Flash Point

by James W. Huston

  “We declare war against countries when they attack us. At least we used to. Yet most of the attacks nowadays are from individuals, or terrorist groups. Why not declare war against them and use the full force of the military to go after them? Why not attack this Sheikh al-Jabal with the military which was designed to do just that? We always turn away from responding with the force of the military, and declaring war, when that is exactly what seems to be called for.”

  Congressman Brown watched the faces of those in the room. He smiled, knowing what was happening in their minds: crazy idea, interesting idea, clever idea, it will never work, who will support it, is it going to prevail, am I on the right side?

  Brown was most interested in the President’s impression. He had a lot of respect for President Garrett, and the fact that Garrett had done what only two other people in the room had done—served in the military. President Garrett had been in the Army for two years after college. It wasn’t much, but it was more experience than any other President since Bush. Brown could see the surprise on Garrett’s face. Not unpleasant surprise, good surprise. He was clearly stunned by the thought.

  “Would that be legal?”

  “I had my staff look into that. I have to give the Lieutenant credit. The JAG officer he roped into looking at this got it pretty much right. There is nothing that says we couldn’t do this.

  “We’ve never done anything remotely like that.”

  “Mr. President, I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Brown said, leaning forward in his chair. “We have lost our way in using the war powers as they were designed. We somehow got to the position where war had to be total war. We had to declare our intention to completely destroy another country if we were going to go to war with that country. I think that came out of World War II, where only unconditional surrender was acceptable. That wasn’t the old understanding of war in this country, and certainly not the understanding of war at the time the Constitution was written.”

  “Is everybody tracking this?” the President asked the others.

  They were interested, but not yet ready to commit to supporting the idea.

  With every eye on him Brown continued. “Speaking for Congress, if I might—and without its authorization—we have lost track of our power to declare war. Congress has abdicated its role. During Korea, Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm, Kosovo, many other times, we have sent troops, sometimes hundreds of thousands of troops, and not once did we declare war. That is unconscionable. It stems from a misunderstanding of a declaration of war.”

  “You think we could do it here?” the President asked.

  “I think so, Mr. President. This murderer has declared war against us, and seems intent on seeing it through. He isn’t just issuing hollow threats. I think we should return the favor. I propose that we declare war against him. As an individual. And against his group.”

  “How?” President Garrett asked.

  Brown stood up, unable to sit still anymore. “When the Korean War started, we had the World War II mentality. Only the stakes were higher—a potential nuclear war with Russia—but also, as I said, war was understood to mean total annihilation. We haven’t declared war since. Yet fifty thousand Americans died in Vietnam. We tell their families that we weren’t at war? If you go back before World War II, such as to the Spanish-American War, or the War of 1812, no one thought that it meant we were going to level Spain, or England. It simply meant that we would set a political objective attainable only through warfare, and achieve it. There was no misunderstanding about that. And Congress declared war. The President agreed, but it was Congress that declared that it was warfare that would accomplish the objective.

  “The way to deal with terrorists today is to declare war against them. Pursue them with the full force of the military wherever they are. If they’re in Syria—we go into Syria. The general rule is that no one can harbor combatants. We have the right to pursue those with whom we are at war. The country that protects combatants does so at its own risk.”

  “Are you serious?” the Attorney General asked. “You want to declare war against one man?”

  “Exactly,” Brown said. “It’s time to go to war against terrorism. Not with the CIA, not by the DEVGROUP, or the Delta group, not by some covert cooperation with another country’s intelligence arm. I mean full-out, wide-open, out-in-the-sunshine war against them. We declare war, the President signs it, and we pursue them to hell and back until the war is over. We don’t have to live with the ridiculous niceties of the judicial system, where we have to send FBI agents to arrest them, and give them their rights, and try to drag them back to the United States for trial. That is one of the most ridiculous concepts ever devised in the history of combat. Imagine Genghis Khan tearing out after someone who had just burned a village in his territory, and having one of his men climb down from his horse and say to the bad guys—you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He waited for their smiles to fade. “We know who did these acts. What exactly was it that Hitler had done to us in 1941? Nothing. There had been some skirmishes in the Atlantic. We waited until Hitler declared war against us, and then we returned the favor. That’s what we should do here—return the favor. Declare war back.” Brown suddenly felt conspicuous. He had gone on too long. The silence of those around the room seemed to confirm his fears. “Please forgive my rambling. I feel strongly about this, and I believe it is the correct course. I think we should go to the public with this as soon as we can, and tell the American people what our intentions are. I see no harm in having a wide-open debate about this today. Tomorrow. For a week. Whatever it takes, we debate it, we declare war, and we go after him.”

  President Garrett tried to fight back a smile. “It would be setting quite a precedent. But what would we do when the case was less clear? When people claim responsibility for terrorist acts that we believe were not actually commited by them?”

  Brown thought for a minute. “There will be times when discernment and judgment call for this power being used against a terrorist group. But it doesn’t mean we have to use it every time.”

