Sudden Threat Page 10

  “As if.” Diamond smiled.

  Fox looked at Diamond with a knowing grin. “Well, maybe it was a bit more aggressive than we imagined, but it’s all about effect, you know.”

  “Nine-eleven gives us unlimited opportunities.”

  “That’s right. Anything less than what happened might not have opened the aperture enough,” Fox said, then stopped abruptly, his face growing pensive.

  “Looks like we’re getting there.” Diamond put his pad down and looked at Fox, who was lying back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head. “Thinking?”

  “Just wondering where this bullshit in the Philippines came from,” Fox said.

  “Could it be Stone and his gang? I was wonder-ing the same thing. It’s as if it appeared magically out of nowhere,” Diamond agreed.

  “Isn’t that the Lucky Charms commercial?” Fox said seriously as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “No, that’s ‘They’re Magically Delicious,’” Diamond corrected.

  Fox snapped his fingers. “Thought I had one there. Man.”

  “It was a good try,” Diamond offered, and pursed his lips as if to lament Fox’s near miss at trivia.

  “Anyway, back to the Philippines. Someone’s working it, I think, to try to stall our movement toward Iraq. They’ll make some tenuous connection to Al Qaeda in Afghanistan and Pakistan and say it’s an infestation everywhere. Blah, blah, blah. We’ve got to knock that bullshit right between the eyes every time it comes up. The road to Iraq should be a Montana autobahn not an Arkansas back road.”

  Diamond thought about Fox’s comment a minute. “You’re good, Saul. I’m so glad we’re friends.”

  Fox leaned forward and looked at Diamond’s round face, one he found appealing despite its shape.

  “We’re good, Dick. We’re good. Just remember that.”

  “I will. And we will knock this bullshit between the eyes. I mean we’ve got so many people lining up for our course of action anyway. The snowball is rolling downhill. It’s almost as if nothing can stop it. This is our idea. We are at the cusp of tectonic change in world history.”

  “At the cusp,” Fox said. “You know, Dick, life is about ideas and eternal fame. Look at us.” He waved his hand between them. “We’re wealthy beyond imagination. We have incredible power. What else is there beyond having our ideas endure throughout history like Marx or Einstein or Jefferson?”

  “Nietzsche’s Will to Power,” Diamond offered.

  “Indeed, the Beast with Red Cheeks. Fame, legacy, eternal recognition are all awaiting us.” Fox smiled. “They will call us the ‘Brothers of Babylon.’”

  “Statues, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps. We will walk down the streets of Baghdad with rose petals thrown at our feet like ice skaters finishing an Olympic performance.”

  “Rose petals,” Diamond affirmed.

  “This will be the time of awakening. Stay the course, and we’ll be famous.”

  “Famous,” Diamond repeated, and checked his pad with the scratch of his pencil.

  CHAPTER 20

  Pentagon, Washington, DC

  Secretary of Defense Robert Stone stood at the podium in the Pentagon press room. The round Department of Defense symbol hung on the laminated wood of the lectern and another one hung behind Stone on the wall. In case the camera was going in for a close-up, there would be no confusion.

  “I’ve received many questions from the media in the last day or so about some things occurring in the Philippines as well as from Operation Anaconda and other action in Afghanistan. So I’ll offer a few observations about the war in Afghanistan, which is going extremely well, by the way, then outline our global effort, which is also taking shape particularly well in the Philippines, our next front.”

  He had wisely started by asserting that the only reason he was giving a press conference that day was because the media had asked for it. He was there by their choice, not his. Stone spoke without notes or a written script. In that fashion he drove his public-affairs officers crazy. But there was no way that they could know what he was talking about because they weren’t privy to the information. Sure, he let them build some talking points, and sometimes he read the work that his staff prepared for him, but usually what he said was what the Rolling Stones had agreed upon.

  Takishi, Rathburn, and “Ronnie Wood” had elected him as the leader of their group. He was the one with the vision, and it had been his desire to use more force in Afghanistan, yet Fox had presented him with some documents that were more powerful to him than kryptonite was to Superman. Essentially, he was a bought man. His options were to either lose his job, career, and reputation in one fell swoop, or to be Fox’s pawn.

