by Krakondack
“We think it would have been mailed to Jess’ P.O. Box in Albany, but there’s nothing there, at least not yet.” said Lyle. “It’s probably still in the mail, hidden from whoever did this.”
“Robert Linssman was a very principled man,” said Lionel. “That he gave his life for something he believed in doesn’t surprise me. You know you’ll have to pursue this thing he found. It would dishonor his memory to do otherwise.”
“I wanted him to leave it alone,” said John. “I know from my past that tragedy can follow where principle first leads. Now we’ve all lost Robbie.”
“Don’t you think you should ask young Jess how she feels about it?” asked Lionel.
All eyes turned to Jess, with John a little embarrassed at having to be reminded of this obvious courtesy. “I’m with my dad,” said Jess. “I’m willing to follow in his footsteps if he thought this was worthwhile.”
“I knew you’d say that,” said Lionel. “I certainly hope young Lyle snatches you up before anyone else does. It’s not often I see a girl so beautiful, and so full of life.”
Jess shrugged off Lionel’s comment with a smile, leaving him the wide berth of discretion due to overly enthusiastic old men. She did however sneak a glance at Lyle to gauge his reaction.
“John, while you may be right about the danger, a life lived in fear of doing the right thing is rather unsatisfying.” Lionel wasn’t going to let the topic go so quickly. “I’m not just pulling this out of my ass either. Young Lyle and I had a similar discussion only a few years ago. There’s not time to go over it right now, but he did the right thing, at some cost to himself financially. He’s far happier now. Aren’t you Lyle?”
“Yes dad,” said Lyle. “And now that you’ve embarrassed everyone, maybe we should all say good night. We’ll want to check that P.O. Box every day until something turns up.”
Lyle went to the office the following morning, while Jess, John and Frank drove to Albany to check the P.O. Box. They returned empty handed by 11 am, and were welcomed by Lionel, who promptly called Lyle to tell him they had returned. Lyle finished his work early and returned home for lunch. In the afternoon, they walked to the Shokan Reservoir and enjoyed the colors of the leaves on the hills as fall started to set in. Frank and John walked with Lionel, while Lyle and Jess walked ahead. “I’d like to go for a run,” said Jess.
“I run too,” said Lyle. “Mind if I come with you?”
“Sure. If you think you can keep up.”
They ran casually back to the house, changed into shorts and ran for over an hour. Lyle came back slightly ahead of Jess, both of them in obviously high spirits. Not ready to call it a day, they went to the reservoir for a swim, but after a while went to a beached canoe and paddled out a ways. Smiling directly at Lyle, Jess deliberately tipped the canoe over. They laughed and played in the water for a while longer, before returning to the house.
Watching the whole thing, John said to Lionel, “She’s been through a tough time. She may not show it, but I know her better than anyone, and she’s been hurting. It’s nice to see her blowing off some steam.”
“And I’m glad to see the young lad finally making time for the ladies. Between his career adventures and my wife’s death, he’s never taken the time to see girls in any serious way. And she’s a beauty.”
…
Jess hadn’t felt so carefree in a long time, and while there were also moments of grief, she found her stay to be a chance to forget everything, at least for a while.
Three full days passed and still there was no envelope in the P.O. Box. Over dinner, they discussed the situation. “It’s now Friday and if the envelope doesn’t show up by tomorrow, I fear we may have guessed the wrong address,” said John. “Does anyone have any alternative ideas?”
Nobody could come up with any other obvious places Robbie might have had the memo sent. Jess and Frank drove to Albany on Saturday morning, with Lyle attending to some work at the office and John enjoying the quiet at the Ferguson estate. Lyle got back before Jess, who ran out of the car and into the house, waving a piece of paper for all to see.
Chapter 37: A New Threat
“Mr. Matheson, would you please explain to the President what you’ve learned about China’s missile defense system?”
Morgensen had called the meeting, insisting Defense Secretary Tyler Matheson personally present to Torres the revelations about China.
“Sir, the Chinese have made key technical breakthroughs in fundamental computing technology that will enable them to complete their missile defense system. We know they’ve had an intense interest in developing such a system. They have production-ready missile prototypes. The last obstacle for them was a lack of the right computer chips, which they now have.
“How soon will it be operational?” asked Torres.
“As early as six months from now,” said Matheson. “We made that guess based on how long it takes us to implement new inventions in our systems.”
The Cobra looked at Torres expectantly, but he just shrugged. “So what? Do you want me to launch a nuclear strike within six months because after that I might not be able to?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Cobra. “I thought it would simply interest you to know that in six months’ time our ability to project power in the East will vanish, the victim of obsolete technology.”
“Then we have to develop a new defense strategy with respect to China. Tyler, unless I’m mistaken, Defense is silent on the topic of motivations when developing scenario plans with respect to our rivals. All that matters is capability.”
Matheson nodded in the affirmative. Torres continued. “Then you obviously need to organize a task force to develop a response. You have a month to develop the strategy and get my approval, followed by five months to implement it.”
“You don’t seem alarmed by this,” said Morgensen.
