheriff’s office, the fire department of the city of Rhinekill, and the police department of the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, plus”—here Admiral Dietz held up a thick file, which he slammed down on top of all the others—“a copy of all of the above accompanying a request to the CNO for instructions from the goddamn Naval Investigations Service! DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’VE DONE?”
Wings Harper and Arno Bitt were white. Pappy Saye was biting down hard on the inside of his right cheek to keep from smiling. In the most calming voice he could muster, Michael Stone said quietly, “Well, sir, we did manage to save the city of New York.”
The SEAL Admiral slumped back in his chair, all the anger in him dissipated. “Yes.” He sighed. “You did. You exposed the smuggling into the United States of foreign nationals held prisoner by agents of a foreign drug conglomerate for purposes of gruesome human medical experimentation; the development of a lingering version of the world’s deadliest nerve gas and an attempt to smuggle it out of the country in violation of the export laws; the technical intelligence–gathering activities inside this country by an agency of a friendly government; and the freeing of a woman undoubtedly lured aboard the vessel to be used as a hostage if necessary. And, as you said, you saved the city of New York from a terrorist nerve-gas attack. And that, of course, is the problem.”
“The problem?” Stone was nonplussed.
“Exactly,” said Dietz. “To whom do the American people look to protect them from things like that?”
“The government?” blurted Wings Harper.
“Precisely. Their government. Or, more correctly, their governments, plural, from the local to county, to state to federal, depending on the problem. Now, what do you think it would do to the confidence of the American people were they to learn that all of that was going on and all their different levels of government hadn’t a clue? That they were saved from all of that by four self-appointed cowboys and a foreign intelligence agent?” Dietz’s question was rhetorical, and he answered it himself. “They’ll put all the rest of us in the same class as Congress, for Christ’s sake!”
“But, sir,” Pappy Saye protested, “nobody knows yet it was us who done it, and CNN’s even sayin’ that, based on the tactics, it hadda be a SEAL op!”
“You’re right, Pappy,” said Dietz. “They are.” He lounged back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, as if inspecting it for fly specks. “Now, men,” he said, “let’s look at our options for a minute.”
“All that other stuff was the windup,” Stone muttered under his breath. “Here comes the curveball.” Dietz heard it but let it go. “On the one hand,” he said, “you have broken virtually every municipal ordinance and state and federal penal law on the books. You’ll be heroes, of course, so I think it reasonable to assume that all your sentences will be suspended. You three,” he said, waving at Arno, Pappy, and Wings, “will lose your pensions, of course, and Mr. Stone his license to practice law. But, as I say, you’ll have the comfort, in your poverty, of being heroes—that is, until something else occurs to occupy the popular imagination and bump you off the front pages.”
“And on the other hand…” Stone said sarcastically.
“On the other hand,” said Dietz, without missing a beat, “if the assault on the ship, which had the effect of physically preventing the release of the poison gas, its coming under government control, and the killing of the terrorists, was, essentially if unofficially, a SEAL operation … Now, just suppose it could be converted from an unofficial to an official operation. What then would be the result?”
Again, Dietz’s question was rhetorical. Again, he answered it himself. “There’s enough here to be spread around to keep everybody happy, I’d say. I’m sure the CIA’s been on to this Al Rajul fellow for some time, and duly turned him over to the FBI when he entered the United States. The NSA intercept alerted us to the compromise of the TEMPEST program, and they discovered the new wrinkle of using a computer modem and graphics card to transmit digitalized instructions in a field-expedient situation. The Coast Guard was of inestimable help in tracking the Aka Maru once she entered U.S. territorial waters. The Immigration and Naturalization Service and Customs have smashed yet another vicious exploitation of undocumented Mexicans, one of whom was rescued by the brave men and women of the city of Rhinekill’s fire department, at the very same time that the Rhinekill police discovered and broke up a hideous episode of human medical experimentation.”
“That leaves out the Mohawk County Sheriff’s office,” Stone said dryly.
“Who did excellent work in recovering a stolen Cessna aircraft,” Dietz replied cheerfully.
Pappy Saye could control himself no longer. Laughing out loud, he said, “What about the DIA?”
“Letter of commendation from SECDEF himself for brilliant liaison work.”
They were all laughing now. “And the NIS?” asked Arno.
Dietz picked up the thick request for instructions. “Good job. Case closed.”
“How’s this gonna work?” asked Wings.
“You three will be happy to know,” Dietz said, “that since one June you have been back on active duty on special assignment. You’ve each got another decoration coming—although I don’t know where you’re going to find room to put yours, Pappy—and, of course, back pay. You will remain on base here at the Navy Yard for immediate debrie
fing by NAVSPECWAR personnel standing by to do so. Following that, you will assist in the preparation of an after-action report. Upon completion, you will retire from service with the thanks of your country and never—repeat, never discuss this top-secret episode with anyone unless ordered to the contrary by competent authority. Now I’ll have a word with Mr. Stone alone. Dismissed.”
Pappy, Wings, and Arno saluted smartly, did a snappy about-face, and left the room. Admiral Dietz regarded Stone warily, then said, “Sit down, Mr. Stone, sit down.”