  The Director of Central Intelligence was extremely unhappy. He finally could not resist speaking out. “Don’t you see the problem? We could have a lingering, unfinished war forever. How do you know when it’s over?”

  Brown had anticipated such a question. “Would it be any worse than having a lingering unfinished undeclared war like we still have with Korea after fifty years? How could it be worse than that? It seems to me that it’s over when we say it’s over. After we have killed or captured the rodent—as the President called him—we can declare it over. Congress declares that the war exists, and it can likewise declare it is stopped or has ceased to exist. We simply stop it when we want to, when our objective has been achieved. But let me add that I have no problem at all with an open declaration of war whenever a terrorist attacks the United States. The military and the CIA could be free to pursue such terrorists with a license granted in wartime against the soldiers of the enemy—the freedom to shoot on sight throughout the world, for all time. What more effective tool could there be in combating terrorism than that?”

  “It seems to allow an awful lot of room for error,” the Attorney General said.

  Brown smiled. “Error? We seem to make more errors by the use of our intelligence assets and covert operations than all the wars put together.” The DCI was enraged by Brown’s comment, but the Admiral was unintimidated. “We have more egg on our face as a country from minuscule intelligence operations, than from all the bungled military operations throughout history. If that’s your fear, I’ll place my money on the military.”

  Someone in the room started clapping, slowly, but steadily. Brown was surprised and looked around quickly to see the source of the noise, which he had assumed was disapproving. Before he knew it, several others began clapping. Brown was shocked, but he was also as excited as he had ever been in his short political c
areer. It was all coming together, his military background, his leadership in the House, and his lifelong willingness to stick his neck out for the right thing.

  The President stood up. “We’ll need to think about this, won’t we?”

  Brown could tell the President was surprised and caught off-guard. He should have called Garrett’s Chief of Staff. The President might have bought into the idea, and even made it his own. That was probably why he hadn’t—he wanted the idea for himself. To become respected and well known. What a petty political thought, Brown quickly realized. As if the idea was even his. He had stolen it from a lowly Navy Lieutenant.

  “Admiral,” the President said, “I appreciate your willingness to throw that idea out here. Took a lot of courage to do that. I think you’ve given all of us plenty to think about, and I think some of my advisers are waiting to tell me a lot of things you don’t get to hear. So rather than spend a lot more time in this meeting, unless someone has a better idea than that”—he looked around the room—“I’d like us all to retreat to our respective offices and chew on this. I think it is worthy of consideration, and that is what I plan to do.”

  27

  The Squadron Duty Officer gave Woods a knowing look. Woods stared at him, confused. The SDO pointed toward the rear of the ready room. Woods glanced back and saw the chaplain. “Oh, man, what’s he doing here?”

  The SDO shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “Hey. What’s up?” Woods said to Maloney as he approached.

  The chaplain spoke softly. “I thought perhaps you would like to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Just about all the things that have happened.”

  “What things?”

  “The attack that went north, the accusations, and now the retaliation and the President’s speech. I think more things may come from this as well.”

  “So why would I want to talk to you about that?” Woods was feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Is there someplace we can sit down?”

  Woods looked around the room and saw two or three officers watching him, trying not to show that they were. “Sure. Let’s sit right here,” Woods said, indicating the briefing area. “What is it?” he asked, not really wanting to know.

  “You don’t think much of me—”

  “Sure I do. You helped a lot with the letter to my congressman.”

  The chaplain measured his words carefully. “Did you fly into Lebanon and Syria with the Israeli Air Force?”

  “What? Where’d you get that?”

  “Did you?”

  “I’ve been through this with the CAG. I’m not going over it again. If you don’t get what happened, I can’t help you. Thanks for your interest, but I’ve got a lot of other things to do. Anything else?”

  “I’m surprised that you’re unwilling to answer a simple question.”

  “Where do you get off coming in here and grilling me about something that is ancient history? And even if I did go with the Israeli Air Force, so what?”

  “If you did, it probably was illegal.”

  “Illegal where?”

  “Illegal here. On the carrier. Under U.S. law.”

  “Probably. So what?”

  “I was just remembering how important it was to you that the declaration of war be within the law. You asked the JAG officer to do research on the law so that you could get it right. He kind of stuck his neck out for you, and I’ll bet you sent his information to your congressman, didn’t you? Since I never got a copy . . .”

  “Yes, I did. I meant to tell him about it . . .”

  “You asked me to do the memo I did on what would constitute a just war. All intended, I suppose, to make the declaration of war ‘legal.’ So it struck me as odd, that if in fact you were willing to go with the Israeli Air Force and attack another country, how it was that you came to such a position. If you did, I thought you might be having . . . some problems of conscience. That is why I am here.”

  Woods stared at the chaplain. He didn’t know what to say. His conscience was bothering him. Even what Big had said had kept him up all night. He had never seen himself as a liar, or someone who deceived his superiors and peers. But he wanted to stay out of Leavenworth. He had to. “How’s your conscience? What have you done wrong lately? Done anything dishonest in the last two weeks?”

