The Price Of Power

by James W. Huston

  He waited for the light on the wall to go green and immediately pushed through the door and crouched. The door closed behind him. The room was not quite dark—just enough light to make out a mannequin with a mask from one without. There was a sudden flash in the corner of the room. Hughes turned his SOF handgun toward it. He then discerned movement out of the right side of his peripheral vision and swung in that direction. He saw a figure wearing a ski mask, holding a woman as a shield, and coming his way. He fired twice quickly, putting two rounds through the head of the mannequin, which immediately dropped—dead. The bullets went into the wall, which was full of rubber, chain, and layers of wood, designed to keep bullets from going through.

  He crept slowly and silently through the entryway to the left down the hall. Smoke began to curl around the overhead. He bent down further straining to see any signs of terrorists or hostages. The support team that ran the building had been great. In accordance with Hughes’s instructions they changed the layout inside the building every four hours. It gave the SEALs two new looks a day. Hughes had been pleased with the first run-through, but it had quickly pointed out Some of his platoon’s weaknesses. Especially if it was dark when they went in.

  He continued down the hall, examining the next two doors. One to his left and one to his right. Suddenly a figure rose up immediately behind him and yelled in a foreign language. Hughes hit the ground, rolled over, and came up with his gun pointed where his back had been. There were two terrorists and the sound of running. He put two rounds into the chest of each one and crawled to the entrance of the door to his left. He stuck his head around, then back, and then quickly entered the even darker room. There was something white lying in the middle of the floor. It began to move slowly toward him. It was too dark to be sure what it was, but he had decided not to wear night vision goggles due to their ineffectiveness when there were a lot of gun barrel flashes. The more firing, the less effective they were. If it got real bright real fast, you could be blind with night vision goggles on.

  The white image continued to come closer to him. Suddenly to his left there was a sound of automatic rifle fire. He spun and shot the gunman in the corner. He pivoted and fired at the white thing. Suddenly a siren went off, the lights went up, and a red flashing light went on in every room in every hallway. A voice was heard over the loudspeakers. “Cease firing. Cease firing.” Hughes put the safety on his handgun and raised his clear goggles as he headed toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder to see a mannequin with blond hair on the floor. Her white dress had a bullet hole in the back. Nicely done, Hughes, he said to himself. He pulled the steel door open quickly and went out into the sunshine. “What the hell—?” Hughes said angrily.

  “Sorry, sir,” Michaels said. Lieutenant Commander Sawyer was behind him. “We just got this and I knew you’d want to see it.” He handed Hughes a manila envelope.

  Hughes opened it and took out an eight and a half by eleven photograph. “This the one Commander Louwsma said she would forward?” he asked as he turned the sheet over to the side the photo was on.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hughes looked at it carefully. “What is it?”

  Sawyer answered. “It’s the island. Someone is carrying a large bundle out of one of the buildings. Looks like a rug or something. Can’t really tell.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Commander Louwsma thinks it’s Mrs. Heidel. She thinks they’re carrying the body out. The photograph of Dan Heidel—with the interior of a building, matches the photo of this building. We think it’s the same building. CIA agrees.”

  “So they killed her?” Hughes asked them.

  “Maybe. Can’t say for sure, but it looks like they may have.”

  “Why would they do that? What’s their motivation? They’d lose their leverage.”

  “Maybe they’re done. They got what they wanted. They got their friends back, and they had no intention of ever letting her go anyway. So they dispose of her. Disappear into another jungle.”

  “Then they’d be moving.” He looked at the photo again carefully. “Any signs of movement? Any boats? Anything?”

  “Nothing. Not even any comm.”

  Hughes was puzzled. He couldn’t make any sense of this. He spent a lot of his time trying to understand devious and evil-minded terrorists around the world, trying to understand their decision-making processes. But this didn’t line up at all. “If she’s dead, and they’re still there, those guys are done. I’ll make sure of it personally.” He felt anger surging through him. There was nothing he hated more in the whole world than someone killing an unarmed American to make a point. “But if she isn’t dead, we need to move now. Any news on that?”

  “Nothing yet,” Michaels answered reluctantly.

  Hughes looked at the sky, and back at the kill house. “Set the house up. I’m going through again. These guys are really beginning to piss the off.”

  Billings walked into SUPPLOT in the center of the USS Constitution as if he’d never left. Commander Curtis, his chief of staff, who had replaced Captain Black, yelled, “Attention on deck!” as Billings entered. Everyone jumped to his or her feet and came to attention. “As you were!” Billings roared as he tossed his leather flight jacket onto the back of a chair. He looked around and saw most of his old staff. Admiral Blazer was in the corner reading a message. He came forward to greet Billings.

  “Well, Ray, welcome back,” Blazer said happily as he shook Billings’s hand. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. Means I can go home like I should have been able to do weeks ago!”

  Billings saluted him, even though he was indoors and without his cover on. “I relieve you, sir,” Billings said officially.