When Stone had seated himself on the sofa across the room from the desk, Dietz said, “Your situation presents a problem the others’ do not, Mr. Stone. You are not a reservist. Unlike Pappy, I never had a chance to operate with you—a bit after my time—but by all accounts in the teams and your record, you were a respected and able officer. It would not be inconceivable for the Department of Defense to have contracted with you temporarily as a consultant for ninety days, starting, say, first of last April. In that capacity, you accompanied active-duty personnel on a classified op for which you were very well paid in accordance with the danger, a condition of said employment being that you discuss it with no one. What do you say?”
Stone’s voice was quiet and polite but determined as he said, “No, thank you, sir.”
“What! Young man, you’re making a serious mistake.”
“No, sir. I made a serious mistake when I resigned my commission instead of fighting that bullshit medical all the way up to Bethesda.”
“Well, you’re about to make another. This time, you’ll lose the right to practice law.”
“I’ve thought about that. I’ve decided I don’t want to practice law anymore, anyway. I’m not all that good at it, and I want to spend my life doing something I’m damn good at.”
“And what might that be?”
“A SEAL officer. An operating SEAL officer.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, man! You can’t turn back the clock. That’s quite impossible.”
“As you say, sir.” Stone rose. “Well, good day, sir.”
Dietz jumped up. “Wait a moment! Where are you going?”
“Well, as you said, sir, I’m going to lose my license to practice law, so I’m going to have to earn some money another way. Right now, I’m on my way to see a news-magazine editor who thinks I’m a lawyer with an extraordinarily newsworthy story to tell, not a naval officer not permitted to speak about a recent classified operation.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“No, sir,” Stone answered politely, “it’s extortion.” He turned to leave.
“Wait!” Admiral Dietz was sweating. If he didn’t control this situation after suggesting to the CNO that he could … Dietz didn’t even want to think about it. He sat back down, defeated. “All right,” he said, “what do you want?”
“My commission back. Lieutenant Commander. Regular navy, my medical record corrected to show fit for operations as a SEAL and so assigned. Retroactive to one June. That should do it.”
Dietz was making a note. He looked up, his voice tired. “Report for duty here at oh-eight-thirty, in uniform, to sign your paperwork, debrief, and work on the after-action report.”
Stone struggled to control his elation and sound hard as he said, “There’s one more thing, sir.”
“What!” The fight came back in Admiral Dietz. “Now, you listen to me—” Stone, for the first time in his life, interrupted an admiral.
“It’s Pappy Saye’s reactivation. Make that until he puts in his papers again, this time voluntarily. And fix his medical, too, so he can operate again.”
“My God, Stone. Be reasonable! Do you know that man’s age?”
“I know his condition, sir. As for his age, with all due respect, sir, he’s a lot younger than you are, sir.”
“All right! You’ve got it! Dismissed!”
As Stone disappeared through the door to be greeted by his men, Admiral Dietz dissolved in laughter. By God, he’d done it! He’d brought it off. And gotten two top SEAL operators back in the teams where they belonged, too. He chuckled to himself. That Stone was a hell of a good officer, but he’d never make admiral. Just not slick enough.
* * *
“For heaven’s sake, Michael Stone, where are you going all dressed up like that?” Aunt May had rarely seen her nephew so resplendent. For a man who’d just reentered the navy, spending that amount of money on civilian attire just didn’t make sense.
Stone grasped his aunt by the shoulders, squeezed them gently, and looked into her eyes with a devilish expression. “Ah, Mazie,” he said. “I’m off to see a beautiful woman about getting her pregnant.”
Aunt May froze. “How … how dare you say such a thing! Oh! Here I was just sorry about you having to leave again…” Tears welled in Aunt May’s eyes. “But if you’re going to turn out to be that kind of person, it’s just as well. I couldn’t—”
“Mazie, for Pete’s sake, what’s wrong with getting a woman pregnant when you’re married to her?”
Aunt May raised both her arms in the air with a strength that surprised her nephew. “You mean you’re…”
Stone grinned. “Well,” he said, “if she’s crazy enough to have me.”
Aunt May really started crying then.
BY G. GORDON LIDDY
Nonfiction
WILL: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF G. GORDON LIDDY
Fiction
OUT OF CONTROL
THE MONKEY HANDLERS
CRITICAL PRAISE FOR THE MONKEY HANDLERS!
“A SIZZLING NOVEL … right at the top in the thriller field.… the suspense and action come at such a fast pace that even the details must be read to stay with this compelling story.”
—Pittsburgh Press
“The Monkey Handlers moves and moves fast.… these people are playing for keeps and that’s the real world.”
—Muncie Star
“EXCELLENT!… a realistic plot and extraordinary people. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye, including murder.”
—Chattanooga Times
“STUNNING … Liddy creates a great tale of daring and fills it with sharp needles and gore and mad scientists.”
—Ocala Star-Banner
“… satisfying suspense, action and sentiment … ends with the unjustly maligned macho embraced at last by progressive society as the protector of picketing protesters and professional women.”
—The New York Times
This is a work of fiction. All of the events, characters, names, and places depicted in this novel are entirely fictitious or are used fictitiously. No representation that any statement made in this novel is true or that any incident depicted in this novel actually occurred is intended or should be inferred by the reader.
THE MONKEY HANDLERS
Copyright © 1990 by G. Gordon Liddy.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-92613-8
St. Martin’s Press hardcover edition/October 1990
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition/September 1991
eISBN 9781466863118
First eBook edition: January 2014