The Price Of Power

by James W. Huston

  “Cool guy,” Grazio said. “Can we go eat now? I’m starved—”

  “Not yet,” Dillon said. “I’m going to get my money back first. Then we can eat.”

  “Do you really think we should?” Molly asked.

  “What?”

  “Go to the Shore Bird. It’s open. No windows. Right on the beach. It’s even more exposed than the Marina was.”

  Dillon thought about it. “It’ll be okay. I’ll talk to the cops and make sure they come with us.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The RSOC was humming with excitement. They had known they were on the verge of breaking the encryption. All the cryptologists on duty, Army, Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps, gathered to hear the most recent version of the signal. It came over loudspeakers in the operations room. The petty officer pressed the play button and they listened intently. The voice was somewhat high-pitched, but calm. The transmission was short—only six words. The one Indonesian linguist on the island, who had been helping the FBI translate for the prisoners—the ones who weren’t talking—listened more carefully than the others as he immediately realized that the signal was in Indonesian. The voice came through clearly. He was writing on a pad. Everyone waited for the translation but the officer of the watch, impatient, broke the silence. “Well?” he asked.

  “Six words. West, high, cut, red, night, one.”

  The officer of the watch said what they all were thinking. “Secondary code. Basic junior-high attempt to disguise meaning. Get on that. Compare it to the signal we just got from the ES-3. Let’s break this down and start working it. Send a copy of that clean signal down to the carrier battle group. Maybe they can make something out of it that we can’t.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  * * *

  The Shore Bird hostess led them to their table.

  “I cannot believe this place,” Grazio said as he sat down, obviously overwhelmed by his surroundings. “Incredible,” he murmured.

  Molly was reading the menu.

  “You cook your own food here. Steak, fish, whatever. You go over to those grills over there,” Dillon said, pointing to the massive square grills with people standing around them.

  “I’m going to get a big fat steak. And some shrimp. I’m starved.” Grazio cast admiring glances at the women walking on the beach and those fresh from the beach in the restaurant.

  “You ever been to Hawaii before?” Dillon asked.

  “Never,” Grazio replied, his attention reluctantly drawn back to Dillon. “So what did the landlady say? I’m dying to hear.”

  “She said no. She said he is dead and the airline guy is an impostor.”

  “Right. With a key,” Grazio said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Now what?”

  “I don’t know. Small claims court, I guess.”

  “That’s just what you need,” Molly said.

  They ordered and the waitress brought their salads. Dillon poked at the lettuce in front of him for a while. “Someone’s looking out for us. If that airline pilot hadn’t heard of Billings we’d be homeless.”

  The waitress returned carrying three large plates and placed them on the table. Molly, Dillon, and Grazio surveyed the contents—three large pieces of raw fish patiently waiting to be cooked.

  “I’m done with my salad,” Molly said. “Mind if I start cooking my fish?”

  “Go for it,” Grazio said.

  Molly pushed her chair back, picked up her plate, and walked across the restaurant. The people already there were standing several feet back from them. Molly put her fish on one of the white-hot sections and stepped away from the heat.

  At the table Grazio looked at Molly over his shoulder to make sure she was out of earshot. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you alone.”

  “What about?”

  “How do you know you can trust her?”

  Dillon was puzzled. “Who?”

  “Molly.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You came up with the most brilliant idea in the history of congressional staffs. The Letter of Reprisal. Jim, she was the driving force against you.”

  “She quit her job to come out here, Frank. Come on!”

  “How do you know that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you know the White House didn’t send her out here to sabotage the trial?”

  Dillon stared at Grazio. “I can’t believe you’re saying this!”

  “How do you know?” Grazio repeated.

  “Because I know her.”

  “One day she’s asking you to accept service of a complaint on the Speaker, and the next day she’s quitting her job and flying to Hawaii to be with someone she said was unethical?”

  “She said she was sorry.”

  “That’s comforting. I don’t know, Jim. I just want you to be careful. Don’t let her get into a position where she can sabotage the defense. I don’t want her to be able to do it, if that’s what she’s here for.”

  “That’s why you really came out here, isn’t it?”

  Grazio glanced toward Molly, who was turning over her mahi mahi. “Yeah. I was worried.”

  “This your idea?”

  “Sort of.”

  “The Speaker’s.”

  “He’s afraid Admiral Billings will get convicted because a White House mole torpedoed the trial.”

  “You guys have missed the boat on this one,” Dillon said confidently. Inside he was angry with himself. He had let Grazio’s warning settle in for a short time. It made him doubt Molly, her sincerity, her entire person. He hated himself for letting that happen. But he also knew he would have to watch Molly from now on, on the remote chance Grazio was right. “She’s legit, Frank. You can take my word for it. You can tell the Speaker that for me too. He can worry about something else.” Dillon stood. “Come on, we’d better cook our fish.”

