The Price Of Power

by James W. Huston

  “He could be released into base custody, staying in one of the officer’s quarters on base, but unable to leave Pearl—”

  Manchester’s voice was firm. “I want him in the brig, I want him in dungarees, I want him getting bread and water if I can do that, but short of that, I don’t want to give him any breaks at all!”

  “You’re rubbing his nose in it,” the Attorney General said.

  Manchester sighed, tired of explaining. “He needs to have his nose rubbed in it. Disobeying that order was so blatant that it deserves an equivalent response. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Attorney General said, turning to the next page of his notes as the President took another sip of his tea.

  “What else is there?” Manchester said.

  “Well, sir, you’re aware that the Speaker of the House has begun talking about asking the House Judiciary Committee to commence impeachment hearings.”

  “I heard that.”

  “I don’t know if it is going to pass the House, but I think we need to prepare for any eventuality. We need to begin preparing a defense. You need to think now about what you’re going to do, whether you’re going to go ahead and tell the public and the press that you’re not a pacifist”—the Attorney General paused—“or actually allow this to go forward. ’Cause if you are, I think you should retain a lawyer. Now.”

  “Do you have anybody in mind?” Manchester asked, not wanting to think about it.

  “It’s really up to you. We could have somebody from the Justice Department defend you. Jackson Gray would be a good choice.”

  “The one who argued my case in front of the Supreme Court and lost?”

  The Attorney General said reluctantly, “Yes, sir. But it wasn’t his fault, he did a fine job.”

  “He got out-lawyered,” the President said. “I don’t think we lost it on the merits at all. I think Pendleton was just better. He had Gray on his heels the entire time after it was filed—”

  “I think the Court simply hates dealing with political issues and took whatever course they could find to dodge it.”

  “Who else?”

  “There are several other high-ranking litigators in the Justice Department who would do a fine job, but I was thinking if you wanted to hire a lawyer from a private firm, I would have to get working on that.”

  The President agreed. “Get me a list of the five best lawyers in the country who might do this. And I don’t want some fancy criminal defense lawyer.” He immediately formed an unpleasant image in his mind. That would be rich, the President being represented by some drug defense lawyer.

  The Attorney General mused thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, “I think I may have just the guy.”

  George Washington strode quickly into the dirt-floored room and ordered the hoods removed. Dan and Connie Heidel blinked quickly and turned away from the light. They sat on wooden chairs looking ridiculous. They had been in their nightclothes for days. Dan wore only his striped silk pajama pants. His wife of fifteen years felt only slightly worse than she looked. They hadn’t been physically abused since their capture but had been fed only rice and water and had been separated through the entire ride in Cigarette boats, then a large merchant ship, and finally a float plane that had flown them from a covered lagoon to the beach of the island on which they found themselves. At least they assumed it was an island. Everything was, except for the Malaysian Peninsula or Southeast Asia.

  They had no idea where they had been taken, only that it had been days. And there Connie Heidel sat, in the same white silk nightgown, mortified. The nightgown came down to just above her knees. She wore nothing underneath. It had become soiled and stained in her travels, and her long blond hair stuck to her head like a helmet. She hadn’t even been allowed to wash her hands. She was well aware of the men standing around her, staring at her. The leader who had ordered the hoods removed approached her. He was short, thin, and handsome. His perfect complexion made him look as if he had been sanded and polished. His eyes were alive and mischievous. He stopped in front of her, smiled slightly, and said, “Rape.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to stay in control of herself. “I would rather die,” she said, her voice intense. She was amazed that her hands were not tied behind her, nor was she tied to the chair. She tried to stand up and realized for the first time that there was someone behind her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back down into the chair.

  “Rape,” the leader repeated. Connie wondered who would be the first to approach her. “I would rather die,” she said again.

  “Not you, Indonesia,” he said.

  She squinted, not comprehending.

  “You,” he said, pointing to her, “you and your company rape Indonesia. Rape Irian Jaya.”

  “What’re you talking about?” she said, looking at her husband for help.

  “Why you big American company come to Indonesia and ruin?” the leader asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you mean the South Sea Mining Company, they have a contract with your government. It’s been agreed to.”

  “Not agreed to by Irian Jaya. Not agreed to by people.”

  “Who are you?”

  “George Washington,” he said. “I fight for freedom of Indonesian people. For Islamic Indonesia.”

  Her eyes widened as did those of her husband. “You’re him? The one who attacked the American ship? You murdered the crew!” she said in a hushed tone, horrified.

  Washington grinned. “Must be another George Washington. Many people want freedom.” He took a pack of Chinese cigarettes out of his pocket. He lit one with a soggy match after several attempts to strike it and inhaled deeply. He offered it to her. She shook her head. His eyes suddenly hardened. “You smoke with me,” he said offering it to her again. She refused once more. He took it from his lips and walked the three steps to her chair.

  He stooped down next to her so that his face was only a foot from hers. He took the cigarette and moved it toward her lips. Her eyes darted to her right to catch her husband’s eye.

  Washington studied her face. “You have such nice lips. Soft. Should do well in holding cigarette.” He put the cigarette up to her mouth and pulled her lower lip down, laying the cigarette on the top of her lower lip on the side, and then let it close back.

