by Andrew Watts
The articles were mostly about the Dubai Financial Summit.
Monumental agreements with Iran and UAE pave way for new financial exchange, read one headline.
Another story raved about this new politician Iran had sent over to broker the deal. A key paragraph in the story read:
Mr. Gorji’s progressive politics would normally be hammered down by members of the Iranian regime. But experts credit his marriage to a favored niece of the Iranian Supreme Leader for supercharging his political stock. Some are even suggesting that he may be a presidential hopeful in the next Iranian election. Whatever the case, he has certainly shown the cunning and charm needed to bring together the leaders of the Gulf Nations in this monumental financial summit. One can only hope that this will lead to further peace and trade between nations that have traditionally been at odds.
There was nothing yet about China moving to bitcoin reserves for the yuan.
The cab turned into the port of Jebel Ali. It was bustling with activity. Through the windows, Chase could see stacks and stacks of containers. The containers were being craned onto the large commercial vessels. There were countless ships. Merchants, oil tankers, automobile transports, and natural gas tankers were in various stages of the transportation cycle. Jebel Ali was the largest man-made harbor on earth, and one of the top ten busiest ports on the planet.
They arrived at a ship unlike any other on the pier. The USS Harry S. Truman, one of ten active American nuclear aircraft carriers. The Truman was a supercarrier, over one thousand feet long, almost as wide as a football field, and as tall as a twenty-four-story building. It towered over the pier, casting a shadow over the many sailors and port logistics contractors that were scurrying below.
Chase paid the cab driver and gave him a generous tip. He marched toward the security gate.
As he walked, Chase could see many of the ninety aircraft in the carrier’s complement. Some were packed in like sardines on the hangar deck, which was visible through a series of mammoth openings in its hull. The rest were lined up neatly on the flight deck overhead. Rows of F/A-18 Hornets, E-2C Hawkeyes, and MH-60 Seahawk helicopters. Many of these aircraft had a set of enlisted maintainers crawling on top of them. These men and women conducted the crucial maintenance needed to keep them flying in the harsh salt air of the Arabian Gulf.
“Can we help you, sir?”
A pair of Navy MPs stood at the security gate, an iron turnstile in between them and Chase. There was a pair of US Marines about fifty feet further down, one with an M-60 on a tripod.
Chase took out his wallet and held up a US Department of State identification card. CIA protocol did not allow him to bring his US Navy-issued Department of Defense card.
“Good morning. My name is Chase Manning. Would you be able to call the Truman’s duty officer and let them know that I’m here? I believe that they’ll be expecting me.” It was easier to leave out the fact that he was an officer than explain why a Navy reservist had a State Department ID card. Well, you see boys, I’m kind of a super-secret agent…
The MP looked over at his companion, who nodded. Then they waited in the sweltering heat. The gate guards were chugging water every few minutes.
Chase thought about what he had learned in the past day. Could David really be giving secrets to the Iranians? Or to whoever was on Abu Musa? And just who was this group on Abu Musa that the Iranians were too scared of to get rid of themselves?
Chase was partly ashamed of himself that he hadn’t called his brother. He felt wracked with guilt for not warning David, but his duty came first. Even so, it didn’t make any sense that David would be involved in something like that. Chase needed to think about what to do before taking any action that could be irreversible. He told himself that this would all get cleared up.
Chase’s brother David was a family man. He lived in the suburbs of Northern VA. He had a mechanical engineering degree from the Naval Academy and worked as an analyst for new information technology and systems. That sounded boring to an operator like Chase, but the subject of David’s analysis was often anything but. He worked for In-Q-Tel, a firm that invested in technology that the defense and intelligence community was interested in developing for their use. It was essentially the CIA’s venture capital firm.
Chase missed David and wished that he could see more of him. He also needed to see his two nieces more often. Hell—not to mention visiting his sister and father. Life always seemed to get in the way. But unlike David, Chase’s sister and father were more like him. They were deeply invested in their careers of service to their country. Careers that often took them overseas.
Their older sister, Victoria, was a Navy helicopter pilot stationed in Jacksonville, Florida. Chase thought he remembered that she would be going on deployment soon. He wasn’t completely sure, but he thought that she had picked up some good-deal Eastern Pacific cruise, although it might not seem like a good deal to her. She would want to be where the action was. She would want to be here, in the Middle East. Providing air cover for aircraft carriers as they transited through the Straits of Hormuz. He should send her an email to check in.
Staying up to date on his family’s status had been easier when their mother was alive. She had been the hub of the wheel. The one that kept everyone else in the know, and smiling.
Her passing had brought the siblings closer for a while. The emails were a bit more frequent. The phone calls to his brother and sister, while still seldom in number, were much more meaningful in content. But that wore off. Once again, it was getting harder to stay in touch. Especially for Chase.
He could never really say what he was doing. His siblings didn’t really even know that he now worked for the CIA. They thought that he was with a Department of State security team. His story to them was that he protected VIPs. His father pretended he didn’t know about the job, but Admiral Manning was an old friend of Elliot Jackson’s, the Dubai Station chief, so he probably knew. Elliot had been the one that recruited Chase from the SEALs, and subsequently got him stationed in the Dubai area of operations.
