PointOfHonor

by Susan Glinert Stevens

  Hayes shook his head. “Go back to your world, Lieutenant. This isn’t your world. The major here, the reason he did what he did in the desert was because he knew his world was not your world. You’re a civilian, sir. The major is something else. Something we need to protect this country, but it isn’t always pretty.”

  Stillwell turned back to Harper who smiled. “Brian, this is not something you want to do.”

  Stillwell relaxed as the two men walked away. He turned back to Louis. “Mister Stillwell, can we drop you somewhere?”

  Stillwell nodded dumbly.

  Louis snapped his fingers and Mister Smith came to guide Brian Stillwell away from theGulfstream . Jonas followed them out holding the canvas bag with the dried blood soaked into its side. He hoped the bag held the answer; the cost had been very high.

  * * * *

  It was dark by the time Arthur reached his condominium. It had been another long day of guiding an inept administration through a foreign policy morass as they traded barbs with Saddam Hussein. It accomplished nothing positive to elevate the stature of a tinhorn dictator to the same level as the Presidency. However, this President and the sycophant advisors thought nothing of peddling the Presidency away.

  The prestige and power of the Oval Office went to the biggest campaign contribution, no matter where it came from and no matter what the cost. As long as they did not seem to care about what was happening to the country, then why should Arthur care? He would need to move some funds around tonight. The Chinese would pay big money for the details on the sinking of their submarine.

  He would set up a drop using the new email account they had established since last week. The details were in his briefcase.Two hundred thousand dollars in less than a week! He would check his totals and figure out if there was enough to retire on yet. The Cayman Islands were lovely this time of year.

  He whistled as the elevator doors opened on his floor. The UNSCOM problem should be cleaned up by the end of the week. Of course UNSCOM was a sham. The UN threatened to inspect weapon facilities, and Saddam promised to let them inspect. It had become a huge shell game and the Iraqis were winning. Everyone knew the truth except the American public. The White House media machine would ensure they remained ignorant.

  He walked through his door and flipped on the light as he let the door close behind him. The light was burned out. No problem, he could find his way to the living room. It was then he sensed he was not alone. A second later he felt the muzzle of a gun jam into his neck.

  A light flipped on and he stared into the familiar face. His eyes focused more closely on the seven-inch combat knife in the man’s hand.

  Harper nodded to Hayes, who arm barred Arthur over to a couch and set him down roughly. A pair of zip cuffs materialized and he felt his hands roughly pulled behind his back. The thin plastic strip cut into the flesh around his wrists.

  “Recognize me?” asked Harper.

  Arthur squinted. He looked to the other man, but the lights were wrong. He could not make out the features.

  A grayish white raincoat landed on the floor between them. A photograph was shoved in Arthur’s face. “Looks like the same coat to me. See the way the stitching works along the back of the collar?” It was the photograph from Harvey Randall’s surveillance films. All they had was a raincoat, not a face.

  “That’s not me!” he whispered.

  Harper nodded.

  “I spent some time on your computer this afternoon. I suppose these accounts in the Cayman Islands, Switzerland, and Brazil aren’t yours either.” Harper waved a Quicken account report in his face.

  “You’ve got an interesting set of emails on your system too.”

  Arthur eyes grew wider. “But I deleted those files,” he blurted.

  “Yeah, but you never emptied your recycle bin. Besides, you have a well-written email program. It keeps back ups of everything you’ve ever written. That’s because computer jocks like me don’t trust the blasted things to work right, so we protect ourselves by making archive logs. You bought good software and someone wrote archives out there. All you have to do is bring them back at the click of a button—works real good,” explained Harper.

  Arthur stared at the denim-clad man and noticed the holster on his belt. What did they want? Why had they not read him his rights? Who were they?

  “Figure it out yet?” asked Harper.

  Arthur knew the face, but where had he seen it? He would remember an imposing man like this. It had been recent, but where?

  “He’s not so smart is he, Major?” said the man behind him.

