Mischief Island

by Robert Lance

  He chuckled. “I’ll deal with Perrotte later. Can’t blame him for wanting a class lay from time to time. I know what you did Heather, and it has nothing to do with Perrotte.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why would I get an urgent message from Secretary Fremd asking questions that only you know about. You went behind my back, sabotaging the operation.”

  “I should have, but I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”

  “I’m sending you back, pending charges. But before you go, you and I are going to have a private going away party. Forgiveness comes at a price. Let’s not make this difficult. Take your panties off. Never mind, I like doing that myself.”

  He lunged at her, and she swung the chair at him. He batted it aside as easily as batting a willow branch aside. He knocked her to the floor and began to take his pants off. She tried to crawl away from him but he’d grab her leg and pull her back.

  Undressed, Alamo smiled at Heather. “You like foreplay don’t you, honey.” He picked her up, tossed her onto her bed and gut punched her before climbing on to her.

  She fought with every ounce of energy she had left, which wasn’t much. She’d tried to scream, not that that would do any good. She felt him enter her. His thrusts were hard and angry, hurting her.

  His strong hands grasped her neck. She felt them tighten. She suddenly realized Alamo had no intention of sending her home…alive. He couldn’t.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The sight of Alamo’s lifeless body was disgusting. Naked, a heap of a monster, violently terminated by his own cravings. There was little blood, but the back of his brains had showered the drip pan by the sink. The legacy of a great man, a brilliant tactician, and brave warrior had been reduced to nothing more than pulp flesh at a crime scene.

  Ted couldn’t get over the incongruity of the man’s death. He could not summons the living and dead Alamo Jones. The living Alamo had been a brother, friend, mentor, always a leader, a Spartan in the face of the enemy. He was unflinching in his devotion to the men serving beneath him, and challenging to those who served over him. He was a father to many, an icon of the brotherhood, an impeccable example of the SEAL Credo.

  Yet there he lay, in disgrace, a man manically absorbed with a divergent obsession in his own brilliance and the woman who had underwritten it. Alamo met his demons, and he became a demon.

  What had tripped Alamo’s trigger? To get the most out of his men he required loyalty and discipline that was borderline abusive. He simply couldn’t cope with the lack of loyalty and discipline in his personal life. His men loved him more than his wives, and that distinction set him off. It was a monumental flaw he saw in others and not himself. It was a sacrilege that was intolerable for Alamo.

  Alamo’s reign of terror had come to an end over a woman. Ted was angry with himself because he had fallen under the spell of the same woman. It was even more degrading because it happened too quickly, on an ongoing operation, something that brought great discredit to the SEAL doctrine.

  Master Chief Gregory stood beside Ted. His disgust was obvious. He said, “The circumstances are what they are, but we can’t afford to let it stand. We can’t let this filter down through the ranks. We’ve got to get this mess cleaned up. The entire operation is at stake here.”

  “What are you saying Master Chief?” Ted asked.

  “Standing above all this is the mission. We have to find those nukes. Lieutenant Commander Cummins is now charged with that responsibility.” He pointed to the naked woman barely conscious and struggling to get her breath. “She is the ranking officer until relieved. You have to talk to her. This didn’t happen the way it looks. Damn Alamo.”

  “I’m not going to write Alamo off as a casualty of war. He was murdered,” Ted said with a harsh dignity. His eyes drifted to Heather. “She may not have shot him, but she was responsible. She enticed Alamo to the scene of his death.”

  “Get your head out of your ass, Perrotte. We have a victim, and a dead commander committing a violent rape. The fucker tried to kill her. You want to spread that around on main street? None of this happened that way. Alamo was killed…by a sniper’s bullet.”

  Ted found Gregory’s solution incredulous, and he wasn’t giving up.

  Gregory, the pragmatist, said, “Let’s get real. We know this was Alamo’s jumped up platform to greatness. He brought LT here to resurrect a failed relationship, and that back fired, so…Perrotte, you bear some responsibility. Alamo was a hero, and let’s keep it that way.”

  “How the hell do you propose to do that, Gregory?”