  He’d accepted duties as the pawn in late 2001 but quickly tired of Fox’s manipulations. He pulled together Rathburn and Takishi, two Harvard Business School classmates, explained the situation to them, and they agreed he was screwed.

  But they proposed an option. Actually, it was Takishi’s idea. Japan had a few mineral and manufacturing plants on Mindanao and in a few months, if not weeks, they could retool those structures to produce some small arms. Takishi had the contacts that could feed the weapons to the insurgents, who would overthrow the government of the Philippines and voilà, America would have to manage an insurgency in the South Pacific as opposed to a full-scale, bloody, intractable situation in the Middle East. Further, the enemy in the Philippines would be the Abu Sayyaf, an Al Qaeda chain, of sorts. It would fit nicely with the overall theme of their plan, their musical score.

  “We have good intelligence that Abu Sayyaf in the Philippines is a major threat not only to our close ally, the Philippine government, but also the shipping lanes, and by extension, the Pacific Rim region. While Iraq is still in the picture, we are becoming increasingly concerned with the information we are getting from our JUSMAG, the Joint United States Military Advisory Group, in the Philippines. And I regret to inform the American people that a Special Forces soldier was killed in combat in the Philippines recently. We will release his name pending notification of the next of kin.”

  Reporters’ hands shot into the air followed by their incessant howls of wanting to know a name or why they weren’t informed of the military operation. Chaos reigned briefly until Stone called on a reporter with whom he had a brief conversation prior to the press conference. The question was a plant.

  “Mr. Secretary, so to make sure I understand what you are saying, can you tell me what the U.S. defense priority is right now? Is it Afghanistan? Iraq? Philippines? Where are our vital interests?”

  “That’s a great question, Mark,” Stone said, grimacing, but not too much. His public- affairs officer had told him to be pleasantly present. Not sad, but a tad mournful. Just there. Friendly, but concerned. “Our priority is to crush Islamic extremism wherever we find it and to counter the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. That remains our priority, and what I’m telling you is that’s exactly what we’re doing. Operation Enduring Freedom-Philippines is our Pacific front in this war.”

  Stone saw his public-affairs officer cringe when he used the term “front,” but it was deliberate on Stone’s part. He wanted to alert the world that he had started another front.

  A shapely blonde from the back of the room raised her hand and shouted, “Do we have enough force to do all of this?”

  Stone lifted his hand to his face as if in a salute, peering over the throng of reporters, trying to see who had just spoken.

  “Oh … hi, Betsy. Of course that is a primary concern of ours. We, in fact, are trying to determine right now how best to apply the force we have and where.”

  How’s that for saying nothing? Stone smiled.

  On cue, a staffer handed him a note and his public-affairs officer, Johnny Smithwick, replaced him at the podium to handle any further questions. Of course, the note merely said, “Time to go.”

  And it was time to go. He walked into the National Military Command Center and called the Pacific C
ommand Admiral in charge.

  “Have you deployed that rifle company to Subic Bay to guard the ammunition stockpile yet, and are they prepared for further combat operations?”

  Phase II: Brothers in Arms

  CHAPTER 21

  Schofield Barracks, Island of Oahu, Hawaii

  “Blow me, McAllister,” Captain Zachary Garrett said to his close friend, Captain Bob McAllister.

  “I don’t have time to form a search party,” McAllister shot back in his Boston accent.

  The two company commanders sat in squeaky gray chairs in Zachary’s office on Schofield Barracks, an Army base in the middle of the island of Oahu.

  “I’ll give you a lead—start searching near my ankle.”

  “Listen, Zach, all I’m asking for is an introduction,” McAllister said.

  “Yeah, right. You’ll follow that up with a dinner at a cheesy restaurant, or worse, the O-Club, some drinks to loosen her up, then a quick slam at your place.”

  McAllister looked confused, waiting for Zachary to continue. “So what’s your point?”