  “They’re never very smart when their string runs out,” replied Harper. He pulled the briefcase across the couch and popped the latches.

  “You’re the guy we sent to Iraq,” he spluttered as if he had been underwater for a long time.

  Harper smiled. “Very good.”

  “And you’re the guy who told the Iraqis all about us,” said Hayes.

  Harper pulled a slim folder from the briefcase and flipped it open. He looked at the maps and read the FLASH messages from theSpringfield to theGeorge Washington . He shook his head not believing his eyes.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Sir.”

  “Did you know we sank a Chinese submarine?”

  Hayes narrowed his eyes, “No, sir.”

  Harper waved the file under Arthur’s nose. “Sending notes home tonight?”

  “Ah, I can explain that.”

  Harper dropped the file back into the briefcase and closed the top. “I doubt it.”

  “Look, I have plenty of money. Maybe we could make a deal,” Arthur said quickly.

  “You want his money, Sergeant?”

  Hayes back fisted Arthur on the ear and shook his head. “I don’t want any blood money, sir.”

  Harper nodded and said, “Blood money. Do you know what that means?”

  Arthur saw the knife had become prominent again. He shook his head slowly.

  “Aren’t you going to read me my rights?” he asked hurriedly.

  “No,” replied Harper.

  “But I’m an American citizen—I’m entitled—”

  Harper leaped forward and palm healed Arthur in his nose. There was a red splat as the bridge of his nose collapsed. Hayes clamped a strong hand over Arthur’s mouth and the scream became a muffled moan.

  Blood, mucus, and tears streamed down his cheeks and lips. Harper waited until his breathing returned to normal.

  “You broke my nose,” whined Arthur.

  Harper nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

  Arthur reassessed the menace sitting calmly on the other living room chair. Something else was going on here. Something he did not quite connect.

  “You don’t have any more rights. You’re not going to prison,” explained Harper.

  “Then where am I going?” he asked.

  Harper stood up and walked around the room. “Do you even know what you did?”

  Arthur stared at Harper and shook his head.

  “You got a hold of our Q files. You remember that?” Harper asked, then added, “Don’t lie to me.”

  Arthur nodded.

  Harper walked around the room and pulled out a camcorder on a tripod. He flipped it on and made sure the automatic focus was working.

  “I want you to tell this machine everything you’ve done.”

  “Or what?” demanded Arthur.

  “Or I’ll hurt you.” He played with the black bladed knife. Harper reached down and flipped on the RECORD button.

  What followed was a rambling explanation and sometime defense of Arthur’s actions over the last ten years. He hit the big time about three years ago when he was promoted to aid status on the National Security Council. The vetting of staff was so pathetic after three years of obfuscation and obstruction, no one bothered with a career researcher.

  Once inside the NSC, Arthur gained access to several secret memos, faxes, and orders. As the quality of his product increased, so did his compensation. Event
ually, he was handed off from one case officer to another, until his control was the senior Chinese spook. Arthur was getting a cool hundred thousand dollars for each item now.

  From offshore accounts, Arthur turned around and invested the money in mutual fund accounts to take advantage of the booming American stock market. Arthur was a very wealthy young man.

  Harper flipped off the recorder. “So when were you going to retire?”

  “Soon,” he admitted.

  “I suppose it doesn’t mean anything that your little message to Beijing got three men killed and nearly got the Sergeant and myself permanent residency in Iraq?”

  Arthur shook his head.

  Hayes smacked Arthur along the back of the head. “The Major’s talking to you.”

  Arthur cringed and looked up. “I didn’t understand that aspect of it.”

  “You think selling secrets to the Chinese and whoever they shared the information with is just okay?”

  “They’re all doing it!” he protested in defense.

  “That makes it right?” snapped Harper.

  Arthur struggled at his bonds. “Look, I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I just—“

  “You just wanted the extra cash?” asked Harper. He felt the silencer in his left hand and held it tightly.

  “I wanted to hurt the fools running this country,” he said limply.