  “A very fair question. I probably have been dishonest in the last two weeks. And if I had, and I remembered, I would hope that I would confess it, and seek forgiveness from the person I had deceived. That seems to be the right course. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Look, Padre. When I get a pang of conscience, when I need to talk to someone about it, maybe I’ll call you. Okay? Until then, I got other things to do.”

  The chaplain stood up. “I understand completely. I hope that you don’t feel my visit has been intrusive. I’m concerned about you. Whenever I’ve seen you in the wardroom, you seemed to be deep in thought. If you’d like to talk about some of that with me, I’m available anytime.”

  Woods’s icy exterior warmed a little. “Fair enough.”

  Lionel Brown found himself in a position he never expected. Word of the meeting at the White House had leaked out before he even got back to his office. The Speaker was jealous of the bomb of publicity that had gone off all over D.C. surrounding the Admiral’s “idea.” The Director of Central Intelligence was livid, for reasons that Brown couldn’t quite fathom, but the phone calls and the general media were full of enthusiasm and encouragement. He was the man of the hour. All the television shows wanted him yesterday.

  Jaime Rodriguez, the Mexican-American legislative director for Admiral Brown, was in heaven. He loved his boss, and would do anything for him, primarily because Jaime thought he had found the Holy Grail: A politician who wasn’t owned by special interests and was willing to think outside the box. And Brown listened to Jaime when he expressed his opinions instead of flipping through his Rolodex, something the last congressman Jaime had worked for had done.

  Jaime was waiting for Admiral Brown when he came back from the White House. He had already watched the report on CNN that had claimed that Congressman Admiral Brown, as they always called him, had recommended to an unprecedented gathering that the country declare war against Sheikh al-Jabal and go after him wherever he was. The option they had been looking for for thirty years had been laid in front of them by a retired Admiral.

  Actually, Jaime smiled, it had been laid in front of them by a Lieutenant who might be in just the right place to make it all happen. Jaime wanted to make sure Lieutenant Sean Woods got his chance, if there was any way in the world to pull it off. “Admiral!” Jaime yelled as Brown walked into the office. “Congrats!”

  “Thanks, Jaime,” Brown replied as he removed his soaked suit coat and tossed it on the small couch across from his desk. The press was waiting for him to come back into the hall as he had promised.

  “Admiral,” Jaime intruded.

  Brown waited for the next question.

  “I’ve got some ideas on how we can, um, return the favor to our constituent.”

  Brown liked it. “Always thinking, Jaime, that’s what I appreciate most about you.”

  Sami didn’t like going to the Association of Arab-American Businessmen’s meetings, the AAAB. They were well attended and the people he met there were, for the most part, interesting and intelligent. What he didn’t care for about the meetings was what they did to his father. He strolled around with his chest puffed out, going on at length about the good old days in Syria and in Egypt, where he had spent time. He even managed to mention Saudi Arabia and Tunisia, emphasizing the position he’d held on the Syrian Ambassador’s staff. He was the life of the party with some of the best Arabic bona fides. But the scene never failed to make Sami uncomfortable.

  Sami slipped into the front seat of his father’s Mercedes and closed the door softly.

  “You’re late,” his father scolded.

  “I’m busy. I shouldn’t eve
n be going.”

  “You must go. If you don’t look out for Arabic concerns for your generation, who will?”

  “There seem to be plenty of people who are quite happy to do that for me,” he responded tiredly.

  “Don’t you care about your heritage?”

  Sami glanced over at his father as he drove into downtown Washington. “We have this same conversation every time we go to these meetings. Let’s just skip to the part where you tell me you expected better of me.”

  His father switched to Arabic. “You need to treat your father with respect,” he growled.

  “I do respect you. You know that.”

  “Then be the good son you should be and enjoy the meeting and your heritage.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You never come to the Mosque.”

  Sami bit his tongue, but it didn’t prevent him from saying, “We haven’t had this conversation in probably three weeks.”

  “So what’s the answer?”

  “I don’t like going.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “What do you want to talk about? Your work? What is it you’re working on anyway? Helping the U.S. help Israel?”

  “What? Where did that come from?”

  “Have you seen how they are causing the latest problems? I’m sure you have, with all your inside information. All your big secrets. You must see much that gives you concern about Israel, if they let you see those things, unless you’ve brainwashed yourself into ignoring the obvious.”

  “What has got you so hot tonight?”

  “The latest news. I can’t help wondering what is behind all the curtains.” He made a sharp right hand turn into the parking lot of the Hyatt Hotel. “You see behind them, maybe. Maybe you see who is pulling all the strings. Frankly, Sami, I agree with Sheikh al-Jabal. He, or those like him, have been around for nine hundred years. I don’t agree with the way he is doing it, and I’m not in favor of the Nazir Isma’ili sect that he comes from. I am not in favor of murder, or terror—”