McHugh nodded, somewhat satisfied by the small degree of progress. “I want them to talk to anyone connected with the company involved who might have information about what happened,” he demanded, “Where it came from and how it was communicated. We must find out how this started.”
“We’re on it 24/7, sir.”
“The other thing I’d like to discuss is the November election. You both know I selected Jim Decker as my running mate because of his experience in the Senate–particularly as majority leader–and his record on issues I consider most important.” He paused to collect his thoughts and continued. “As you also know, I’ve often thought about not seeking a second term, largely because of my health.”
“Which Ken and I hoped you wouldn’t do, Mr. President. We urged you to run again.”
“Right, and that’s what I’ve decided to do. I’ll make it clear in the next few weeks at fundraisers and in interviews with sympathetic reporters.” They both knew who those reporters were by now, having been on McHugh’s team since he first announced his candidacy long before the Iowa primary. “The most important issue facing us this time, however, concerns the vice president. As you are aware, many influential people in our party–Chairman Kilgore, congresspersons from some of our biggest states, major donors–have discussed dropping Jim from the ticket.”
“Well it’s true he’s proved less of an asset and more of a liability,” Wright said. “He’s undermined your efforts to reduce defense and intelligence spending, as just two examples. But I don’t know if we want to go that far.”
McHugh thought about Wright’s comments. “It’s certainly not something I wanted to deal with before the convention, but I do admit he is a liability. I’ve also found it difficult to work with him lately. He has his own agenda it seems–although he certainly helped us get the immigration bill passed, for which I’m grateful.” He appeared deep in thought for a few moments. “But if not Decker, then whom?”
“Any number of people would work well, sir,” Wall said. “Barbara Childress has done a helluva job as governor of New Mexico and would bolster the female vote nationally. There’s Representative Warren in Ohio, who’s chaired the budget committee for three terms through several tough battles and would help lock up Ohio’s eighteen electoral votes. And we’ve got Martinez in Florida–a popular guy in a state with twenty-nine electoral votes. Any of them would make a damn good candidate and outstanding vice president.”
The president jotted down a few notes and stared at the ceiling. “If it gets to that, we’ll look at everyone, but I do like your choices.” He then looked directly at Chief of Staff Wright. “Another thing I want to start working on is a replacement at Central Intelligence. We need a complete reorganization there, starting with a change at the top. The cost of intelligence gathering is soaring and its quality shrinking. Agency leadership is partly to blame. My preference would be to lessen its influence and assign more intelligence gathering to NSA.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come up with someone with skins on the wall we can trust, and I guarantee the day after the election I’ll put his name up for confirmation.”
Wright smiled. “And guaranteed we’ll get it through, Mr. President.”
28
Kauai, July 10th
Marchetti and Janine Nichols finished breakfast at the hotel restaurant and lingered over coffee. It had been eight days since Marchetti and Tom agreed to work on Janine’s Kauai problem, and it was a good time to give her a progress report.
“The man Brad was supposed to meet the day he was killed is David Kendall–Commander Kendall–executive officer of the Barking Sands naval station. Brad’s editor confirmed he and Kendall did, in fact, meet the day of the crash, so apparently we’ve caught Kendall in a lie and possibly Chief Silva, too.”
“Kendall I don’t know anything about,” she said, “but why would Silva lie about it?”
“Good question. I don’t know,” he said. “Tom also tried to talk with Kent Hollingsworth at this so-called Plantation House, but the house manager drove him off. Hollingsworth had guards stationed around the property who’d make sure of it.”
“What about the lab Brad mentioned?”
“Based on his notes, Brad located it right before he died but didn’t identify a specific location. Tom’s working on that now.” Marchetti thought for a few moments, then said, “Curious, though. Besides the lab, Brad was interested in something the military had planned, and suddenly he’s dead, possibly murdered. Someone working for this guy Hollingsworth is rushed to the hospital with symptoms of anthrax poisoning, and no one questions it. Then another of his employees–also a microbiologist–falls to his death on a well-marked stretch of hiking trail on the Na Pali coast, and no one bothers to investigate.”
Janine slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. “Spending time around this Hollingsworth dude is dangerous business.”
He nodded. “If this lab is anywhere on the island, we’ll find it.” He offered his cup as the waiter came by to warm up his coffee. “We’re almost certain Brad’s death was no accident, largely because there were no skid marks on the highway. Kealoha went over the car in detail and found nothing indicating a brake or steering problem. The Toyota tech rep told us how easy it would be to hack into that manufacturer’s model and override its vital functions, which may have been what happened.”
“Then why–and by whom?”
He shook his head. “That’s the million-dollar question. Brad learned about a false flag operation the administration or Pentagon had planned. If it’d been successful, it would’ve induced the Iranians to fire on one of our naval boats, forcing us to retaliate–most likely by taking out one or more of their nuclear reactors.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“Fortunately, it appears someone inside the CIA or defense department leaked details of the plan before it went into effect, and it was scrubbed a short time later. But then they came up with an alternate plan. Something ‘really big,’ according to Brad’s notes.”
