by Dave Edlund
“First,” Lacey held up her index finger for emphasis. “We cannot directly connect Garza with the operation on Chernabura Island or any other attack, for that matter—”
“What? Wait a minute,” said Peter. He was looking at Lacey, eyebrows pushed together. “A while ago you said that you could trace wire transfers and other emails from the Ministers of Defense and Foreign Affairs to the Ramirez brothers. Those guys work for Garza, so how can you say now that Garza isn’t involved? That makes zero sense.”
“There’s no direct proof. President Garza would argue that he had no knowledge of the events and that his Foreign Affairs Minister was acting without higher authorization. That’s the way it’s done.” Lacey was beginning to doubt how much help and insight Peter could truly offer.
“Continue,” Jim said.
“Second,” she raised another finger. “Our intel is largely limited to the Hedberg suicide bombing and the attack on Chernabura Island. We have little to no intel on the other prior suspicious murders to link them together. For all we know, they could be isolated events.”
“Rather coincidental.” Jim’s sarcasm was not lost on Lacey and the others.
“We don’t buy it either, sir. But you asked where the holes are.” Lacey continued, extending a third finger.
“And third, we cannot tie the Russian government—at any level of authority—to any of the incidents. It’s possible that the captain of the Saint Petersburg had gone rogue. We ran this scenario by our counterparts at DIA. They have analyzed similar scenarios—hypothetical, of course. Their conclusion is that the probability of such an event is extremely low, nearly impossible. If the captain really had acted independently, he would be hunted down and killed—either by agents of the Russian government or independent contractors. It would be a suicide mission.”
“The captain of the Saint Petersburg had nothing to gain personally. Why would he risk certain death?” added Williams. “He must have been operating under orders.”
“Still, we have no direct evidence connecting Pushkin’s government to any of the attacks.” Jim’s words faded away, his disappointment evident.
“We have absolute confidence that Venezuela is involved at a very high level,” said Lacey, trying to get back on track. “They have funded the terrorists and provided logistical support for the attack on Chernabura Island and the Hedberg Conference. And following the suicide bombing in Caracas, they covered up key evidence and aided the escape of Pablo Ramirez. But, we cannot be absolutely certain that Venezuela is the ring leader. They could be assisting another government that is the real organizer.”
“Is President Garza culpable?” asked Jim.
Lacey frowned. “We have no evidence that he is either aware of, or has authorized, any of the actions under discussion.”
“If you ask me, he’s in it up to his eyeballs.” Peter spoke softly, but Jim heard him nonetheless.
“What about the role of Iran?” Jim asked
“Iran’s involvement as a supporting player,” Williams answered, “is merely suggested by some of the messages recovered from one of the hard drives. We also have the captured Iranian officer from the camp. At best, we could make a reasonable case that Iran, at least the Iranian army, is providing logistical support to the terrorist actions.”
Jim was now pacing back and forth in front of the white board. “Let’s come back to the motive. I understand the need for the Garza government to maintain high oil process, but give me more on Russia’s motive.” His request was directed at Sergeant Ross.
“Under the leadership of Pushkin, a resurging wave of nationalism has swept through the halls of the Kremlin. We’ve seen an increase in Russian aggression—both overt and covert—toward her neighbors. Examples include the cyber attack on Estonia in 2007, the invasion of Georgia in 2008, and the cutting of gas supplies to Europe in 2009. Pushkin opposes the U.S. on nearly all key international issues, and he has increased financial aid to North Korea. It is clear that Russia covets her former satellite territories, as well as her former status as a global superpower. Revenues from oil and gas represent significant income to the state, as well as substantial leverage over neighboring countries that are poor in these resources.”
Jim nodded agreement; he was not surprised by her answer.
“Sir, we have turned this over and over,” Lacey offered. “We keep coming back to the simplest explanation—the Venezuelan government, at a very high level, is organizing and supporting the series of terrorist attacks in order to disrupt and halt research on synthetic routes to oil. Russia is supporting Venezuela by providing significant military intelligence, manpower, and logistical support.”
Jim nodded in agreement. “So all fingers point to Venezuela organizing the attack on Chernabura Island, with support from Russia… unless we want to believe that the Saint Petersburg was commanded by a rogue officer acting without authority from his government: possible but unlikely.”
Jim’s intel team returned his gaze. He saw fatigue etched in the faces staring back at him. His team was exhausted. They had been working non-stop for the past 48 hours.
“Anything else?” Jim asked. No one replied. Jim drew a deep breath. They had done as much as possible with the limited data available. “Okay, people, good work. Package it up and put a bow on it. Send the report and supporting details to Colonel Pierson ASAP, and make sure you put all the disclaimers in there—I don’t want to be sitting before a Congressional sub-committee nine months from now, trying to explain why we didn’t provide the full story. I want the entire data package on the colonel’s desk before 2400 hours. The next steps will be up to the colonel and the Joint Chiefs. I think it’s out of our hands for now.”
Chapter 27
October 14
Washington, D.C.
