PointOfHonor

by Susan Glinert Stevens

  “Like the Henderson deal,” interjected Harvey.

  “Like the Henderson deal,” echoed Louis. “Jim got involved in something he should have left for real cops. He’s not trained as a cop; he’s trained like a soldier. The rules soldiers operate under during wartime are somewhat less restrictive than the Constitution puts forth in terms of due process. Jim viewed Henderson as something extraordinarily evil, and he set out to destroy it.

  “If Jim believes something went wrong and I have no answers for him, then I’m a dead man.” He paused and examined his audience. “Yes, gentlemen, he’s that good. I’ve come to you without a great deal of leverage or official sanction. I think the mission was compromised last night, and it’s too late to recall them.

  “You see, in Harper’s mind I am guilty of violating his code of honor, just like that fellow Henderson was guilty of violating Harper’s code of human conduct.”

  No wonder Edwards had two bodyguards, mused Larry. He probably was riding around in a bombproof limousine and wearing Kevlar body armor. “Why would Harper think there’s a problem inside Washington?” asked Larry.

  “A fair question,” replied Louis.

  “Harper never struck me as the type who would blindly condemn somebody for being a jerk,” continued Harvey. “If he thinks there’s a leak, then he must know something.”

  Edwards pursed his lips. “Know something.” He shook his head. “Harper is an instinctive fighter. Hesenses rather than knows what’s wrong in a situation. Six years ago, he went into Iraq. Two men went in and one came out. Harper has maintained that the Iraqi intelligence services knew they were coming. He buried a friend in the desert. He blames me for that. A man like Harper does not make friends very easily. Losing a friend or men under his command, both being the same thing in his mind, requires payment.” Edwards looked at a spot between his hands. It occurred to Edwards that Harper had decided to take the mission for the very reason of making someone pay for Jerry’s life. He closed his eyes considering the perilous track of Harper prosecuting his own agenda inside Iraq.

  “Which brings us to last night,” suggested Larry.

  “Precisely. Last night the two of you observed something.”

  “We observed a Caucasian male servicing a dead letter drop that had not been used in six months. We then observed the highest ranking intelligence officer at the Chinese Embassy service the drop,” explained Harvey.

  “That suggests to us that we are dealing with high level information,” continued Larry.

  “We think the source of this information comes from inside the White House,” explained Harvey. “Now, you see the obvious problems. Look, there have been security issues ever since the President was elected to his first term. The number of people that could not be vetted for security passes was incredible. You had dope smokers, shoplifters—you name it. But a Red Chinese agent?” Harvey spread his hands.

  Edwards sat back in his chair thoughtfully. “When you say White House, do you mean a steward, uniformed officer, maid, cook?”

  Harvey shook his head. “No.”

  Wheeler was paging through his day calendar. “You sent Harper into Iraq six years ago?”

  Edwards nodded.

  Harvey stared blankly.

  “That would be during the previous administration?”

  Edwards nodded again.

  “Harper thinks he was sold out.”

  “I doubt you could convince him otherwise. Naturally, I asked him for proof. He kept saying the Iraqis knew they were coming. He had nothing but his gut.” Edwards shrugged, then added quickly, “Harper’s gut has kept him alive in some very bad situations.”

  “What are you driving at?” asked Harvey.

  “Don’t you see?” asked Larry.

  Harvey shook his head.

  “The leak can’t be a Presidential appointee, at least, not one new to the job when the President took office,” explained Larry.

  Understanding spread across Harvey’s face. “A holdover.” He nodded his head slightly. “Sure, that makes a lot of sense. They couldn’t fill all the spots, and we couldn’t clear half the people they sent us. They kept people on. Particularly in Iraq, because the last thing they wanted was a debacle in the Gulf.”

  Harvey stopped and looked back to Edwards. “You’re here because you think it has happened again.”