The last time Chase really spent time with his family was on leave for their mother’s funeral. That leave coincided with Chase’s completion of his training at the CIA’s various schools for its Special Operations Group assets. Chase spent that time in the D.C. area—mostly with his brother David and his family.
Athletics and working out always came naturally to Chase and Victoria. But David had been more of the bookworm. After their mother’s passing, however, David was struggling pretty hard. Chase had always used running as a way to meditate and de-stress. He hoped that encouraging the habit would help his brother, and by all accounts it had. Chase had helped train David for his first road race, and took pride in his brother’s increasing interest and success with triathlons.
Chase had fond memories of that month with David and his family. He was a good brother and a loyal patriot. He had also gone to the Naval Academy, although he was honorably discharged from the Navy for medical reasons. Chase found it inconceivable that David would betray his country. There had to be more to the story.
Chase was stirred out of his reminiscing by an approaching US Navy commander. The man, who wore the digital blue camouflage uniform with a silver oak leaf on the front of his cover, walked up to the gate. He had a Surface Warfare insignia pin on his chest and looked to be about as happy as one would expect after pulling duty on a day when his ship had just pulled in to port near Dubai.
“Are you Chase Manning?”
“I am.”
“Petty Officer, please log him in as my guest and get him a pass. I’ll escort him.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he and the Commander walked, Chase looked up at the carrier. He had been on board an aircraft carrier several times during his days as a SEAL. They were floating cities. Five thousand people, living on top of each other for nine months at a time. The galleys had to cook food almost around the clock. One whole deck of the ship was reserved for cooking
and eating. Grown men and women in triple bunks, with only a few inches of space between each other where they slept. A small locker for all one’s belongings. Almost zero privacy. Waiting in line to use the bathroom or a treadmill. The deafening sound of jets launching and recovering all day and night. That was life on a carrier.
He could see the three 20mm Phalanx Close-In Weapons System mounts. They looked like R2-D2 with an enormous Gatling gun protruding out. They were used as a last resort for shooting down inbound missiles. Deep in the hull, there were two Westinghouse A4W nuclear reactors on board, and the ship could steam more than three million miles before refueling.
They walked up the gangway stairs, climbing thirty feet or so just to get high enough to walk across. The Commander looked back at him and said, “So when did you get in to Dubai?”
Chase said, “Just recently.” No need to elaborate. The Commander likely thought that he was a civilian.
“Well, it sure was nice of you to make it out,” he said. “Given the circumstances.”
Chase didn’t reply.
They climbed up aluminum stairs to reach the gangway. Just before crossing the gangway to the hangar deck, the Commander halted, turned, and saluted the flag. He then returned the salute of the armed enlisted man waiting to check both of their IDs as they came aboard. The petty officer gave the Commander a funny look when he saw Chase’s ID, but the Commander told him that it was okay.
Chase continued following the Commander as they went through throngs of men and women who were waiting in line to leave the ship on their much-deserved liberty. They came to a large grey steel hatch and twisted open a two-foot steel bar to unlatch it. They entered through it, closed and locked it, then climbed into a vertical shaft with ladders going all the way up and down the ship. Chase was already several steps behind. Carriers were a maze if you didn’t know where you were going. The Commander was half-walking, half-climbing up the ladder well.
“Sir, can you hold up?”
The Commander stopped in between ladders.
“Before we see him, I just wanted to ask you a question. If you don’t mind, perhaps we could keep it between us?”
The Commander looked around. They could hear echoes of people clanking up the metal stairs from several decks below. “Sure.”
“Can you tell me what happened? The real story?”
The Commander shifted. He put his hands on his hips and looked Chase in the eye. “There’s an investigation going on, son. So, no, I really can’t. But know this. I’ve served under your old man for almost three years. He’s a hell of a warfighter, and a great leader.”
“But?”
“But…it’s a kinder, gentler Navy. And your father rules with an iron fist.”
Chase said, “I’m aware.”
The Commander smiled. “I’m sure you are.” He checked his watch. “Listen, your old man’s taking the fall here. But there isn’t an E-2 through O-6 on this ship that wouldn’t give his left nut to take his place if it meant saving your dad’s ass. He’s loved by his men, and with good reason. He makes us work hard, but we’re better for it. He’s the last of a breed. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”
Chase nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, sir.”
“No sweat. Sorry, bud. Your dad’s a good man. Everyone in the battle group knows it. And if it was up to us, he’d be staying.” The Commander turned and they continued on up.
Several decks up, they opened another hatch and Chase stared out onto an expansive flight deck. It was like standing on a huge parking lot surrounded by a vast drop-off in every direction. It was incredibly hot up here. The sun cooked the dark surface of the flight deck, and the men and women who worked in it.
He followed the Commander to one of the helicopters, an MH-60R. A young sailor in a blue vest and an older man in a flight suit were lying on their stomachs on top of the metal aircraft. They both had protective headgear on, and they were perched about twelve feet up from the deck of the carrier. The man in the flight suit had a single white star on each shoulder.