  The cigarette dangled from the left side of her mouth, the smoke getting into her eyes, causing her to close them. She was careful to avoid inhaling the rising smoke as she breathed through her nose.

  The leader stood up quickly. “Much better.” He took out another cigarette and lit it for himself with equal difficulty in lighting the match. The smoke hung in the humid air as if waiting for something to happen.

  “Why you rape Irian Jaya?” he asked her as the cigarette burned down closer to her lip.

  “I’m not,” she said out of the right side of her mouth, trying to keep the burning cigarette from dropping into her lap. “I haven’t done anything. I live in Irian Jaya with my husband.”

  “What your position with company?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  “None. I just live with my husband,” she said, fighting the fear she could feel building inside her.

  “Oh,” George Washington said knowingly. “Your husband is president of company, right?”

  She glanced at her husband and then at Washington and bent her head slightly.

  Washington seemed thoughtful. “I should be smoking with him, not you,” he decided, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and walking over to her husband sitting five feet away. He held the cigarette, now an inch and a half long, toward Heidel’s mouth. Heidel did not loosen his lips and take the cigarette willingly. Washington knelt down to him.

  “Either I smoke with you or with wife.”

  Dan relaxed his lips and took the cigarette in the same way his wife had. It continued to burn and a thin line of white smoke rose toward the roof.

  “Why you rape Irian Jaya?”

  “W
e don’t,” he answered, keeping the cigarette in his mouth with some difficulty, never having smoked in his life.

  “Rivers,” Washington said, “better now or before you came?”

  “Depends what you mean by better. The volume is the same, number of fish is the same, the commerce on the river is higher…”

  “Better to drink?” Washington said.

  Dan thought for a moment. “Probably not. But we’ve established a program—”

  “Land of Irian Jaya, better now? Or better before you came?”

  “If you mean better than when I came, I think it’s much better now. My predecessor—”

  Washington put up his hand with a pained expression on his face. He spoke softly. “Land better now? Or before company came?”

  “We’re helping Indonesia utilize her natural resources. Irian Jaya is very rich in natural resources, including gold, copper, other—”

  “Who gets benefit?” Washington pressed.

  “We all do. We bring the technology. We employ many thousand Indonesians, including many from Irian Jaya....” His voice began to quiver as the cigarette burned toward his lip. “Everybody benefits.”

  “Better for natives to live off land in mountains or work for you and get drunk?”

  “They can do what they want. They have a choice to better—”

  “How better?” Washington yelled, bending down to Heidel’s face.

  “We’ve built schools, homes. The economy has grown up. We’re just taking gold out of the ground, then the ground will be put back—”

  Washington shook his head vigorously. “Never put back! Nothing ever the same after Americans come! Look at your own natives. They live in big prisons! Reservations! Land of West put back?” He kneeled by Dan and examined the unfiltered cigarette, which was now burning a half inch from Heidel’s lip. He spoke suddenly with intensity. “Who gave you right?”

  “For what?” Dan asked.

  “To tear up land!”

  “Your government did. We’ve had a contract there for twenty years. Your government, which represents your whole country, agreed.”

  “Not my government. Who gave Indonesia right to take over Irian Jaya? New way of American imperialism. Don’t take land yourself, get dictator to take, then make contract with dictator! Same thing!”

  Heidel realized he was arguing without purpose. He didn’t answer.

  “What right?” Washington asked again, staring Dan in the eyes. “What right?”

  “I just told you,” Dan said. The cigarette was to his lip. Only the thinnest tobacco leaves separated the fire from his mouth. He spoke quickly. “We have an agreement with the government, we’re employing ninety-five percent Indonesians. We’re cleaning up the area as well as we can, we’re very concerned about the environment—”

  “Shut up,” Washington said softly, backing away from Heidel.

  The cigarette suddenly burned down and the hot ash touched his lip. Heidel jerked and spit it out. Connie reached for him automatically, then pulled her hand back.

  Washington was shocked. “Who said you could spit out?”

  “Nobody,” Dan said.

  Washington was furious. Another Indonesian rushed in and spoke to Washington quickly. They went on in exaggerated tones and gestures for half a minute after which the man ran back out.

  Washington turned to Heidel. “Your government took men from nearby island back to Hawaii for trial. They attacked us without warning. I told them to let them go.” He threw his own cigarette on the dirt floor. “We have waited. They don’t care about you. Men still in jail.” Washington signaled at the man standing behind Dan. The man walked around Heidel and handed Washington a semiautomatic handgun. Washington pulled back the slide slightly to check to make sure a round was in the chamber. The hammer was already back. Dan’s eyes grew large. “You really shouldn’t do this,” Dan cried. “They’ll find you.”

  “Maybe,” said Washington. “Maybe not.” He raised the handgun and shot Dan Heidel twice in the chest. The chair pitched over backward as Heidel was thrown to the dirt floor. He tried to move, then lay still as blood ran down into the dirt.