Janine sat back in shock.
“Tom and I aren’t going to be able to uncover and thwart a government conspiracy by ourselves–we’ll need to get Congress or some federal agency involved–but we do want to find out who’s responsible for Brad’s death and make sure that person’s prosecuted.”
She nodded. “Which is what I want, too.”
“And you were right about Silva’s connection to organized crime. Tom spoke to a union boss on Oahu who claimed one of Silva’s buddies occupies a prominent place in Hawaii’s organized crime business–drugs, gambling, government kickbacks, extortion, you name it. Seems the two worked closely together years ago in the Honolulu Police Department, too, before Silva moved here to take the chief’s job.”
“These are well-known crime families you’re talking about?”
“Apparently. Las Vegas and Los Angeles organized crime groups sponsor some of the activity here, but the Yakuzas in Japan are also involved. They use Hawaii as a midway staging ground between Japan and mainland US, enabling them to easily smuggle contraband into the US and firearms into Japan. They blend in well with the locals since a large percentage of Hawaiians are of full or partial Japanese descent, and no one dares ask questions.”
“Gang activity here has been a problem for a long time.”
“It’s going on elsewhere, too. The Las Vegas group has spread its tentacles worldwide. With Macau now the gambling center of the world, they’ve started to challenge the Chinese groups for dominance.”
She shook her head. “That dominance thing is not new here, either. Hawaii gamblers love to go to Vegas, and years ago the local bosses wouldn’t allow Vegas people to come to the islands to collect gambling debts. Legend has it two Nevada thugs were sent here to do just that, and the ‘Hawaii Mafia’ sent their bodies back to Vegas in steamer trunks with a note that said, ‘Delicious. Send more.’“
Marchetti smiled. “Probably wouldn’t happen now. I believe t
he Las Vegas crime family would crush them like bugs.”
She shrugged. “It also doesn’t help us that the chief of police could be in bed with them.”
“We’ll keep at it. Brad was getting close to something big. I just don’t have a clue right now as to what it might have been.”
She thought for a few moments while she picked at a piece of toast. “I thought cops and lawyers didn’t get along. You and Tom seem to do well together.”
“Depends on what side you’re on,” he said and took a sip of coffee. “Cops and prosecutors generally get along okay; cops and defense attorneys not so much.”
She gave a slight smile. “What drives you, Michael? What makes you tick?”
“In what way?”
“For this mission you seem to have in life–to right wrongs, prosecute criminals, that sort of thing.”
He considered her comment and then said, “Guess I’ve always had a strong sense of justice–standing up for the little guy or innocent victims.”
“Not everyone feels that way.”
He agreed and continued, “I thought I had my dream job when I was chief felony prosecutor in the DA’s office–felt I wasn’t working for the county but rather for the victims and their families. But then the job became more and more political, and getting convictions more important than getting the truth.”
“And that’s when you left,” she concluded.
“Right.” He paused for another sip of coffee and shook his head. “My outlook on life changed the most, however, with Andrea’s death.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah. I helped get her the job in the World Trade Center, so when 9/11 happened, I was devastated. I couldn’t suffer like a normal family member; my grieving became hatred. I wanted to kill the bastards with my own bare hands.”
Janine again nodded and sat silent for a minute. “I would’ve felt the same way.”
“Now I feel bad about putting Vicki in the position she’s in–it’s that guilt thing again. She didn’t do anything to deserve what happened, and I feel largely responsible. It’s got to be because of events Tom and I were involved with back in Dallas. Someone is seeking revenge, and Vicki simply got in the way.”
“But that wasn’t your fault either… and I do believe she’s going to be okay.”
“Hope so,” he murmured.
“So now, when you direct your anger toward terrorists, useless politicians, and lowlifes in general, it eases those feelings of guilt. You’re simply doing what you can to make amends.”
He nodded and stared off toward the lobby.
She changed the subject. “I thought Vicki looked good and sounded upbeat last evening.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too. Got there a half hour after you left.”
“She said she might be out of the hospital in the next day or two.”
“We should know more tomorrow.”
“I’ve got everything set for when she gets here.” He looked over at her, not sure what she meant. “We’ll have a guard on your floor twenty-four hours a day. I’ve also got a woman who’ll do paperwork in the room next door during the day and be available for anything Vicki needs any time, day or night.”
“That’d be great.”
“You and Tom can go about your business without having to worry about whether she’s being well taken care of. And, of course, I’ll be able to look in on her a couple of times a day myself, so I assure you she’ll be fine.”
“Thanks again.” He looked down at his cell phone and saw an email from Tom. He read it twice to make sure he understood, then replied with an okay. He advised him to be careful and asked that he call him when finished.
“Tom’s at county records going through property tax appraisals. He thinks he may have found the lab we’re looking for–an old house at 100 Kokee Road.”
“Any information about it besides the address?”
“Only that it’s forty years old and located south and east of Waimea Canyon, off Waimea Canyon Road.”
She appeared to picture the location in her mind. “One of the least populated areas of the island. Remote–mostly rugged or agricultural. Can’t imagine anyone actually living or working there.”