  “That’s exactly my point. I’ve only been close with Riley a short while, she’s an admiral’s daughter, and you want me to introduce you to her sister just so you can pounce on her—forget it.”

  “Look, I saw this girl—she’s gorgeous. She is the future Mrs. Robert M. McAllister—”

  “Please—a fate worse than death. I’ll buy her a one-way plane ticket to the mainland.”

  “I can’t quit thinking about her. She’s in my every thought,” McAllister said with mock theatrics, his Boston accent sounding almost like a Cagney impression. “This morning at PT doing push-ups—”

  “Forget it.”

  “Come on. What do I have to do?” McAllister asked. Zachary noticed that perhaps he was serious, despite the joking. The two men were dressed in Army combat uniforms and had their feet up on Zach’s desk. They could see the Waianae Mountain Range through Zach’s window.

  “Promise me you will not touch her on the first date,” Zachary said.

  “Promise,” McAllister agreed, “But what if she goes for the big guy herself?”

  “Forget it—”

  “Okay. Okay. I understand. We can double-date—”

  “Yeah right, so Riley can see what kind of morons I hang out with.”

  “The best kind.” McAllister laughed. “Call her now, hero, or I’ll tell Riley how you let Ballantine get away.”

  Zachary studied his close friend and laughed. He knew all along he would set them up but couldn’t pass up an opportunity to give McAllister some grief. McAllister’s mention of Jacques Ballantine referred to Zach’s lieutenancy in the first Gulf War, Desert Storm, where he had personally captured the Tawakalna Division commander, Ballantine. After spiriting him to the Division rear, Zach had learned that the fabled commander had been released in a prisoner exchange shortly after the cease-fire.

  “I’ll call her tonight, now beat it.”

  “No, I’ll let her do that.” McAllister laughed, stepping out of Zachary’s office. He successfully dodged the brass paperweight that flew past his head and struck the orderly-room wall.

  “Get out of here!” Zachary yelled.

  “Call me tonight,” McAllister said as he walked across the lanai and into the Hawaiian afternoon heat.

  Zachary and his company had been back in garrison nearly a week after an arduous field-training exercise and relaxing company party at the beach. Even though he had no family on the islands—he was divorced—it was nice to be able to enjoy “the Rock,” as he called the island of Oahu. Zachary was a little over six feet, with dark brown hair. Despite the square jaw and green eyes, when his tan was deep, the locals sometimes confused him with one of their own. Regardless, he associated well with the native Hawaiians when many of his peers could not make that connection.

  He was a few years older than most of his fellow company commanders because he had taken a break in service. Graduating from West Point in 1989, he saw combat duty in early 1991, fighting with the 101st Airborne Division in Operation Desert Storm. After a few years of peacekeeping duty in the mid 1990s, Zachary took a slot in the Army reserves and pursued some civilian interests. He had nabbed a master’s degree in business from the University of Virginia, then had tried his hand at farming on the family property just north of Charlottesville. With no combat in the offing, Zachary had resigned himself to life on the farm.

  The Army had already cost him a marriage. Glancing at the photo of his daughter sitting on his desk, Zach recalled how he had completely focused on hanging on to the thread of a relationship with her when one day, she just quit communicating. His efforts toward Amanda had been so all-encompassing that they had prevented Zachary from developing any meaningful adult relationships. Then, on the way out of his divorce hearing, he had met a child psychiatrist from Atlanta, Riley Dwyer, who was now coming to visit Zach in Hawaii for a week.

  “Coming to see me or Diamond Head?” he had asked, smiling into the phone.

  “You have rattlesnakes, there?” Riley asked in mock horror.

  “Those are diamondbacks—wait a minute.”

  “Gosh,” Riley joked. “I had no idea Hawaii was so dangerous.”

  “Just get your pretty face over here.” He laughed. “It’s been a while.”

  “It has at that,” she whispered into the phone.

  And it had been a few months since he had spent any time with Riley. Nine-eleven had occurred, and Zach was on the phone to the Army Personnel Command immediately. The assignment officer opened the gate for Zachary, given his outstanding record in combat and the fact that he had continued to drill with the reserves. The Army brought him back on the active rolls as a captain, which was fine with him. It meant he would have a second chance at a company command.

