All three subs had been refurbished in an old Soviet naval shipyard outside Murmansk. The reconfiguration allowed them to become stealthy supply and troop transports, as well as remaining formidable war machines. They arrived at or left the Kilauea R&D facility at night when their dark blue-green hulls would not be easily seen in the crystal clear waters surrounding the private island.
Steven had provided Chip with more than just three little submarines for a navy, though. Chip’s navy also included three container ships, each one over five hundred feet in length. They were so sophisticated James Bond would have given his right arm to have them at his disposal. Each one of the freighters was more than a match for most of the ships found in any navy in the world.
In addition to those power houses and the subs, he had nearly all of the battlefield weapon systems used by the U.S. military from the HSV (high speed stealth catamarans), to the latest in infantry firepower. If Chip felt he needed it, nothing was spared to acquire it. He even had an impressive air force designed to provide close air support for ground or sea assaults, as well.
In addition, he had a captain’s skiff that came complete with a crew of three, intended to ferry him around the island or to Nassau if he chose not to fly or to just take him fishing should the desire arise.
The recreational portion of the fleet was just as impressive. It consisted of ten Sea Ray inboard fishing boats, eight off-shore powerboats, eight ski boats, a dozen small outboard skiffs, eight banana rafts, two dozen jet skis and two dozen paddle boats, all for the recreational use of the staff as well as the paying customers.
It was an amazing feat of logistics that Chip had witnessed over the last three months. Whatever the U.S. military had or was about to have, Chip had at his disposal. Chip had all of the toys short of heavy artillery, attack aircraft, ICBMs or a nuclear bomb. How Steven had managed to finance the operation was beyond Chip’s comprehension, and it wasn’t his concern. He only needed to know that if he asked for it, he got it in record time.
In addition, Steven had provided Chip with all the support techs needed to maintain the equipment and the resort. Everyone who worked on the island was ex-military unless they were a scientist or a computer geek, and every last one of them had to sign a confidentiality agreement just as the security forces were required to. Everyone lived on the island, either in the Cottage Village at the north end of the island or on the first and second levels above ground at the hotel. The top two floors were reserved for the steady stream of paying guests.
Research and Development took up the first two underground stories of the facility with Corporate Security controlling the bottom three levels and the sub base. At times, Chip felt as if he was living in a spy movie. From this hidden fortress, Chip would be able to direct operations across the globe. Even the Pentagon was not as sophisticated as the Kilauea Corp’s Research and Development digs. Chip frequently thought that Steven’s buying spree would have to stall at some point. The world’s financial system was in a major downturn and many of the world’s major currencies on the verge of collapse. But by some miracle, Steven was still spending.
Chip was sure that some of the money had to have come from the United States government. Like the Europeans, the United States had offered bailout money to most of its large financial corporations in hopes of lessening the impact on the economy by providing artificial support for companies that were failing due to bad management. But then Congress, after being strongly urged by the president, had extended the bailout monies to any company that felt it was going to be affected by the attacks on Houston. Of course, the real purpose of the bailout was to allow the federal government to gain control over the companies that had accepted the bailout. Steven’s main company, Kilauea, was a privately held corporation, so he only accepted bailout money for several standalone subsidiaries that didn’t directly report or interact with his main holdings. Chip suspected the government had given Steven close to twenty billion dollars, in exchange for a fifty-one percent stake in the three companies that financed computer systems and provided health insurance and retirement plans to Steven’s customers and employees around the globe.
The bailouts, as usual, hadn’t helped those who really needed help because what was really needed were cheaper energy prices and lower taxes which were nowhere in sight. As usual, the money had been thrown in the wrong direction in exchange for political favors. The creation of jobs was so far down the priority list that one had to turn hundreds of pages before finding it in the latest twenty-six hundred page jobs creation bill. Didn’t anyone in Washington or the markets understand that when you lower taxes, you create jobs? When you create jobs, you create tax dollars and tax dollars could be used to create more jobs or expand government.
The two times in history that this economic formula has been tried, the economy soared. The first time was in 1920 when America faced the first depression of the twentieth century. The second time was in the 1980s under Ronald Reagan which produced a vibrant economy until the year 2000.
The money that was wasted on the bailouts could have and should have been used for other things besides the pork belly projects and self-aggrandizing schemes by the political elite. The economic steps which had worked before weren’t even considered by the current Democratic administration because they had been a cornerstone of the economic policy of a popular Republican president.
In fact, the American Congress and Senate, in their infinite wisdom and in agreement with President Starks, had increased taxes by twenty percent. Then they expanded the government by twenty-five percent. In their spare time, they created new environmental laws and regulations that stopped all efforts to explore for oil and natural gas reserves in America, resulting in a twenty-eight percent drop in government revenue, double digit unemployment, and an additional fifteen percent slowing of the economy. In the current political environment, Chip doubted if the refineries would ever be rebuilt because the new regulations and the ill conceived economic actions taken by Washington in their misguided attempts to right the economy had made it just too expensive.