  “I’m here because I don’t believe in coincidence. We detect a Chinese transfer by accident, because it took place when our satellites were over the horizon. The U-2 strayed off course and kept right on taking pictures. We got lucky, because someone in the first tier of intel recognized that Chinese sub shouldn’t be in those pictures.

  “You folks have a major arrest against a Chinese national. Now maybe those two events aren’t related, but the time frame suggests to me the contents of that drop box were, at a minimum, evidence of the weapons transfer, and, at a maximum, the entire operational plan.”

  “Which means?” asked Larry.

  “Which means, Agent Wheeler, I’ve sent six people into a hornet’s nest. It means the Iraqis know who, what, when, and where we plan to penetrate their security.”

  Harvey leaned forward. “But you don’t know that.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s just a hunch.”

  “So, help me out. Let’s say you’re right. Where do we look?”

  “National Security Council staff. If there’s a leak, it’s there.”

  Larry Wheeler let out a long whistle.

  “Let’s be honest,” continued Edwards. “China snuck up on us. Ronald Reagan was busy defeating the evil empire. George Bush waged the Gulf War—more or less successfully. China is our rival for the near future. They’ve been running a major operation against our country for several years now. From a foreign operations’ perspective the Soviets and Iraqis are non-factors, but I keep coming back to China. We’d be foolish to ignore the security issues.”

  “Yeah, but the NSC leads directly to the Oval Office,” whispered Harvey.

  “Agent Randall, the entire Chinese mess is going to end up there sooner or later,” Edwards sighed. “You can’t have money pouring into one political party from foreign sources and not expect it to culminate in a national security crisis. I know you folks have been reluctant to share intelligence product with the White House for fear it would be compromised in some manner.

  “I must say we have similar concerns. Let it suffice to say we have an agency within an agency over at Langley. Certain aspects of the national intelligence product are kept from the eyes and ears of the Director.”

  “But that’s against the law,” offered Larry.

  Edwards merely nodded. “What would you have me do?”

  Harvey shrugged. “Okay, so you think the NSC is either dirty or compromised.”

  Edwards nodded again.

  “You’re concerned that whatever passed last night toGoldenrod is related to your mission.”

  “The preponderance of coincidence,” murmured Edwards.

  “So how do we find out?”

  “Could we agree to put aside the rivalry between our respective agencies and work on this one item together?”

  Harvey grinned. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He turned to Larry who nodded.

  “Good.” Edwards waved a hand towards Larry. “I believe Agent Wheeler has found something. He appeared anxious to talk with you."

  Larry looked down at the file folder in his hands and opened it. “We discovered some interesting things at the Day’s Inn whereGoldenrod spent the night.” He ran his finger down the middle of the second page and stopped three-quarters of the way. “We found a car registered to a couple from Virginia. One problem—they were not registered at the hotel. In fact, it was the only car that couldn’t be accounted for from the hotel’s registration list. It gets much better. Someone came to pick up the car this morning.”

  “Someone of Asian ancestry?” asked Harvey.

  Larry nodded. “The short version is simple. The car is regi
stered to a couple in Virginia. But the car was returned to a different residence in Virginia.”

  Harvey allowed a big grin to ripple across his features. “Two addresses in Virginia.”

  “Yeah.”

  Larry flipped to another page. “Both addresses are owned by Chinese Americans.”

  “So we seem to have found one, maybe two, safe houses,” concluded Edwards.

  “That’s how I read it.”

  “The question remains as to why these people have decided to help someone likeGoldenrod ,” continued Edwards.

  “It doesn’t matter,” snarled Harvey.

  Louis frowned. “On the contrary, it matters a great deal, Agent Randall. We may be dealing with people who are true believers. They will spare no effort to protect their secrets. They may be extremely violent or prone to placing nasty surprises throughout their homes.

  “Or they may be caught in some web. Consider the possibilities. Illegal aliens that could be turned over to the INS, or perhaps they have relatives inside China itself. A dissident parent or someone involved in one of the many home churches. A child trapped under a bureaucratic boundary. There are several possibilities, and before your elite teams shatter the quiet countryside, I’d suggest surveillance and background checks.”