  Blazer returned the salute. “I stand relieved. She’s all yours, Ray. I don’t really have much to say, I’m sure your staff can bring you up to speed. We’ve got the bad boys on an island west of Bunaya still within shooting range of the Straits of Malacca. Still no word on the wife of the President of the mining company. Since they released those criminals from Honolulu we’ve been expecting her to turn up Somewhere. So far nothing. Beth will show you the most recent photo.”

  “I bet she doesn’t turn up at all,” Billings said. “This guy plays for keeps. I’ll bet he’s already killed her.”

  “Well, it’s your problem now, whatever it is.” Blazer said. “Now, if you’ll excuse the, I’m going to go to your stateroom, clear out, and get on the COD. I think the next one is in an hour and a half, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “It sure is. Thanks a lot for your help. Thanks for your support too.”

  “My pleasure,” said Blazer and with that he turned and exited through the heavy steel doors.

  “Welcome back, Admiral,” Billings’s operations officer said.

  “Beth, it’s nice to see you as well,” Billings said. “Was the admiral’s information correct about our friends?”

  “Yes, sir. We know a little more than that. We’ve actually had Some reconnaissance done. No SAMs, no surface to surface missiles, and no more than thirty or forty people on the island.”

  “Well, that’s a different situation entirely, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir, it is. Probably Some kind of a secret hideout for them. Maybe an interrogation center, maybe an intelligence center, we’re not sure. It’s clearly not a fortified island like Bunaya was.”

  “Do you think they’re still there?”

  “They were as of four hours ago,” she said, glancing at the clock on the bulkhead.

  “Any indication of movement?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Any indication that they know that we’re looking at them?”

  “No, sir. We’re using IR and ESM only. Strictly passive. They couldn’t pick it up even if they were trying.”

  Billings’s mind was racing. There were so many things he wanted to do now that he was back. “No unusual flights. I want to surprise them.”

  “Surprise them?” Beth said, asking the
question that everybody in the room wanted the answer to.

  “I’ve got it on pretty good authority that we’re going to be authorized by Congress to have another shot at our friend Mr. Washington.”

  “another Letter of Reprisal?”

  “something else. Maybe in a day or less.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Jim Dillon. Remember him?”

  “Sure, very memorable. Bright.”

  “He’s still in touch with the Speaker by e-mail. He found another clause in the Constitution. It might even stimulate the impeachment trial, which is set to begin in a couple of days.”

  “By the way, Admiral, congratulations for getting out of that bear trap.”

  “Dillon’s the one who got me out.”

  “Only fair, since he’s the one who got you in it.”

  The admiral shook his head. “I got myself into it. You know,” he said to Beth, “I’ve met a lot of young, very bright people in my life—pilots, NFOs, blackshoes, intelligence officers. I’ve met a lot of courageous people but I don’t know that I’ve ever met anybody as … clever as our friend Mr. Dillon. He’s almost too clever for his own good. He sees escapes and opportunities where the rest of us see solid walls. He sees meaning and nuance where the rest of us hear words. It’s almost a magical quality. He’s truly amazing. I’d like to have ten of him on my staff.”

  Beth was taken aback.

  “I didn’t mean instead of you,” he hurried to reassure her. “I meant in addition to you. He’s just the kind of person you like to have around. He would have made a very fine pilot.”

  “Sometimes clever people get carried away with their own cleverness,” Beth replied.

  “I know, that’s what worries me. He’s going back to help with the impeachment trial and to try to get the Speaker to do his magic with the Constitution again. He may have bitten off more than he can chew this time.”

  “One other thing, Admiral.”

  “What?”

  “Admiral Blazer turned down the SEALs’ request for a TARPS run by an F-14. Too risky.”

  “And?”

  “They really need the low-angle imagery of the beach.”

  Billings sat in his admiral’s chair. He considered the request. “Last time we did that it didn’t work out so well.”

  “No, sir, but we’ve seen no indications whatsoever of any SAMs this time.”

  Billings didn’t even hesitate. “Do it.”

  Dillon stared at the Speaker of the House, his former boss. He hadn’t been back in Washington very long. He had decided not to go to see Congressman Stanbridge immediately; he didn’t want to appear to be running back. He also didn’t want his job back. He loved the freedom he felt in Hawaii, the risk and the reward of representing Admiral Billings. He was still inflated with excitement from his victory, but was nearly overwhelmed that the Speaker had agreed to appoint him as a manager for the impeachment trial of the President of the United States.

  “I’m sure you’re pretty proud of yourself for getting Admiral Billings off.”

  Dillon answered, “It was the right result.”

  “And now,” Stanbridge went on, “you get to help with the trial which starts day after tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you met with Pendleton about it?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve been meeting with him.”

  “And has he employed you?”

  “Well, he offered,” Dillon said.

  “And did you accept?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So what’s your status?”

  “Broke,” Dillon said.

  “How are you planning to support your Georgetown apartment and your BMW?”

  “Well,” Dillon said, “I paid my rent on my credit card, and my BMW is probably in a thousand pieces right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t Grazio tell you my car got stolen?”