Secretary of State Paul Bryan was tired, very tired. The mug on his desk was half full of cold, bitter coffee. An hour ago he had eaten two stale donuts. He had been in his office or the Oval Office nearly all of the previous 72 hours, sleeping either in his desk chair or on the black leather sofa next to the door. He glanced at the clock on his desk—7:30 A.M. He stood to walk to the private bathroom adjoining his office. Maybe a shower and shave would help him wake up—there was a lot of work still to be done.
Paul Bryan graduated from Yale with a doctoral degree in political science. He continued his education at Oxford University as a Rhodes Scholar, and then returned to the United States and began working his way into the Democratic Party. At first, that meant volunteering to help elect the Democratic challenger to one of the senate seats from California; later he moved on to doing volunteer work for the DNC, eventually earning a high-level staff position. He was drawn back to academia when offered an endowed chair at Stanford. Although he liked living in California, he really enjoyed the action and excitement of politics.
So he maintained the relationships he had built with his many colleagues in the DNC. His big break occurred ten years ago when the previous president had rewarded his dedication to the party by asking him to serve as the U.S. ambassador to Spain. He accepted and served with distinction for four years through the single term of his boss. When President Taylor was elected, Paul Bryan’s name was at the top of a short list of candidates for nomination as secretary of state.
At 5:00 A.M. this morning, Bryan had been summoned to the Oval Office. The meeting was already in progress when he arrived.
General Hendrickson, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, was briefing the President on the military aspects of Operation Checkmate. Secretary of Defense Howard Hale had already recommended approval. There would be two major elements to Operation Checkmate, and both had to work. A large-scale, if not global, war was the likely consequence of failure.
“We can have the assets in position and ready to go by 1200 hours.”
“Thank you, General,” replied President Taylor. “The role that State must play is equally important. You do understand that, General?”
“Of course, sir. The J
oint Chiefs are not looking for a shooting war, I assure you. If State agrees, we can be ready to execute on your schedule any time after 1200 hours today.”
Paul Bryan had just walked in and was still standing in the doorway. His light grey suit was wrinkled, and his tie was loose. The secretary was not a tall man, and being about twenty pounds overweight made him look even shorter. Although his black mop was combed neatly, the President could hardly miss the dark rings visible through his thick eyeglasses.
“Come in, Paul,” invited the President. Bryan walked in and helped himself to a cup of coffee from the sideboard: one lump of sugar and a dash of cream.
“We were just reviewing the details of Operation Checkmate. General Hendrickson assures me that the military is on board and ready. Howard is recommending I approve the operation.” The President paused for a pregnant moment during which no one dared to speak.
“I need to know what you think, Paul.”
Bryan put his coffee cup down and quickly composed his thoughts. “Thank you, sir. My position on the issue has been the following. Under the control of President Enrique Garza, Venezuela represents an eventual threat to the U.S. As of three days ago, my position altered dramatically after I read the SGIT intelligence report. Colonel Pierson has a good team.” Bryan took in a deep breath and continued. He knew that the words he was about to say could very well have an immeasurable impact on the U.S. government and its foreign relations for decades to come.
“Sir, there can be no mistake. The series of terrorist attacks orchestrated by the government of Venezuela, with the aid of Russia, are intended to keep this country, and for that matter all developed countries, under the proverbial thumb of OPEC by manipulating oil supply and price fixing. There is no doubt that our economy would flourish to a degree never before experienced if the cost of basic energy were to be cut five-fold or more. And we all know very well the costs directly related to maintaining the security of our nation when we depend so heavily on imported oil.”
Paul Bryan glanced at Secretary of Defense Hale and General Hendrickson. Both were nodding agreement.
He continued, “The crimes of the governments of Venezuela and Russia include the murder of more than 60 civilian researchers and a conspiracy to further the illegal activities of the oil cartel. Not to mention the illegal insertion of military operatives from both countries onto U.S. soil, the murder of a U.S. marshal, and the attempted murder of seven citizens of both the United States and Japan. Therefore, the Department of State recommends that a strong response is, indeed, warranted and necessary.”
“Paul, I want you to speak your mind. This meeting is not being recorded. I don’t want there to be any ambiguity in your meaning. You understand the role that the Department of State—that means you—will have if I approve Operation Checkmate?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“And are you advising that I approve the operation?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Secretary of State Paul Bryan answered, “Yes sir. I am recommending that approval be granted to Operation Checkmate… to commence as soon as possible. We have no time to waste.”
The President looked into the eyes of each of his trusted advisors. He, too, believed that Operation Checkmate was the proper response—no, the required response—to avoid a much larger and deadlier conflict.
“Very well, gentlemen. I am granting full approval to Operation Checkmate. State and Defense are fully aware of the details. I expect you will execute as planned. Make no mistakes, gentlemen, no errors. Paul, I want you to work through the timetable with General Hendrickson. Once you reach agreement, fill me in, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. President.” And the meeting concluded less than twenty minutes after Bryan had arrived.
Chapter 28
October 14
Washington, D.C.
Señor Santos, please understand the importance of this conversation. I do not have time for pleasantries, so I’ll get to the point.” Paul Bryan could not afford to waste time on small talk.