  “That could take days to run down,” complained Larry.

  Edwards permitted himself a slight smile. “I’m sure certain databases, generally off limits to the FBI, could be accessed for this particular search.”

  “In return for what?”

  “Knowledge,” replied Louis, as if it were obvious to everyone. “China represents the biggest threat to our survival. We need to understand how they work. How have they infiltrated our country? Where are they loose inside our networks? These are questions we need to answer. Whether our collective masters understand the threat yet is irrelevant. When they panic and demand answers, we’d better have some to give them.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “A few hours,” replied Louis. “Whatever’s been done, a few more hours won’t matter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Baghdad, Iraq

  Sunday, November 16, 1997

  10:00 P.M. (GMT +3.00)

  Colonel Taha Duri walked the length of the underground hanger. Above him lay tons of reinforced concrete and a small park dedicated to the dead of the Gulf War. It was one of many hidden airfields, armor barracks, and weapon depots scattered throughout Baghdad and Tikrit. The shell game of Presidential palaces continued for the consumption of Western news teams and UN Weapon Inspection Teams. The real strength of Iraq’s power lay in the hidden warrens hundreds of feet below school grounds, parks, and baby formula factories.

  From Israel to Iran, no one knew exactly what Saddam still clung to in his lair. Israel pointed her nuclear missiles at Baghdad, Tehran, and Damascus. Then she made sure a flight of F-16Falcons was always fueled and ready in the Negev. TheFalcons waited against hope with their deadly payload to rain fire on whatever Arab neighbor chose to break the peace. So went the peace of the one-hundred-hour war.

  His hands were clasped behind his back as he surveyed the three Sikorsky S-61 helicopters. They squatted in the harshness of the artificial light like sleeping locusts. Known in Vietnam as the Jolly Green Giants, they took on a more ominous role here. They were repainted in desert camouflage identical to those used by the US Army and adopted by the RAF. The side doors were pulled wide revealing twin .50 machine guns resting of swivel mounts—the dark steel barrels strapped downwards in a stored and locked position. Slung beneath the fuselage, with deadly intent, were twin rocket pods. It was not the most accurate weapon, but when facing villagers with little more than 1927 VZ24 Mausers and Enfield .303s, they were quite effective.

  A small ground crew was going over machines now. They were a specially trained crew with exclusive equipment. The transponders for the aircraft were being removed and replaced with NATO transponders stolen from similar aircraft in Bosnia. Iraq traded heroin for the transponders with Kurdish tribesmen in return for peace.

  The southern no-fly zone extends from the international border, with Saudi Arabia and Kuwait northward, to the outer Baghdad suburbs. The Data Center is hidden inside the no-fly zone. The only way to rapidly move troops as a reaction force is by helicopter. Thus, the need for the RAF markings and the stolen Bosnia transponders to fool the ever-present AWAC planes.

  The Royal Air Force markings were stenciled on the fuselage of each Sikorsky. The tail numbers matched the markings on the original RAF aircraft. The pilots and crew were dressed in the fatigues of RAF crewmen and each flight crew spoke perfect British accented English. It was an expensive ruse, but it had worked before to ferry banned weapons throughout the no-fly zones.

  Duri had few illusions as to how well these aircraft would stand up to close inspection. From a distance, it appeared to be NATO aircraft performing a maneuver over restricted airspace. The crews could respond to challenge, and generally they had a fairly good idea as to what the current countersigns were for the day.

  Duri made ready for his encounter with Major James Harper and an elite team of Force Recon Marines. Duri slid his tongue over his teeth contemplating Harper. The entire file had been delivered, complete with photographs of his children and wife. In it was an address in a safe Chicago suburb and a service record indicating the many missions this man had performed on behalf of the Stars and Stripes.