  Not only had he been assigned to company command, but that assignment was in Hawaii’s Twenty-fifth Infantry Division, the quick-response force for the Pacific region. While initially dis-appointed that he had not drawn what he considered a more prestigious unit such as the 82nd Airborne Division, he was nonetheless satisfied to be back in a combat unit when it looked like there was some fighting to do. Besides, Zach considered as he kicked his feet onto his desk, with combat in Afghanistan or even Iraq as a possibility, he would surely get back into the fight soon. Operation Anaconda was still wrapping up, only whetting his appetite.

  Sitting at his desk, he opened and read the most recent letter from his sister, Karen. The glint from his West Point class ring caught his eye as he read that his brother Matt was off on another assignment somewhere in Asia, she wasn’t sure where, and Matt certainly couldn’t say. He smiled warmly, thinking of him and the great times they had growing up on the farm hunting and fishing.

  The phone rang and he heard the CQ answer the phone in typical fashion, “B Company, Thirtieth Infantry, this line is unsecured, how may I help you, sir?”

  Momentarily, the soldier in charge of quarters knocked on his door.

  “Sir, the battalion commander wants to see you in his office ASAP.”

  “Look, Jackson, if I get relieved, you can be in charge,” Zachary joked.

  Jackson was a new recruit and pumped his chest out proudly, saying, “Can do, sir!”

  “I bet.” Zachary laughed.

  He made the short walk to the commander’s building. The Hawaiian afternoon sun hung over the jagged green Waianaes. He stopped at the battalion adjutant’s desk to try to discern as to why the old man wanted to see him. Glenn Bush, the adjutant, was talking on the phone while sitting at his desk, which was positioned in an office just outside the battalion commander’s door.

  “Hey, Glenn, what’s up?” Zachary said, ignoring the fact that Glenn was on the phone. Glenn held up a hand while he finished his conversation. Zachary liked Glenn, who had a reputation as someone who hustled to get the job done, and as a staff officer who supported the company commanders regardless of the circumstances.

  Hanging up the pho
ne, Glenn stood up, leaned toward Zachary, and said in a low voice, “I don’t know, but the brigade commander called five minutes ago with a blue-flash message. I answered the phone, heard someone say ‘blue flash,’ and immediately buzzed the old man. Not a minute later, he told me to get you up here right away.”

  That was good news to Zachary. Blue flashes meant real missions. Real missions meant high morale for his troops. In the post-9-11 world, everyone was seeking to fight the enemy. With that thought, he knocked on the commander’s door and entered the spacious office.

  Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Buck was a young battalion commander. The division commander had frocked him from major to lieutenant colonel, meaning he wore the insignia but didn’t get paid for the rank yet.

  Buck was a short man, only about five foot six. He had his black hair neatly cropped around his ears, but did not wear a high-and-tight-style crew cut. He had a youthful face that belied his thirty-six years. He wore freshly pressed army combat uniforms to work every day and possessed all of the requisite badges an infantryman should have: airborne, Ranger, air assault, and the expert infantryman’s badge. Buck had missed the action in Panama and Desert Storm like so many of his peers, who were in jobs classified as “away from troops.” Accordingly, Zach knew that Buck was slightly jealous of the combat infantryman’s badge and right shoulder 101st Airborne Division patch that he wore, signifying his service during Desert Storm. Additionally, Zach was just a few years older than the “fast mover” battalion commander, making their relationship a tad awkward for Buck. Zach was fine with it; perhaps even enjoyed pushing the commander’s buttons a bit.

  He stood in front of Buck’s desk and was always mildly surprised at his height. He reported to the battalion commander and assumed a relaxed position of parade rest. The office was situated at the corner of the quad that housed the battalion’s troops. As such, he had almost a panoramic view of Waipahu. The commander had decorated his office with the customary plaques, mementos, and pictures of him with VIPs, as so many officers tend to do.