  “Six of us went to Iraq. Three of us came home. The other three became food for the vultures. Not even a decent burial,” explained Harper.

  “It was an accident,” he said quickly.

  “Accident?’ Harper asked, cocking an eyebrow. “What was the accident? You giving the Chinese the information, or the Chinese passing it along, or the forty-five guys who showed up to kill us?”

  “I didn’t do that—someone else—” he blubbered.

  “No, you did it. You dishonored the oath you took as an intelligence officer. You betrayed the people who hired you. Now you want honor. You want the rights and privileges afforded an honorable man?”

  He nodded.

  Harper pulled the silencer from his pocket and sheathed his knife. He reached behind his back and pulled the Browning from its holster.

  “No, no we can work this out.”

  Harper shook his head. “You’re no better than a mass murderer. The only difference is you don’t do the dirty work. Others do it for you. You don’t have the stomach to see what happens after you pass along your information. I could have done my job, and I wouldn’t have had to kill so many people in the field. You made that impossible. You see, I really hate killing people. But people like you sit in your fancy offices and play little word games with real life people.”

  “I never meant—” His words choked off as Hayes drove his Kabar combat knife through the back of Arthur’s neck and out the front of his throat. Hayes jerked the knife back and forth, then stepped back as Arthur flopped to the floor and twitched a couple of times.

  Hayes looked across the room and said quietly, “They were my Captains, sir.”

  Harper looked down at the dead man on the floor. “Yes, they were Sergeant.” He felt the blackness of his life swallow him up again. He shivered involuntarily, and said slowly, “I’ll fix the answering machine.”

  Hayes hit the rewind button on the camcorder and wiped his knife on the beige couch.

  * * * *

  Harvey Randall’s pager buzzed in his pocket. He shook his head and flipped off David Letterman with the remote control. He pulled the Motorola pager to his face and stared at the number. It was not one he was familiar with, but he stretched and padded across the apartment to his cordless phone.

  He punched in the number and heard the line ring three times, before it picked up with a recording machine. The phone machine announced, “Agent Randall, a mutual acquaintance suggested I contact you regarding the contents of a certain hard disk. I’m certain you can figure out the location of this address from the phone number; caller ID is such a wonderful feature these days. Oh, and the briefcase should be returned to our mutual acquaintance.” The shrill beep from the machine sounded and Harvey fumbled hanging up the phone.

  He was wide-awake now.

  * * * *

  Harper stepped out of the phone booth and got back into the Explorer. He looked across to Hayes and asked, “Can I drop you somewhere?”

  Hayes shrugged. “I think I’ll just get out and walk. It’s been a long night.”

  Harper nodded understanding. He stuck out a hand and said, “If you’re ever in Chicago, look me up.”

  “Yes, sir. I think I will.” He shook Harper’s hand and stepped out on the curb.

  Harper started the long drive home. He felt the hollowness inside that came at the end of a mission. There would be some nightmares, regrets, and guilt. He checked the rear view mirror and saw Darby Hayes standing solitary on the curbside. Hands in his pockets, Hayes stepped off into the darkness and vanished into the night’s black pool.

  Harper hoped it was worth the price. A price measured in blood and honor.

  EPILOGUE

  White House

  Louis Edwards watched the National Security Advisor read the report. This time there was no aide to observe the conversation. His former aide had vanished a couple of weeks ago. No resignation letter, and really no trace. Not that anyone would ever find Arthur. He was feeding the fish several hundred miles off shore.

  They had learned a great deal from what Harvey found at the condominium: bank records, email accounts, a pattern of deceit stretching back ten years. A video taped confession waited for the FBI when they arrived, and a complete rundown on the sinking of the Chinese submarine—evidence of a crime, but nothing that would stand up in court.

  Mister Smith and Mister Jones had handled the clean up duties. Within a week, Arthur ceased to exist. They recovered over three million dollars in stocks, mutual funds, and other assets. The wonders of electronic bank transfers and the correct numbers and passwords deposited everything into accounts control by Louis Edwards and George Carnady.