  By the end of the night, forty-five additional troops would bolster the inner defenses of the Data Center. Not elite troops like those who would ride the helicopters, but battle hardened veterans from the Iran/Iraq and Gulf Wars. Duri gave them one chance in five of surviving Harper’s initial assault. There was no doubt he had planned for some sort of ground attack relying on the illusion that there were few Iraqi aircraft left, and the protective barrier of American air power would be there to protect him.

  Three Special Republican Guard platoons, localized air superiority, and overwhelming firepower, relative to what six men could bring over land, should tip the scales in Duri’s favor. They would come like Jews to Jerusalem unaware of the waiting car bomb. The hunters would be snared in their own trap, and Iraq’s secret weapon projects would remain secret.

  He smiled inwardly at the Israeli team he had caught several months ago. Tough Jews, never willing another holocaust to embrace them again, had screamed and begged for mercy. They all do eventually. The combination of drugs, sleep deprivation, beatings, and non-lethal doses of nerve gas did most of the work. When Duri had learned all he thought they could possibly know, he left them staked, spread eagle, and naked in the desert—food for the vultures and jackals.

  There would be great pleasure in first hobbling, then humbling James Harper. He would remember to take a video of the moment when Harper broke, so he could send it to his eventual widow.

  Duri checked his watch. According to the schedule provided by the Chinese, the American spy satellites would disappear over the horizon in a few minutes. It was time to move the Sikorskys to their hanger at the Karbala Water Treatment Plant.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Odricks Corner, Virginia

  Sunday, November 16, 1997

  4:00 P.M. EST

  Three pale green Fords with government car-pool license plates gathered in the side streets off Spring Hill Road and Lewinsville Road. Each had an angled view of a neatly trimmed white Cape Cod styled home. A picket fence adorned the front, and a gravel drive led to the garage that lay behind and to the left of the house. There were a few apple trees in the front yard and older, more imposing pine trees looming behind.

  Next door two boys between three and five years old chased each other on a scooter. An older man trimmed a hedge on the other side. The play-by-play of the Washington Redskins could be heard on a radio located in somebody’s garage. Leaf blowers and lawn mowers could be heard droning over the quiet. A couple of bicycles rode down the street past three Fords with bad paint jobs. A couple of
dogs noticed more than one obnoxious squirrel and ran barking and leaping at a tree without effect.

  Inside the cars, a collection of Federal officers representing FBI, INS, and CIA traded donuts and stale coffee. They, too, were listening to the Redskins and focusing a high-powered lens on the doors and windows of the well kept home. In the trunks was a collection of shotguns, tear gas, and body armor.

  Beyond them, a black van was sweeping north from Tyson’s Corner on the Leesburg Pike. It was filled with an FBI High-Risk entry team. They were clothed in black fatigues, facemasks, and ballistic body armor. The ceramic trauma plates seemed heavier in the warm weather. Each man was festooned with flash bang concussion grenades, tear gas, telescoping batons, and handcuffs.

  Most of them were armed with Heckler & Koch MP-5 sub machine guns. The others had Mossberg 590 12 gauge shotguns with specialized loads designed to shatter door hinges. On the floor between them lay a battering ram designed to bring down anything else that might prove stubborn. A specialized military encryption system was wired into the Kevlar helmets, and shatterproof goggles would finish their gear when the time came for entry.

  Silence gathered about them as they neared their destination. The lighthearted jokes and quips common when they started their journey were replaced with a somber and reflective tension. Some performed final checks on weapon loads, spare magazines, and positioning body armor. Others went through entry scenarios.

  Behind the van rode Harvey, Larry, and Louis. Each anticipating the rush that accompanies bringing bad guys down. Louis had seen it before. He checked his own weapons and felt the discomfort of a heavier vest. He doubted whether he would even draw his Sig Sauer today. The high-risk entry team should handle any opposition they might encounter.

  Mister Smith and Mister Jones followed in a third car. Their job was simply security, but the main threat to their charge was off running about the desert. Jim Harper needed to survive the desert and return in order to be a threat. At present, they concerned themselves with the normal level of risk—muggings, kidnappings, and petty street crime.