Angelo Rivero Santos was the Minister Counselor Chargé d´Affaires for the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, stationed for the past three years at his country’s embassy in Washington, D.C. As the highest ranking diplomat for his country, he was sitting in the office of the secretary of state, enjoying a cup of strong, dark coffee—100 percent Kona beans from the Big Island of Hawaii—during a rare meeting.
Señor Santos set his cup down, pursing his lips. Hmm. He had assumed that this unexpected meeting might signal a slight shift toward re-establishing normal relations. He could tell by the tone of Paul Bryan’s statement that his assumption was way off.
“By all means, Mr. Secretary, please continue.” The chargé d´affaires had a smile on his face—a mask that came easily to diplomats as well as politicians.
Paul Bryan was seated, and he leaned back in his chair, contemplating the professional diplomat seated across from him. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully.
“On September 26, a terrorist team led by General Pablo Ramirez attempted to assassinate seven civilians on U.S. soil. They were defeated but not before they murdered a U.S. marshal.”
Bryan paused to let his words sink in.
“I do not recall reading anything of this in the papers. But I am pleased to hear that the attempt was not completely successful.” He raised his cup and noisily sipped in the hot coffee, swishing the liquid and savoring the rich flavor.
Bryan flashed a quick smile. He understood this was part of the game. He was leading Santos exactly as planned.
“Thank you. And did you know that General Pablo Ramirez was acting on behalf of the government of Venezuela?”
He nearly spit the liquid out. “What did you say? That is not possible!”
“Oh, I assure you it is, Señor Santos.” The secretary of state hesitated for a second. “Although I don’t know you well at all, I have no reason to doubt your character. That’s why I requested this meeting with you.”
Santos had put down his coffee cup and frowned. Should he be insulted by this accusation? But why would the secretary of state tell him this? It didn’t add up.
“Mr. Secretary. Venezuela is not a terrorist state!”
“Calm yourself, Señor Santos. I am seeking your help.”
“I do not understand what you are talking about. Nor do I understand what you want of me.”
“The answer is simple. My country has unimpeachable evidence that the government of Venezuela has been orchestrating a series of terrorist attacks on scientific researchers for at least the past year, very likely longer. Many civilians have been murdered. We know that the bombing of the Hedberg Conference in Caracas was carried out with the explicit support of your government.
“To bring these actions to a halt—immediately—my government is ready to launch a decisive military strike against strategic assets of your country.”
Bryan paused again. He wanted to be sure Señor Santos was absorbing the full ramifications of his message.
“Señor Santos, I am sure you understand the capability of the United States military. But unfortunately, precision weapons—bombs, missiles—cannot guarantee that innocent lives will not be lost. I don’t want that to happen. Do you?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Secretary!” His voice was raised, and his eyes widened. Would America really take military action against his country? Then he quickly remembered the invasions of Panama and Grenada.
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. I need your help to avoid the military option. Are you willing to lend assistance?”
“Mr. Secretary, understand that I am a patriot, loyal to my country. Having said that, I am eager to lend any diplomatic assistance, as you say, that might defuse this situation.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help. My request is simple. I need for you to arrange a conversation between myself and your minister of foreign affairs, the sooner the better. Unfortunately, without proper diplomatic relations, communication between our governments
is somewhat… difficult. Can I count on your help?” Bryan flashed a comforting smile again.
Since the United States and Venezuela had expelled each other’s ambassadors, diplomacy was slow and awkward. It was made even worse since the United States viewed Venezuela as a government supporting terrorism, which meant that diplomacy had to go through back channels. It would have been very expedient if President Taylor and President Garza could simply speak to each other, but that just wasn’t going to happen.
“Of course, Mr. Secretary.”
“Excellent. Here is my card.” Paul Bryan handed his business card to Santos. “Call me at the number on this card as soon as you have spoken with your foreign affairs minister. It is most urgent, and I will make myself available to speak to Señor Maldonado any time, day or night. And when this is all over I promise you a leisurely dinner, during which we can rehash all of this and hopefully laugh… at least a little bit.” Bryan smiled and stood, extending his hand to Señor Angelo Santos.
Chapter 29
October 14
Washington, D.C.
After Señor Santos left his office, Paul Bryan sank into his chair. He was dog tired. He leaned back and closed his eyes, putting his feet up on the edge of his desk. Act II was coming up, and he needed to be ready. And right now, that meant he needed to sleep. He paged his secretary. “Marge, unless it’s Señor Santos or Señor Maldonado, hold my calls. I’m going to stretch out on the couch and try to nap for an hour or two.”
He walked to the couch, took off his suit jacket, kicked off his black wing tips, and stretched out. As tired as he was, sleep did not come quickly. And when it finally did, it was not a deep, restful sleep. Bryan could not close down his brain. Over and over again he went through what needed to be done, imagining the next conversation with the minister of foreign affairs for Venezuela. The conversation with the charge d’affaires was simply the warm up. He could not afford any mistakes, any miscalculations with the minister.