  “That’s right. I had forgotten,” the Speaker said. “Too bad. It was a nice car.”

  “Yeah, it was. Worst thing is it was leased. Even when insurance pays, I’m out about three grand.”

  “Thanks for the e-mail,” the Speaker said, changing the subject.

  “Yes, sir. Lisa called me and cross-examined me on my research. The news is sure full of it, staying late tonight, special Rules Committee meeting, they love this stuff. What would they do without us?” Dillon said, smiling.

  “Tonight is it.”

  “Can you get it passed?”

  “I sure as hell hope so. Unless Some people go sideways on us, we should be okay. The key of course is to get this thing passed without letting the press know that we know exactly where these guys are.”

  “You have the votes?” Dillon said, leaning against a bookcase.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Senate?”

  “Yeah,” the Speaker said.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah,” the Speaker replied, quickly reading two telephone messages lying on his desk. “We’ll get it tonight.”

  “Well, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question then is, what’s the President going to do?”

  “I have no idea,” the Speaker said. “Whatever it is, though, I can’t lose.”

  “Think he’ll veto it again?”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think he’ll do it right away this time. He’ll let it go the full ten days so it cools down. If he doesn’t sign it in ten days it’s the law, automatically, and he knows it. I think he may be hoping the bad guys slip away so we don’t know where they are. Plus, they still have Heidel’s wife, and if we try anything, they’ll probably kill her. It’s kind of messy, as usual. I just don’t think he has the balls to go after them.”

  Dillon pushed himself away from the bookcase and headed toward the door. “Well, we’ll see.”

  “We certainly will,” the Speaker said. “You okay on the impeachment team?”

  “Yeah. But remember one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you shoot at the king, you’d better not miss.”

  “You’re the bullet,” the Speaker shot back.

  “Strictly a matter of principle? Nothing to do with politics?”

  The Speaker grinned. “Everything has to do with politics. You know that, Jim.” He met Dillon’s eyes.

  “That’s why I left, that’s why I’m doing this for no pay, that’s why I’m not in the employ of David Pendleton.”

  “Can you come to a staff meeting in the conference room in two hours? I’ve got to decide whether we’re going to give this one to the President to sign.”

  Dillon looked at Stanbridge, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t have the two thirds this time to override a veto.”

  “That could kill the whole thing,” Dillon said, worried. He thought of all the other things he had to do, and how much he didn’t want to go to a staff meeting. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he said finally.

  Admiral Billings was with Beth Louwsma and the chief cryptologist. They were proud of their accomplishments.

  “What the hell are they saying?” asked Billings, scratching his face, which was beginning to show stubble.

  “We don’t know, sir. RSOC is working on it. So’s NSA. Any voice code can be broken, sir,” the chief replied. “If you have a large enough sampling, that is. I don’t know if six words will do it.”

  As Billings thought about this, his eyes moved around the room aimlessly. “If we don’t know what they’re saying, we don’t know if this is them.”

  “Who else would be using encrypted UHF in the middle of nowhere?” Beth asked.

  “Don’t know, but we don’t know it’s them, do we? Even your photo of ‘Mrs. Heidel’—we don’t know that has anything at all to do with the Heidels. Do we?”

  “It has to,” Beth said, positive she was right.

  “Prove it,” Billings said. “ ’Cause if we can’t prove it, we sure as hell aren’t going to get a
nybody to authorize any action against them. An encrypted signal doesn’t tell us anything. It just tells us it’s encrypted. They may be druggies.”

  “We’ve never seen drug trafficking in that area, Admiral. And we’ve never seen them use these kinds of radios.”

  “I know that, Beth,” Billings said irritably. “I’m just telling you that nobody is going to let us go after these guys unless we’ve got proof.”

  “We should be getting more satellite imagery pretty quick, sir,” Beth replied.

  “That might help. You got any other thoughts, get on them. I don’t want to let these guys get away.”

  “Sir, I just thought of something.”

  “What?”

  Beth turned to question the cryptology chief. “If we have an analog signal, can you compare it to this digitized transmission?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sir, the videotape!” she said excitedly to Billings. “When they read the demands! You know,” she added anxiously, “when they had Captain Bonham.”

  Billings didn’t know what she was getting at. “I saw it. Everybody in the world saw it. So what?”

  “His voice is on the videotape!”

  Billings was skeptical. “I’m not following you.”

  “We can pull his voice off the videotape, do a voice print of it, then compare the voice from the videotape with the radio transmission.”

  “Can you do that?” Billings queried the cryptology chief.

  “Yes, sir. We can even duplicate the signal from the videotape and send it to RSOC and NSA and have them double-check our conclusion.”

  “Do it, now!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dillon was at the staff meeting, sitting at the table where he’d been so many times before, with the same people. They cracked the same jokes, wore the same clothes, and behaved just as they had when he was one of them. But now he looked at them differently, with a slight feeling of superiority and an equal feeling of nostalgia, because he missed the camaraderie.