“I don’t know why I should be. It’s perfectly rational for a power like China to want the capability to defend itself, especially against the most powerful nuclear arsenal in the world. They see us as a threat, Hanna. And it’s because we’ve threatened them in the past. We’ve tried to assassinate their Premier (10) and we’ve bombed their embassy in Belgrade (11). Under the circumstances, I don’t see how I could pick up the phone and call them to express outrage that they would develop a defensive system analogous to what we already have.”
Morgensen looked at Matheson and said, “Tyler, I’d like to speak with the President alone now.” Matheson quickly left the office and Morgensen resumed. “You seem to consider yourself simply as the chief executive of the United States, Mr. President. You fail to account for your role as the custodian of American military supremacy. It took a long time to establish it, and you don’t seem worried about losing it. When we’re unable to secure Iran’s oil reserves, or the Chinese beat us to them, then you’ll see the consequences of your stupidity.”
“In the first place my objective is peace, not securing Iran’s oil. Military supremacy is just a tool that can serve either purpose. Secondly, what’s the alternative? If China is determined to build a system, they’ll build it. I’m not going to launch an attack simply to avoid this possibility.”
“There are plenty of alternatives. All you need to do is call CIA Director Bill Connolly. He’ll develop a strategy that will put a stop to their system. You’ll see that suddenly key components don’t work. The Chip plant will develop quality problems. Their software will be riddled with viruses. Designs for systems they’ve spent years developing will disappear. Certain engineers will disappear. The point is we don’t sit on our hands while they threaten our power.”
“What you describe are acts of war,” objected Torres.
“War is the continuation of policy by other means,” answered Morgensen.
“That’s a quote from Clausewitz (12), Hanna. That mentality gave us two world wars. The Chinese follow Sun Tzu (13), who taught that the best war is the one that’s never fought. I subscribe to that vie
w myself.”
“You’ve said your piece Mr. President. I expect the outcome of our discussion to be a green light for covert action against the Chinese missile defense program.”
Morgensen then stood up and left the meeting before Torres could challenge her concluding statement. Torres was left fuming at being overruled once again by his Secretary of State on a matter deeply important to himself.
Chapter 38: The Memo
John took the memo from Jess’ hand, and with everyone in the room, read it aloud for the group.
From: Helsing-Tilbury, Operations Center
To: Unit Heads
RE: Update on Project Logistics
Dear All
.
We have received final clearance to proceed. Derek Ellis has been appointed to lead the whole operation. All elements have to come together as planned or everything will be in jeopardy. Security is essential so above all, no leaks.
Here follows an update on the logistical plans. Any issues meeting timelines must be communicated immediately.
.
1. Newly revised containers have been produced. Trust this will resolve any remaining questions on capacity
2. Delivery of outer containers to San Marcos in progress. Will complete interior refit and plumbing for our specific needs
3. Target number is 250 containers
4. Target date of deployment: Oct 9 at ports. All containers must be unloaded by Oct 8 to ensure coordinated action. Timeline subject to change, so keep checking
5. Nightwatch to be extended all cooperation
6. Morningstar to coordinate launch plans and maintain secrecy by any means necessary
7. All other elements remain as originally discussed
.
Please remember, we only get one chance to get this right. Failure will see us prosecuted. All details have to merge perfectly.
.
Regards,
.
Scott.
…
“That could be Scott Peters,” said Frank. “He was the sidekick to the CFO until the plane crash. Peters was about the only high ranking manager not on that plane. It sort of puts me over the top with regards to the cause of that crash.”
“It looks like Tilbury was acquired to pull off this operation,” said John. “Management who knew what was going on became a hindrance.”
“Scott Peters is now the interim CEO,” said Frank. “And we have a smoking gun that puts him in the middle of the plot.”
“I’m not sure what to make of it,” said John. “Containers being doctored in San Marcos then sent to ports, probably here in the US.”
“San Marcos in the Pearl Islands?” asked Lyle.
“Yes, Robbie previously discovered that Smithfield bought San Marcos and set up a port,” said John.
“Do you guys recall a news story not too long ago about missiles the Russians had built that would fit inside shipping containers (14)?” asked Frank.
“They’re going to import missiles and attack us from within our ports?” asked Lyle.
“Who?” demanded Jess.
“Whoever owns Smithfield,” answered Lyle.
“Or attack the Russians from our ports?” asked Jess. “Start World War III?”
“I doubt it,” said Frank. “Any missile you could fit in a shipping container would have to be short range.”
“Right now it doesn’t make sense strategically,” said John. “Why would you go to so much trouble to bomb us if our subs are parked right off your coast at this moment?”
“What about a false-flag operation?” asked Lyle. “The CIA does all this to cause all sorts of outrage, produces some link to Iran, and the military turns their desert into a sea of glass.”
“One at a time,” said John. “Does it make sense for it to be missiles?”
“It depends who’s behind it,” said Frank. “I agree the Russians aren’t stupid enough to blow up our port cities and take the full force of our retaliation. Besides, they still have an arsenal that can probably penetrate our defenses and do it the old fashioned way. They just aren’t a good match, but their missiles in the hands of terrorists might be.”