  “I’m just looking out for you, bud,” Grazio said, grabbing his plate. “Somebody’s got to watch your backside. And one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “Speaker said you wanted to be the number-two on the impeachment. One of the managers.”

  Dillon waited, holding his plate. “It was my final request. I sent him an e-mail from home before I left. I want to nail Manchester, Frank. He’s dangerous.”

  “Pendleton doesn’t want you. He says you’re too much of a cowboy.”

  Dillon was disappointed. He knew he had hurt himself by walking away from Washington. You have to keep playing the game or else they’ll get you back. “Is that it?”

  “He’s still working on it.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Tell him I still want to do it. More than ever.”

  Makalapa, the Navy base for CINCPACFLT, the Commander in Chief of the Pacific Fleet, and the Bachelor Officers Quarters to which Admiral Billings had been ordered, was just up the hill from Pearl Harbor. Although the BOQ was considered by all to be the nicest in the area, the building itself was unremarkable and resembled an old Holiday Inn.

  Dillon and Molly entered the lobby carrying their notepads. “What is an open mess anyway?” she asked, stopping to read a sign.

  “I don’t know,” Dillon said. “I think it’s where they eat. It’s the ‘open’ part that’s throwing me.”

  They walked to the desk, manned by an enlisted man. “Where’s the open mess?” asked Dillon.

  The young man pointed to a door on the other side of the lobby. They continued through and turned right into a large room, like a conference room, where several officers were having breakfast. Most were in khakis and a few were in whites. Admiral Billings sat in the corner reading a newspaper. He got up when he saw them, wincing as he put out his hand. “Well, good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Dillon and Molly said together as they each shook his hand.

  “Please, sit down,” he said.

  “How do you feel?” Molly asked, concerned.

  “Oh, okay I guess. My ch
est feels like I’ve been shot,” he said, gingerly moving his left shoulder around. “How about you?” he said to Molly.

  “I’m fine. Just grazed me. I can’t believe you’re up and around so soon.”

  “It wasn’t that deep; it stayed in the muscle.”

  “Do you feel weak or anything?” Dillon asked.

  “Not really. I feel sore. Like I got hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. I can barely move my left arm. It just needs some time to heal. I’ll be fine.”

  “One half inch either way and you would’ve been a goner,” Dillon remarked.

  “Yeah, I know,” Billings said. “Kind of a humbling experience.” He lowered his voice. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

  “Well, you heard the guy. Our friend George Washington. Same guy who kidnapped that company president and his wife.”

  “You saw what they did to him,” Billings said, opening the paper to the photograph of the president of the South Sea Mining Company lying on his back on the ground in a chair.

  Dillon and Molly indicated they’d seen it.

  “These guys are playing for keeps. Sons a bitches,” the admiral said. “I can’t believe we missed him down there. Looks like the guys they brought up here were all chumps, none of the leaders. They got Bonham too.”

  “You still may not be safe,” Dillon warned. “They came and got you on base before—”

  “The Marina isn’t really on base. Anybody can drive up to it and go there. I think it’s a little safer here—”

  “You think they couldn’t get on a military base?” Molly asked.

  “Don’t underestimate these guys,” Dillon added.

  “I won’t, don’t worry. We have our ways,” Billings said. “Remind me to tell you something when we’re done here this morning,” he said.

  “What?” asked Dillon, not wanting to be put off.

  “Later. Let’s talk about what we came here to talk about first.”

  Dillon opened his notebook. “On the way over here we swung by the JAG office. We’ve got the names of the members of the court. They’re all in town.”

  Billings raised an eyebrow. “They’re here?”

  “Yes, sir. This is going to move fast. We told them we wanted to keep going and do it quickly and they said okay. So we have to get started pretty soon.”

  “Wow,” Billings said. “I figured on delays and motions.”

  “Not with a court-martial, Admiral. You probably know more about it than we do, but these can move right along.”

  “Yeah, I guess the day of reckoning approaches.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dillon pulled out a sheet of paper. “Lieutenant Commander Lynch gave me this list. He said these are the admirals who will be sitting on your court. Do you know any of them?”

  Admiral Billings examined the list carefully. His expression was unreadable. “All of them.”

  “All of them?” Molly asked.

  “I’d be pretty hard-pressed to find an admiral I don’t know. You might find some supply officer, but he’s not qualified because he’s not a line officer. You might find some black-shoes, but I probably would’ve run into them. I know some better than others, but I know all these on a first-name basis.”

  “They’re all three-star admirals,” Dillon remarked.

  “Right,” Billings said. “They’re all senior to me.”

  “Well, do you want a two-star admiral on your court?”

  “No,” Billings said. “These guys are fine.... Does the judge get to vote on the court-martial?”

  “No, not in one like this,” Dillon said. “At least I think that’s right.”

  “Well, we’ll figure that out later.”

  Dillon sat back. “Are you sure you want us doing this? I mean, I feel like we’re in over our heads.”