  “We don’t report his death. Who’s going to know?”

  “Anyone who is remotely connected to the grotto,” Ted said.

  “We know what happened here, and it ain’t pretty. That’s as top secret as his mission yesterday. We agree, or this operation gets deep sixed. Alamo got killed by a sniper. Period. Alamo gets a hero’s burial, and it doesn’t get reported.”

  Alamo’s funeral behind the chapel at Sabang was deeply mournful as almost everyone in attendance had worked with him somewhere in their careers. It was a small and solemn gathering as Alamo was lowered into the ground. Ramon had decorated the site with floral arrangements fit for a potentate. The SEALs couldn’t wear their battle dress uniforms and attended in civilian attire. Seldom is a SEAL anywhere without a trident, and they nailed theirs to the makeshift coffin Ramon had thoughtfully provided.

  The small village didn’t have a priest, so Roberto officiated the services. Ted was deeply touched, but his eyes traversed the line of mourners. Carole was particularly sobby, as she should be. Heather not so much. She had downcast eyes and a tight jaw. His fellow SEALs had red rimmed eyes, but maintained the military stature expected of them. Domino’s dark eyes were scanning the attendees with the same intensity as Ted’s. Their gaze intersected for a brief second, and Ted knew she wasn’t buying off. What did she know that Ted didn’t?

  Alamo’s wake was particularly somber. Few words were spoken; toasts to the departed were made. The gathering turned sour as the SEALs got deeper into their cups. Fitzgerald said, “I’m not buying the sniper theory. I don’t believe one word of Roberto’s story.”

  Roberto had conveniently found Alamo’s dead body at the site where the fuel truck had been ambushed by a Sayyaf cell operating nearby. The smugglers’ security outriders beat back the Sayyaf attack, and there was no mention of Alamo ever being there. What was Alamo doing outside of the protection zone? It was a question everyone was asking.

  Gates glared at Roberto who was at the end of the bar wiping glasses and watching CNN. He lowered his voice and said, “Maybe Roberto isn’t being truthful. He’s a Salinas stooge, and maybe Salinas has gone sideways. Maybe Roberto had a different set of orders.”

  Perry agreed. “Nobody catches Alamo asleep, especially amateurs like Sayyaf. If they did, I’m getting’ payback somewhere down the road.”

  “Roberto finds Alamo eighteen hours later? That reality show doesn’t play,” said Gates.

  Gregory said, “Roberto’s story checks out. My smuggler crew was yapping about it, and I sent Roberto back to check out the story. Roberto is a former jungle survival instructor and can hear a mosquito fart a hundred yards away. If Salinas wants us shut down there are better ways of doing it.”

  Ted said, “So you don’t mind if I borrow Roberto in the morning to revisit the site. Maybe I’ll come back without Roberto.”

  “Have at it, Perrotte.” Gregory shrugged indifference.

  Gates said, “In the meantime, this mission goes in the tank. We’ve got a woman who is bat shit gorgeous, way the fuck out of her element, telling SEALs how to do their job. That’s totally fucking UNSAT.”

  Domino, who said nothing yet, chirped. “Hey squirrel nuts, get over yourself. I’ve spent the last fourteen years covering your back from behind the cutain, like a sequestered nun. Where do you think the alerts and advisories come from? You scumbags are really misogynistic assholes, like th
e brothers from the hood.”

  “Gates laughed. “You’re just pissed because you can’t swim.”

  Fitzgerald said what all of them were thinking. “Mata Hari can’t replace Alamo. That’s a piss test she can’t pass.”

  Domino retorted. “Yeah?…Well I attended a few conferences with the both of them over the years, and I can tell you this, when the Navy wants to trot out experts to explain the failure of the WESTPAC initiative, and the dip shit floor-shuffle going on out here, they call on LT, and not Alamo. She knows the genesis of this operation as well, if not better, than Alamo. She wrote the fucker for him. That I know for a fact.”

  Fitzgerald hooted. “Tell me something, Domino? Were you the class bully in elementary school?”