Chip crossed the pool area and entered the building through the main lobby, waving hello to Anita who was working the front desk. Beyond the front lobby, he turned left and followed a long hallway to a bank of elevators that were controlled by a keypad. He punched in the code for ‘down’ and waited. It took several seconds for the elevator to arrive, and when the door opened, he was greeted by a scowling Carrie Rutland.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” she asked, clearly acting as though she was angry.
“Notice what?” Chip answered with a question, meant to portray innocence as he punched the number three button after stepping into the elevator.
“That little trick you pulled to get some time alone on the beach where you smoked a cigar. I can smell it plain as day,” she scolded in mock sternness.
Carrie had been Chip’s assistant at the Pentagon, and when he turned in his papers, she had turned in hers. She then asked where he was going to retire to and trusting her, he told her over dinner. She then insisted on being part of his team. She was the only woman Chip had made friends with since his wife had died. He wasn’t sure where their friendship was going, if anywhere, but he was glad she was here just the same.
“Just because I made you my assistant, doesn’t give you the right to run my life,” Chip shot back in a quiet, yet firm tone as the door closed, though he had to struggle not to smile.
“Oh, how quickly you forget. I was there when you promised Peggy that you’d quit. I was there when you promised Maria and me, a year later. I was there when the doctor told you to quit three months after that. You can’t pull rank any longer. You may be the boss and think you have some power around here, but I can get the troops in here so fast your head will spin, and we will kick your behind from here to Trinidad and Tobago. Don’t think we won’t! No more! You got that?” Carrie insisted while fighting back a smirk.
“It was just one, and besides, it wa
s a retirement gift,” Chip lamely defended himself.
“Some gift! Here, go kill yourself!” She gave Chip a sideways glance while still struggling not to smirk.
“Is the team in the auditorium?” Chip asked, changing the subject while continuing to watch her in the reflection of the elevator door and liking what he saw.
“Yes, do you think anyone will leave?” she asked.
“I picked a good group, and I think all of them feel the same as we do. So no, I don’t think anyone will leave.”
“Well, at least they won’t know too much if they do,” she stated flatly. Chip didn’t react to her comment. For him, there wasn’t any concern about the group’s discretion. The men and women he had invited knew what was at stake and would die before divulging any of the numerous secrets they already knew. In Chip’s mind, this was just another one of those secrets.
The elevator stopped and they exited, crossed the hall and entered a small auditorium. The group of potential volunteers—forty-five men and women—were seated in the first three rows. Everyone was dressed casually, and despite the group’s size, the room was quiet. Carrie stopped at the edge of the stairs leading to the raised stage, leaving Chip to climb the five steps up to the stage alone.
“Break a leg, boss,” Carrie stated as he stepped past her, and her well wishes made him smile. He still wore that smile when he reached the top of the stairs and turned to look at his recruits. For several seconds, Chip stood looking at the group, each of whom had been trained by the U.S. military. Each had been, and still was, the best of the best. They were well-groomed and fit. Most were between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty. Each had seen action in either Afghanistan or Iraq or both. They were Special Forces, Rangers, SEALs and Delta Force. Chip cleared his throat and began.
“I am General Charles “Chip” Clarett, United States Marine Corps retired, but this is not a military operation. This is a private, international corporation security force. You will not address me as General or Sir, but as boss. I have spoken with each of you privately prior to today and offered you an opportunity to do some real good in this world. Right about now though, I’d be willing to bet that you are wondering how being a security guard for a corporation could fill that bill?” Chip shifted his stance and looked over the group and saw nothing but men and women paying rapt attention.
“This is not playing security guard at your neighborhood 7-11. What this is, is the best funded and best trained security force and the best private intelligence gathering organization in the world. It is a very special and very secret organization that you are being offered the opportunity to join. If you choose to stay and be a part of this, you will have to relinquish your dog tags, personal ID, jewelry, watches and passports—everything that identifies you as you. As of today, this building will become your new home. It will be your home for the next five years. You will not get to go home for the holidays or to settle your affairs or say goodbye to your sweetheart or family. We will provide your clothing, personal hygiene supplies and food while on the island; you’ll also receive a daily stipend when abroad and top notch medical care anywhere in the world. Your pay package will be second to none and will knock your socks off.” A small chuckle arose from the group and quickly faded away.
“Our missions will be every bit as serious and dangerous as any you experienced in Afghanistan or Iraq. In fact, at some point you will most likely get to visit those lovely garden spots again and others like them in the performance of your duties.” Chip paused for a moment, looking down at his feet and then back up at the team.