“You’re outside the logistical capabilities of some bunch of terrorists here,” said John. “If we were just talking about a few missiles in shipping containers, then a small group could possibly pull it off. But they’ve bought large corporations, a whole island, and paid off Morningstar to get this done. Only a sovereign entity could muster resources like this. Lyle, if this was a false flag attack, why would they have 250 containers? The PR value would be achieved by a single nuclear device.”
“I concede your point, John” he replied. “It’s just that I’ve seen the CIA involved in all sorts of things that fit this profile. If it’s a foreign government, what are they trying to achieve?”
“I know about operation Gladio (15) if that’s what you were referring to,” said John. “I don’t doubt that the CIA could be involved, but again the scale of the operation is the key. They’re normally limited to activities on the terrorist scale by virtue of needing a hard core of people to pull them off without too many leaks. This just feels a little too big for them to be behind it.”
“Then it’s a rogue government, maybe North Korea together with Iran,” offered Frank. “If we rule out big governments and small nongovernmental groups, what are we left with?”
“What about the plumbing?” asked Jess.
“I wondered that myself,” said Lyle. “It could refer to missile launch plumbing.”
“We need more information,” said John. “Otherwise we’re speculating blindly. Someone needs to take a look at San Marcos up close. We need to know what’s up with Morningstar. These guys were kicked out of Afghanistan for excessive brutality, if I remember correctly. And now I remember why the double dagger logo I saw on those assassins’ arms was familiar. It’s the Morningstar logo. They’re in charge of security for this operation. Jess, these are the people who killed your father. I’m sure of it now.”
“We need to find out where their money is coming from,” said Lyle.
“And then we need to find a way to reach the President to make our case” said Frank. “It won’t do us any good to learn of a conspiracy without having something we can do with the information. We can’t go to the FBI, since that got Robbie killed. Anybody we approach will pose a risk, and that’s something we’ll have to sort out.”
“John, I want to go to San Marcos,” said Lyle. “I’m in good shape, I can run long distances, and I’m a certified diver. The tourist industry is pretty thin down there, and what little there is surrounds diving. So I have a plausible cover.”
“The same goes for me,” said Jess. “I also dive. It will be natural for us to go together. We can pass for a couple.” Jess had an enthusiastic smile as she said that, and Lyle took a quick glance then allowed himself to also smile mildly.
“That works for me,” said John, with less reluctance than he had previously shown. “But I don’t want you traveling under your real names. That would be too easy to track with all the airline security databases.”
Lyle smiled and said, “I’ve already thought of that. I have a friend in Montreal, well not quite a friend, but he’s a topnotch forger and he owes me some serious favors. We’ll drive up and fly out of there.”
“That will work,” replied John. “While you two go on your tropical vacation, Frank and I will see what we can dig up on Morningstar financially. We’ll also sniff around and try to learn what’s going on at the ports. Meanwhile, everyone start thinking about how we can use the information we obtain.”
“Just a tootin’ minute,” said Lionel. “You’ve been here all week. The least you can do is stay Saturday night. Some of the neighbors come over and we have a great time. After that, sure go ahead and do the right thing. But tonight, the right thing is right here.”
They knew better than to argue with Lionel, so they enjoyed another night at the Ferguson Manor before
starting on their trips. In the morning, the old man insisted they come with him to church. They were of varying degrees of religious practice, but nobody protested too loudly, so they accompanied him. After the Mass, Lionel walked over to the priest and said something to him. The priest came over to the four of them and gave them a blessing with Holy water. “Last rites, Father?” asked Frank.
“Not at all,” said the amused cleric. “But a proper Benediction sure beats a ‘good luck.’”
…
Lyle packed a few things, then he and Jess drove to Albany, where she also packed before continuing to Montreal, slightly less than four hours to the north. On the way, they passed through the Adirondacks, where Jess relived childhood memories, feeling wistful about not being able to forget everything and turn off the highway to Silver Lake. She indulged her thoughts for only a few moments before crushing the feelings of passivity and defeat, reminding herself of the matter of her father’s murder that she was pursuing.
They crossed the border into Quebec and before long saw the skyline of Mount Royal with the domed roof of St. Joseph’s Oratory. Crossing the Mercier Bridge onto the island of Montreal, they made their way to the West Island. At the north end of the island, they reached a set of housing developments that had seen better days. The residents were mostly immigrants, relatively poor, but crime was not a major issue.
They parked the car and made their way to a beige brick building with a 1950s-style entry foyer. They found the name “M. Ahmoudi” on the resident list and Lyle pressed the button, waited for the reply and announced himself. There was no reply but the buzzer rang and the door was unlocked. They stepped into a lobby that had nice stonework, but 50-some years of wear had dulled it. The elevator smelled of cigarette smoke so old that the last smoker in the elevator may have been innocent of any code violation. They stepped out of the elevator into a dimly lit hallway, the floors worn, dirty, or both. One could not really tell in the gloom. Finally, Lyle knocked on a door. It was opened by a well groomed Arabic man.