  “Fuck, I miss Alamo too. I’m just saying give her the benefit of the doubt. Where are we going to find anyone to push this mission forward?”

  “Can LT do it?” Gregory asked. “If she can’t, then we’re pretty much doomed.”

  His stare turned onto Ted. He said, “Ted, you’re second in command. Do you trust her to finish the job? She can’t do it without your help.”

  The question caught him off guard. “Are you serious? She has no combat command experience. SEALs don’t take orders outside of branch.”

  Gregory said, “That’s your job. Mine doesn’t change. Military deployment and actions are between You and Lt. Cummins. I trust you, and I won’t interfere as long as it doesn’t compromise the mission.” The latter part of his statement carried an unspoken insinuation intended for Ted’s ears.

  “I’m not Alamo.”

  Gates said, “Do I have to remind you that Alamo compromised this mission at many levels? You and her don’t have that conflict. You have to do this. Master Chief is right.”

  “I’ll do it in Alamo’s memory.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Keep that in mind at all times.”

  Perry poked Ted. “What do you think Perrotte, you know the Lt better than we do.”

  Perry made am inappropriate snicker that caused Ted to scowl. Ted noncommittally said, “I don’t know what else to do, but I do know she had deep reservations about operational decisions Alamo made.”

  Domino bit her lip. “I can tell you this now. Remember when you were lightening bugs on mischief island? She called in a threat advisory to abort, but Alamo ignored it and made me delete the advisory. He was so pissed that he wanted to send you back to check the other two barns for missiles, but she talked him out of it.”

  Four sets of eyes bulged. Ted spoke. “What? We didn’t get an advisory. Domino, you better not be fucking with us. That’s a serious breach that I can’t believe Alamo would ever do.”

  She shrugged. “Check the log for yourself. He made me annotate the message as not received. LT uplinked it to higher HQ, and he went off on her like thunder.”

  The SEALs were silent and finished their drinks. They were in disbelief of the duplicity of the legendary man they’d just buried. Domino had thrown them a curve. Fitzgerald couldn’t believe it, and slammed his empty beer bottle on the bar. “I don’t believe it. I’m going to the comm center to check the log. Anyone coming with me?”

  No one moved.

  He said, “Okay…You better be right, Domino. If you lied, you and I are going to the grotto for a swim evaluation.”

  “Dave, Alamo dropped you guys in the shark tank at Sea World. You didn’t have aerial over watch, and LT knew there were more flies on shit on every square inch of that island. She made the right call, and Alamo ignored it.”

  Perry said, “If I wasn’t bug eyed and thermal, I would have missed the guard, and stepped right into him. It was a karma moment.”

  Fitzgerald said, “I’m checking the log and the time stamp. I’m not going to let Alamo’s reputation be tarnished. This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit.”

  Fitzgerald marched off and returned five minutes later. He was inflated and angry and ordered another beer. He needed to calm down. The others waited on bated breath. Dave drained a bottle of Miller Lite in a single swig. He slammed the bottle down and gushed out a lung full of air. He tipped his head toward Domino and asked, “Why didn’t you say something at the brief?”

  “It wasn’t my place to do so.”

  He looked at his mates and said, “The time stamp was minutes before we went feet to sand. There was no query from the Ghost to verify the message. He fucked us. Pure and simple, he fucked us.”

  Perry said, “Karma.”

  Gates said, “Karma my ass. Alamo was in mission overdrive. I’ve had a sense of that. That’s a take away for me. All of us have an Alamo story. He was a good Godamn SEAL, and we need to close ranks. This story never happened. Agreed?”

  Perrotte said, “Drinks Roberto. A fallen brother has infiltrated heaven.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM. The National Security Council was front loaded with administration appointees; predictably loyal, but predictably self-serving. NSC members from the past were pipe smoking theorist contemplating the sea level, waiting for the tide to rise due to global warming. The purpose of the NSC is to advise the president on foreign policy formulation. When the president doesn’t want to hold a press conference, but wants his thoughts known, the NSC is a de-facto press leak vehicle for that purpose. “A reliable source, close to the president…” is the tag line that masks the leak and the snitch.