  Molly’s face showed her agreement.

  “Nope. That’s what I want. I want a fresh look. I want people with energy, enthusiasm, and creativity. Those things often come with youth. Not always, but often. I want to take my chances with you.”

  “Okay,” Dillon said. “We’ll do our best, Admiral.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Now, how about some breakfast?” They pushed their chairs back to get up to go to the serving line.

  They took scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, orange juice, and fresh fruit from the line and sat down again at their table. A waiter appeared and poured coffee into their china cups, decorated with a blue border and anchor. As they were finishing their meal, the admiral suddenly bent forward and lowered his voice, speaking so quietly that no one else in the room could possibly hear him.

  “What I wanted to tell you,” he said, “was about our friend George Washington.”

  “What about him?” Molly asked.

  “I think I know where he is.”

  “Where?” Dillon said, nearly dropping his cup.

  “On one of a few islands near where we found them in Bunaya.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We have our ways,” Billings said.

  “You keep saying that, what do you mean? Don’t hide anything from me because if it’s something that could come back to haunt you, believe me, it will.”

  “All right,” Billings said. “Remember Admiral Blazer?”

  “Sure.”

  “They’re trying to catch up with the Cobra Gold exercise. They think they’ve got a decent location on some radio comm that could only have come from our friend Mr. Washington.”

  “Are you kidding me? Is this a secret or anything?”

  “I don’t think so. If it is, I certainly have clearance. And so do you.”

  “Probably not anymore, not since we left our jobs.”

  “Good point. Did you ever get read out of your clearance?”

  Dillon and Molly both tried to remember. “No,” they said together.

  “Somebody didn’t do his job. Anyway, technically, you may still have your clearances, but maybe not. It’s not important.”

  “So what does this mean?”

  “We may know where he is very soon, and he doesn’t know that we know where he is.”

  “How do you know?” Dillon asked again. “You’re not at your office, you’re not in command of your battle group anymore. You don’t even have a desk!”

  Billings rubbed his mouth. “Blazer had a couple of questions about the staff. He didn’t know the history, so we started communicating. E-mail. He told me how sympathetic he is. He thinks it’s a black eye for the Navy that’s had about fifteen straight years of black eyes. He thinks the attack went off pretty well, but we did have casualties, so once again we looked stupid.” He stopped. “Now he wants to do something about it.”

  Dillon’s eyes got big. “He can’t do anything about it. It’s up to the President.”

  “Nice of you to recognize that,” Molly said. “You finally came around.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, I meant short of another Letter of Reprisal, he can’t do anything. He has to wait for national command authority instructions.”

  “But why wouldn’t the Letter of Reprisal still apply?” the admiral asked.

  Dillon was taken aback. “Because it was issued to you.”

  “No. It was issued to the battle group I was in command of. The one that Blazer is now in command of. It didn’t have an expiration date on it. Why couldn’t he use it and go in there and hammer them again?”

  Dillon was dumbfounded.

  Molly moved her chair back from the table slightly. “I don’t like the way this is going,” she said. “Admiral, I’ve got to tell you up front, I was on the President’s staff when this Letter of Reprisal issue came up. I’m on the side that says the Letter of Reprisal is unconstitutional.”

  “That’s okay,” Admiral Billings said. “If you’re here to help me, that’s all I want to know. But why can’t it still apply?” he asked, turning back to Dillon.

  “I don’t know,” Dillon said. “I’ll have to think about it. I suppose it could, but it
seems to be a violation of the spirit of what it was trying to do.”

  “I doubt Blazer would go for it anyway, having seen what happened to me,” Billings said. “Is there any other way?”

  “Not really. He just has to wait for national command authority. If it doesn’t come, he can’t do anything. Unless Congress declares war,” Dillon said. “But I know the Speaker doesn’t want that, because he didn’t last time. I thought it was a pretty clean way to do it. Declare war against George Washington and his old band of thieves, then you can go after them wherever you find them. The hard part of that is knowing who these people are and how to identify them. It could be a declaration of war against a bunch of mercury. You can’t ever nail it down. Too elusive.”

  Suddenly Dillon was struck with an idea that had never occurred to him before. He studied the ceiling, his pulse elevated. Molly wondered what he was thinking about. “There may be another way,” Dillon said slowly.

  “Another way?” Billings asked. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “How?”

  “I’d rather not say,” Dillon responded. “I need to look into it.”

  “How are you going to look into it?” Billings asked.

  “Where are you going to look into it?” Molly asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dillon said. “I don’t really have any means.”

  “How would you do it if you were still at the Speaker’s office?” the admiral asked.

  “I’d turn to my laptop computer, log on, and start doing on-line research.”

  “So why can’t you do that from here?”

  “Because I don’t have an account,” Dillon said. “I don’t get free use of it as I did at the Speaker’s office. I’d have to go and get it set up with a local office, and there’s no way I can afford that. I can’t even afford my rent.”