  The National Security Advisor closed the report and pushed it away. It was something filthy and evil. Something no one wanted to face.

  “This came off the database tapes?”

  “Yes, sir.” Louis pointed to the red folder marked ULTRA and said quietly, “You see the report from Fort Dietrick. They’re quite concerned about the permanent effects of VX Beta. We have satellite imagery over China showing it to still be fatal to unprotected personnel five years after the initial application.

  “There is the target list we found on the system. They’re targeting most major cities within range of the missiles and our carriers.”

  “You’re recommending a strike on the Salman Pak Weapons Lab.”

  Louis nodded. “We have the exact location and we have slaved two satellites plus an additional U-2 flight to the area. It is obvious from the Data Center tapes there is a series of hidden bunkers in this area. Now that we know where to look for some of this stuff.”

  “I’ll need to think about this. The timing and everything,” the NSA said dismissing Louis with a wave.

  Louis remained seated.

  “Is there something else?” he asked, irritated by the spook.

  “I really must insist on an immediate military strike.”

  A frown turned to a scowl and blossomed into a murderous glare. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

  Louis pulled a second folder from his briefcase and set it on the NSA’s desk.

  The NSA stared at the folder like it was a venomous snake. He pointed at the folder and demanded, “What’s this?”

  “A transcript of Arthur’s confession,” replied Louis.

  The blood seemed to drain from his face. “A what?”

  “Arthur—you remember, the nosey fellow who worked for you up to a few weeks ago and then disappeared,” explained Louis.

  The NSA nodded.

  “That’s his confession to espionage. I don’t think it would go along
with the Christmas spirit to report in theWashington Post a story where six men went into Iraq and three of them never came back because an improperly vetted NSC staff member leaked to the Chinese who sent it to the Iraqis. Taking illegal campaign contributions is one thing—and you folks have learned how to spin those stories. However, abandoning American soldiers in the desert might be a little harder to explain, especially when I produce family and friends.”

  “You wouldn’t,” whispered the NSA.

  Louis leaned forward and pulled the yellow folder back. He produced a blue folder and flipped it open. “These are mission orders for the six F-117ANighthawk fighter-bombers based in Al Jabar Air Base in Kuwait. You simply need to get the right signatures. The crews have been briefed and have run the simulators for the mission. They just need Presidential authorization,” explained Louis.

  “I can’t just go and get—“

  Louis shook his head and replied evenly, “Sir, you didn’t have any trouble cutting off extraction orders for my team when it went to Iraq. You didn’t have any trouble covering up the mess with the Chinese sub. You have twenty-four hours to get this mission off the ground, otherwise, this story will hit the wires.”

  Louis gathered his things and stood.

  “I won’t forget this Edwards.”

  Louis examined the NSA as if he were so much refuse to be avoided and said, “I should think not.”

  * * * *

  Some fifteen hours later sixNighthawks delivered their ordinance of SMART weapons. The bombs glided down airshafts, ran along tunnels, and punched through steel doors. Bomb damage assessment indicated Saddam’s known stores of VX Beta had burned up in the raid. Perhaps the raid was successful, for no missiles flew next February.

  AFTERWORD

  I want to thank Sharon and Randy Mueller, Brian St. George, Sharon Baer, my mom Lu De Bono, and my lovely wife, Cathy, all of who gave me comments and encouragement onPoint Of Honor,and special thanks to my relentless content editor, Gail Abel, and my daughter Amanda for her help on the map. All inaccuracies with regard to historical and technical data are mine alone.

  Point Of Honorwas the first book written in the Jim Harper series, however, it was not the first book published. By the time this manuscript makes it to publication, I have had two additional projects to understand and develop the characters. Therefore, before bringing this book to market, I went back and examined the characters to make sure they reflected thepeoplethey have become in the later manuscripts ofBlood CovenantandReap the Whirlwind.As always, my first goal is to entertain; my second goal is to make you think.