The Commander cleared his throat. “Sir, he’s here.”
The Admiral looked down. A slight smile formed on his sweat-soaked face.
Chase didn’t really know what to say. “Hi, Dad.”
“That will be all, Commander,” Admiral Manning said. “One moment, Chase.” He said something to the mechanic he was with and then started climbing down the helicopter.
The Commander turned to leave and then whispered to Chase, “That’s something else about your old man. I’ve never seen a flag officer turn the wrenches with the young enlisted guys like that. As busy as he is, that’s unbelievable. He cares about his men, and he sits with them in the trenches. I hope that one day I’m half the officer that he is.” The man shook his head as he walked away.
Admiral Manning got down and took off his protective headgear and gloves, then embraced his son. For a brief moment, Chase thought he saw sadness in his father’s eyes. Then the steel look crept back over him.
“It’s good to see you, son. Thanks for coming. Elliot contacted me and mentioned that you might be in town.”
“Yes, he asked me to send his regards.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Are you hungry?”
Chase said, “Sure.”
“Follow me.”
They walked down several decks. Chase followed his father. Everything looked the same. The entire ship was one big maze of tubes and pipes, passageways and ladders. How anyone could find their way around an aircraft carrier was beyond him.
Then the Admiral opened a blue door with a gold placard marked CSG HST. Commander, Strike Group, Harry S. Truman.
His father sat behind an ornate wooden desk. His computer had a big red SECRET sticker just below the keyboard. The phone rang as the two men sat down on opposite sides of the desk.
His father picked it up. “Manning.”
A pause while some young Ensign, no doubt pissing himself because he had to speak to the Admiral, gave him a report.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Admiral Manning hung up, then picked the phone back up and dialed a five-digit number. “Hello, CS1, this is the Admiral, how are you this morning? Would you be able to rustle up some breakfast for two? Thank you kindly. Have a great day, CS1.”
After he placed the phone back down, Chase asked, “Have you heard from David?”
“Yes. I spoke to him and Lindsay on the phone this morning, actually. He tells me that the new baby is doing well. I just missed her birth, unfortunately. We had to leave that week. That is one aspect of all of this nonsense that will work out in my favor, I suppose. I’ll finally be able to see my granddaughters.”
Chase squirmed in his chair. “Dad, I’m very sorry to hear about—”
“Don’t.” The Admiral held up his hand. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it.” He pointed at the star on his shoulder. “This whole thing is a crapshoot anyway. There were better men than me that didn’t make O-6. All you can do is prepare and be ready when fate comes a-knocking.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Chase said, “What about Victoria? Have you heard from her?”
“She deploys this week, actually. I sent her an email. She didn’t write back.”
“Probably busy.”
“Probably.”
No one in the family could articulate exactly why or when Admiral Manning’s relationship with his daughter had grown strained, but it had. Perhaps it was because they were so much alike. Both fierce leaders, always wanting to be in control and make their own way. Victoria resented any suggestion that her success in the Navy had come from either her father being an Admiral, or her sex being female.
She was just like their father, Chase thought. She kept her emotions inside, and her sense of self-worth was derived from her career. She never bragged about her successes. That wasn’t what drove her. She wanted command. As often and as high up as her bright career would take her. And Victoria wanted it based on h
er own merit.
Father and daughter had gotten into more than a few arguments over the years. They were each too proud to back down, when that happened. Ironically, Victoria was probably the thing in life that Admiral Manning was most proud of. And now she wasn’t returning his emails. Chase would have to say something to her.
The door opened and two enlisted men in black culinary uniforms with CSG HST MESS on inscribed across their chest wheeled in a food cart. They placed a sterling silver pot of coffee on a small table next to the desk. Then they laid out two place settings and placed plates with eggs, sausage, toast, and jam on table. The toast looked like cheap white bread from a grocery store, and the sausage looked like a rock. It was not the Four Seasons. But the men that delivered it were doing their best with what they were given.
“Thanks, guys,” said Chase.
The Admiral thanked them as well, and then they were off. Chase and his father ate.
They continued making small talk about Chase’s brother and sister. The Admiral was happy to hear that David was doing well at his civilian job in D.C. It was no secret that he wasn’t thrilled that his son had resigned his commission. It had been conceivable that he could have stayed in the Navy as a restricted warfare officer. He could have been in the supply corps or perhaps the construction battalion, often referred to as the Seabees. But David had not been interested.
Their mother had supported his decision. And she had been thrilled when David had settled down in the D.C. area, less than an hour from Mrs. Manning’s home. The Admiral rarely made it back there.
Admiral Arthur Louis Manning IV was a career Navy man, and he was damn good at it. A warrior at heart, he had made no secret about where his priorities lay. It was his job to protect and serve. It was their mother’s job to raise their three gifted children. There would be time to spend with his wife and family after he retired. Or so they all had thought. Mrs. Manning had spent the last years of her life caring for her only grandchild, David’s first daughter. Mrs. Manning died unexpectedly a little less than a year ago. Heart disease.