  The USS Constitution smashed its way through the Java Sea en route to Thailand. They were picking up right where they left off. The date for the Cobra Gold exercise had been moved back to allow the battle group to deliver the prisoners and Admiral Billings to Pearl Harbor and then return to Thailand. The other forces involved were unhappy, but willing to accommodate the change. Admiral Blazer’s battle group had been sent by President Manchester to intercept Billings’ group and escort him back to Pearl. Since they were due to stay in Pearl for a while, Blazer had been ordered to take over Billings’ position as commander of the Constitution battle group.

  Instead of bringing his entire staff over to the Constitution he had decided to simply step into Billings’s place and use his staff. He had been well received, but the transition to a new staff was not without problems. The new chief of staff in particular, Commander Curtis, Billings’s former operations officer, was surly and negative. Blazer couldn’t tell whether he was always that way, or bitter about what had happened to Billings.

  The other members of the staff seemed upbeat although generally furious at the way Ray Billings had been treated. Blazer was furious too, but he couldn’t show it. Deep inside, where the government couldn’t go, he and every other admiral he knew agreed with Billings’s conduct. They thought the Letter of Reprisal was one of the most clever tactics ever employed by Congress. It gave them newfound excitement. To revive a historic, nautical power that was virtually undefined, which gave them a new tool to go after terrorists and pirates, was like a Navy-wide shot of adrenaline. Admiral Blazer hoped the power was upheld by the Supreme Court and became common. What a thing that would be, to have Congress issue a Letter of Reprisal against every swinging dick who decided to murder an American in some forgotten corner of the world. Send the Navy, send the SEALs, send the Marines, and go kick the hell out of them. About time.

  Blazer looked up at the most pleasant view on the ship. Beth Louwsma. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen a more beautiful woman in his life, including his ex-wife. The benefits of a coed Navy, he thought to himself, controlling his face so his staring wouldn’t be noticeable.

  “Admiral?” Beth said, with her usual intelligence officer’s look of curiosity.

  “Commander Louwsma. How are you?” he said gruffly.

  “Fine, sir. I’ve been studying some of the COMINT we’ve been getting.” Communications intelligence, information from radio transmissions and frequencies. “Our cryppies have intercepted a very unusual UHF transmission.” The cryppies were the cryptologists, the ones who tried to gather other people’s communications and make sense of them, including breaking the codes if they could.

  “Unusual, how?” Blazer said.

  “Short, and encrypted,” she replied. “And, the ellipse for their location puts them near some uninhabited islands southeast of Singapore.”

  Blazer jerked his head back toward her. “Isn’t that where Bunaya is? Where the attack was?”

  “The signals aren’t from Bunaya. It’s another island.”

  “So?” Blazer said.

  “Indonesia doesn’t have any military there.”

  Blazer directed his full attention to her. “Think these are our friends again?” Blazer said.

  “We clearly didn’t get all of them. We may have gotten the one who calls himself George Washington, and another one, next in command, is just picking up the name.” She thought for a moment. “The only ones who can identify him now are Jim Dillon and Clay Bonham.” She thought of Bonham. She had met him aboard the Constitution on the way back to Pearl. He was a broken man. He had lost his ship, his crew, and his self-respect. “If I were betting, I’d bet Washington isn’t dead.”

  Blazer examined the chart on the sliding board in front of him. “How far is that from where the gold mine is?”

  “Long way. About eleven hundre
d miles. But it’s been four days, sir.”

  “It has only been three weeks since the attack. You think they can get a plan like this together that fast? And execute it?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them. They may have all kinds of terrorist acts planned. They probably had this gold mine marked for an attack at some point. They just decided to do it now.”

  Blazer pondered. “Think they have a ship fast enough to get from Irian Jaya to where this ellipse is?”

  “I doubt it, but they used a float plane last time, when they kidnapped the missionaries.”

  “Any evidence of that this time?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm,” Blazer said. “Keep looking at it. If it’s them, we’re going to get them. One way or the other. I promise you that.”

  “Do you think we should notify Washington?”

  “We don’t really have anything yet. Wait till we get something more concrete.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Beth said, turning and heading out of the admiral’s spaces.

  “Hold on,” Blazer said. “On second thought, get off a message right away. They need to know about this. And get the cryppies to run this signal down. Get it to the RSOC. Send it out on JATACS, and tell them to forward it to the NSA if they think it is appropriate. Get them all working on it. See if they can break the encryption.” The RSOC was the Regional SIGINT (Signals Intelligence) Operations Center in Hawaii, and JATACS was the Joint Advanced Tactical Cryptologic Subsystem that Beth and the admiral were both familiar with. The NSA, the National Signals Agency, also known as the Puzzle Palace, was the Washington center for all signals intelligence.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Chapter Seven

  Carolyn rode the elevator to the top floor of the high-rise in downtown Honolulu. She had expected to be attending receptions and welcome-home parties when the Constitution returned, not going to attorneys’ offices to see if she could get her husband out of jail. He’d never even been arrested for shoplifting as a kid. The elevator door opened and she stepped into the lush offices of Chung’s law firm. The view of the ocean was spectacular behind the receptionist. Diamond Head was to Carolyn’s left and the aqua shades of Waikiki were directly behind the beautiful Polynesian woman sitting behind a dark wooden desk.