  The president chaired the meeting and sat at the head of a conference table the size of a roller skating rink. He leaned in, and whispered to Derek Fremd, “Are the leakers assembled?”

  Fremd answered, “The CNN parrots are perched in the rafters.”

  “Good. Good. One of these days I’m going bird hunting. Let’s get the show started.”

  Wendy Watkins was the first to report. She said, “The UN security council finds China the aggressor against Vietnam given its provocation in the past. They are divided on the response, and it’s across the board, everything from censorship to sanctions.”

  The president asked, “What does China say?”

  “Nothing at all, but we expect them to veto any actions we might contemplate.”

  The president drummed his fingers on the desk, and smirked. “Does China recognize UNCLOS, the UN Court of Laws of the Sea? Has not the International Court of Justice ruled against China’s claim? Does China not abide by the maritime laws of the sea to allow free transit of commerce in international waters? There is a basis for the UN Security Council to take up the subject, and call for the General Assembly to resolve the issue once and for all. Discussion.”

  The chatter in the situation room went on for over an hour. The overall conclusion was whatever the UN General Assembly decided, it couldn’t be reinforced. China could invoke economic sanctions of their own, which could upset the global economy. The president said, “You’re all thinking short term. China needs trade, badly, very badly. The world economy adjusts and recovers, but China isn’t stupid enough to shoot themselves in the foot. Wendy, you should call their bluff. See how they react. Maybe we can force them to demilitarize the South China Sea. Let’s move on to the next subject.”

  The Secretary of State, Adrian Holcomb, had an issue. “I’m confused Mr. President. How would anyone be able to supervise China’s demilitarization? We have an agreement with China. We’ve remained neutral, and agreed to inform the Chinese of any passage of our Navy in the Nine Dash Line in the South China Sea.”

  The president rubbed his chin. “Good point Adrian. Any suggestions?” Again, the room hummed with expert opinions. Adrian clarified the issue. “UNCLOS established that every maritime nation has an exclusive economic zone extended from its shores two hundred miles into the sea. It doesn’t convey ownership, but allows a nation to explore and develop the sea bed in it’s zone. With exception of the twelve mile line, the exclusive zone is still considered international waters.”

  “What are you getting at Adrian?” Peter Bolin asked.

  The United States
has not formally agreed to the UNCLOS declaration. It is a courtesy to advise any country when any military assets transit their EEZ. When it comes to the South China Sea, our agreement with China, by insinuation, confers ownership of China’s claim. Mr. President, if we advance the proposed initiative at the UN, we can’t possibly remain neutral.”

  He said, “I’ll take that under consideration. Do China’s actions violate our agreement?”

  Adrian scoffed. “They’ve been in violation for years. It was convenient to look the other way. Our Far East policy has been in shambles for the last twenty years.”

  The president shook his head. “Adrian, put the Chinese on notice that we no longer have a neutral position and that our agreement is terminated by their use of military force inside the Nine Dash Line. Inform all others we respect their UNCLOS EEZ claims.”

  His declaration caused a stir and a voice called out, “Mr. President, does that mean you’re considering a military adventure in the South China Sea.”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. My message is the United States is no longer restricted from exercising our navigation rights on the high seas, including the South China Sea. Reassure China we will respect their EEZ, which, by the way, gets cut by about five hundred miles.”

  Wendy Watkins spoke. “The Chinese will see that as a provocation.”

  The president laughed. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m not telling China to demilitarize the Spratly Islands. I’ll leave that task to the UN.”

  The conference adjourned. His Alamo advisors remained behind. Bolin snidely said, “I’ve got a hundred dollars that says this will be on CNN within the hour. Good job, Mr. President.”

  Fremd said, “Yeah, and you’re going to get smacked around by both sides of the aisle.”

  “I was good, wasn’t I? Yes I was. The parrots in the cuckoo’s nest are so confused they can’t find their way out of the building. How sure are we that the Alamo special operators weren’t involved in that Vietnam disaster?”