“But maybe perfect for a laboratory,” Marchetti added. Since he’d never been to the missile range, Waimea Canyon, or anywhere else on the west side of the island, he could only guess what she meant by “remote.” “An appraiser Tom met helped him find owner names on the tax rolls. They came up with this one, a two thousand square-foot structure registered to ‘Kauai Development Foundation.’ When they tracked down the name, the registered agent for the LLC turned out to be Alicia Hollingsworth.”
“Kent Hollingsworth’s wife, presumably, who owns the Plantation House.”
“Right. So Tom’s going to try to talk to Hollingsworth again, more persistent this time, and check out the lab.”
29
The White House, July 11th
Administration officials fidgeted as the president wound up a lengthy phone conversation with the Israeli defense minister. The call was in response to intelligence chatter suggesting Iranian-sponsored terrorists planned to launch a bio-warfare attack on the US in the very near future–perhaps in the next day or two. Messages intercepted from Hezbollah leaders alluded to another bio-attack to take place in a large US city that would “dwarf the smallpox attack” and “bring the US to its knees.”
President McHugh remained wary of CIA intelligence used to make major policy decisions. He felt much of its intel, going back decades, had been amassed from disgruntled Iranian guards and Bedouin sheepherders, wrong too many times to put much faith in it. But the Defense Intelligence Agency felt it was legit and recommended immediate action.
Nevertheless, the small group of advisors he’d turned to that day would be his first step in coordinating intelligence gathering within the White House and thereby diminishing the agency’s advisory role. Langley had outlived its usefulness, McHugh decided, and changes would be made.
Seated in a semi-circle around the president’s teak desk were some of his closest confidants: National Security Advisor Kenneth Wall, Secretary of Defense Robert Hudsell; Director of National Intelligence Walt Giraud; Secretary of State Nancy Glass, and the president’s chief of staff, Donald Wright.
McHugh began, “Based on the DIA’s recent info, do we need to ramp up our security level?”
Giraud shrugged and said, “The first message–in code allegedly from a senior Hamas leader–was picked up by their sources monitoring one of the militant websites. The second was sent to Al Jazeera and alluded to the recent smallpox attacks, warning of something even bigger in the near future. We have to take them seriously.”
“Hell, yes,” Wall said. “I recommend we send them a message of our own.”
“Meaning what?” the president asked.
McHugh was already aware of how strongly Wall felt about taking out one of Iran’s nuclear sites; he’d been pushing it for months. Iran had agreed to dismantle its advanced centrifuges as part of a previous deal with the US and European nations, but few of them had actually been shut down. One or two reactors had been rendered temporarily inoperable, but the country’s entire nuclear infrastructure basically remained intact.
Several other members of McHugh’s inner circle agreed with NSA chief Wall that a strike against Iranian reactors was a necessary show of force, but the president rejected it each time. The black-robed mullahs respected only strength, his secretary of state argued. Mossad agents’ assassination of Iranian nuclear scientists is what brought Iran to the negotiating table in the first place, not peaceful diplomacy. The opportunity now presented itself to re-exert US strength in the region.
“We must warn them in no uncertain terms of the price they’d pay if they went ahead with the reported planned attack,” Secretary Glass said.
“Which reactor then, if we went ahead?” the president asked.
“My suggestion is the one at Fordow,” Hudsell sa
id. “It already has three thousand centrifuges producing low-enriched uranium and the capability of enriching it to a much higher level, sufficient to produce a nuclear weapon.”
“And getting close to that point,” Wright added.
“It’s Iran’s best protected facility, built 250 feet inside a mountain, but we can take it out.”
“And Natanz?” Wall asked.
Giraud nodded. “I still prefer Fordow, but Natanz remains an option. Its enrichment facility is also well protected: three concentric, concrete walls on all sides with a reinforced concrete and soil cover on top. And until recently it, too, had been considered impenetrable, but our bunker-buster ordnance has changed all that.”
Hudsell turned toward the president. “At thirty thousand pounds apiece, traveling at supersonic speed with six thousand pounds of high explosives, the bunker-buster packs enough force, with enough features like GPS guidance, to penetrate the most fortified facility they’ve got.”
“In fact, it was designed specifically for Natanz and Fordom,” Giraud added. “Taking out either would stall their nuclear ambitions for years.”
“At the least, get their–and the Russians’–attention,” Wright added.
“Nevertheless, I still question whether our intel is reliable enough to justify that level of military action,” the president said.
“We feel it’s accurate, Mr. President,” Wall said, “and would present little collateral damage.”
“But doing it unilaterally would invite even more terrorist attacks in our own country,” the president said.
“I doubt it’d make much difference,” Giraud speculated. “Hamas, ISIS, Hezbollah– they’re all already here, most likely illegally from across the border through Canada or Mexico, with a list of targets a mile long.”
Glass said, “The thought of losing a few of their major nuclear reactors might be enough to dissuade Iran and its friends to hold off on nukes for a year or two anyway.”
The Omega Covenant Page 17