“‘Duties’ is an interesting term. This will be a job for which you will be well paid—very well paid—it is also a position where your honor, moral compass and your sense of duty will be tested. By accepting this job, you will be stepping into harm’s way, and you will remain there until your contract is completed. You may be injured or killed. You will most definitely have to kill when it is tactically beneficial or simply required to survive.” Chip paused and took a deep breath before continuing.
“All of us know that there are people in this world that want to destroy America and all that it stands for. We know there are fanatics who will gladly lay down their lives if it means that they will kill a single American in the process. You’ve been on the front lines of that fight, and here, you’ll be going behind those lines, right into their homes and their personal lives.
“If the powers that be knew you were involved, they would hunt you down. You will be labeled terrorists by the terrorists. Some of your old friends and family, if they knew what you were about to sign on for, would be offended as this is not politically correct. All of this you must suffer in silence because you will never be able to tell anyone, other than the people in this room, anything about what you do or where you do it; but you will be defending your country and the American way of life.” Chip took another deep breath before continuing.
“America is made of corporations, and corporate security means a secure America. The western world, of which we and our families and friends are a part, is one big conglomeration of corporations. Corporations create our national economy, and if they are hindered in their efforts to compete with other corporations by those countries that are less than friendly to America, we all lose.
“I know I don’t have to point this out to you, but I will anyway. The terrorists and the foreign governments that support them will try to do all they can to damage America and its economy. It is a major priority for them, and damaging American corporations is one of the ways they are choosing to press their objectives.” Chip quickly scanned the team for a reaction. Only a few heads nodded slightly.
“Kilauea Corporation’s Security Force does not operate in the light of day. Nothing we do is for public consumption. We are the blackest of operations. We will be going in and getting out without anyone knowing we were there. If, for whatever reason, we fail and someone falls, we won’t be back. You’re on your own. You don’t exist and neither do we. This is unconventional warfare at its most unconventional. We will be taking the fight to the enemy on his terms, and as trite as it sounds, we will be eliminating him with extreme prejudice. You will be the terrorists of the terrorists’ world.” Chip paused again, and still no one spoke. All eyes were on him.
“Now, before I go on, there is a computer screen built into your seat’s armrest. There is a non-disclosure agreement and contract there. It says that you will be paid five thousand dollars per month salary with all expenses paid. At the end of your tour, you will receive five million dollars as a bonus for your service. It also says that you will never discuss your work here under penalty of death.” Chip stopped and looked hard at the group. No one seemed concerned with his last statement.
“You will be defending America and all that it stands for, but you will no longer be a part of it. Your family and your country will be here on this island. You will be part of the non-existent Kilauea Security Force.
“At such time, when your commitment is over, you’ll be able to return to America and enjoy the American dream, safe in the knowledge that you had a hand in securing its continued existence.
“If you can live with these terms, sign the form at the bottom and press enter. If you cannot, feel free to leave. You’ll not be hassled in any way, and you’ll be returned to Cancun with five thousand dollars for your trouble.”
Chip looked at Carrie as the group looked over the form; then, one by one, they signed on the bottom line. After five minutes, no one had left and everyone had signed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The following morning, Chip Clarett stood silently at the podium as he waited for his new team members to arrive after morning mess. Chip looked into the faces of each man and woman as they entered. Most wore expressions of professional indifference, but Chip could tell a few were more than just a bit curious about the challenge before them. Once the team had found seats, Chip continued to shuffle papers on the podium while he let the tension build. When he was
sure he had their complete attention, he cleared his throat and began.
“I hope all of you had a good night’s sleep. Was the chow up to standards?” Chip was trying to break the ice and keep the working atmosphere less formal than that of their military careers.
“You bet, boss!” Steve Weiner, a former captain in the Army Rangers and a top sniper spoke up. “If the food had been this good in the Army, I just might have stayed in.” The comment drew a few snickers from the group that quickly faded away.
“Good, I’ll let the chef know you approve,” Chip retorted curtly, his sarcastic sense of humor showing. “Now, I’ll try to keep this short and sweet. First, a reminder—whatever we discuss here is top secret and everything we do is black as hell.
“Now, I’m sure that all of you know of the attacks and the resulting fires in Houston and San Antonio.” The team grumbled at the mention of the attacks. Chip’s son David who was sitting in the far corner, peered at the floor. He was struggling with emotions that were still raw, buried just below the surface.
“I don’t believe that any of you agree with the approach being taken towards these attacks by the current administration in Washington, but the politically correct crowd is running the show for now, so we have to act for our country.” The light dimmed in the room and the view screen came to life, showing pictures of four men.
“The FBI has back-tracked four of the seven dead terrorists in San Antonio to three different locations. Two of the terrorists had been living and working in Paterson, New Jersey. They were in the States illegally after having overstayed their student visas. One was living in Dearborn, Michigan, again an illegal student, and the one living in St.Louis, Missouri—yes, he was also an illegal student. None of these men left any incriminating evidence at their former residences, and all of them provided false information on their visa applications.
Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises Page 19
