The Line bo-2

by Bob Mayer

  4 DECEMBER

  1:00 P.M.LOCAL 2300 ZULU

  The head air policeman for Hickam Field threw a couple of extra-strength Tylenol into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of orange juice.

  “Who the hell is that?” he asked irritably, as the chief air traffic controller acknowledged an inbound flight.

  “We’re shut down for all but emergencies and specifically authorized nights until we get Air Force One in and out of here.” The two men were standing in the control tower, both exhausted from the extra preparations for the high-level flights that were coming in.

  “I don’t know,” the head ATE said.

  “Some V.I.P from the mainland. I got a personal call from General Dublois telling me to give this flight top treatment and direct clearance.

  It’s not on the list of authorized flights, but I’ll take General Dublois’s word that it’s authorized.”

  Given that General Dublois was the Air Force Chief of Staff, the head security man for the airfield knew he wasn’t going to argue. He watched as the unmarked Learjet rolled to a halt and a large limousine with darkened windows pulled up next to it. An old man was escorted down the short flight of stairs and into the waiting car, which immediately took off, heading for the gate to adjacent Pearl Harbor.

  “Are there any other authorized unauthorized flights coming in?” the security man asked sarcastically. He wondered who the old man was to rate such high-class treatment and why the Lear didn’t come into the international airport, which would have been just as easy.

  “That’s the only one I know of,” the head ATE said.

  “I think I’m going to go home and get a couple of hours of sleep.

  Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

  CHAPTER 21

  HONOLULU, HAWAII

  4 DECEMBER

  4:00 P.M.LOCAL 0200 ZULU

  “It’s a damn zoo out there,” Stewart said as he carried in a pizza that had just been delivered downstairs.

  “The President is arriving soon and everyone is going crazy.”

  “Can I make a call?” Boomer asked.

  “To whom?”

  “To the person who got me the information on the submarines and the inflight refuel of the combat Talon.”

  “Go ahead, but put It on speakerphone so I can hear,” Stewart ordered.

  Boomer punched in the number for Maggie’s car phone, and Skibicki answered on the first ring with a gruff hello.

  “This is the Boomer. You got anything new?”

  Skibicki knew when to be direct and to the point. “The Sam Houston, the Special Ops sub, just turned away from the Glomar Explorer and the SHARCC. It’s heading for Pearl and it’s moving fast. If it keeps up its present speed it will be off shore by this evening.”

  “What are you up to?” Boomer asked.

  “I’m going to check out Pearl tonight,” Skibicki said.

  “Are you safe where you are?”

  “So far. I keep moving and I haven’t been to the places they’d expect me.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Maggie’s worried about you, and she hasn’t heard anything from Major Trace.”

  “All right. Tell Maggie I’m fine. Out here.” Boomer hung up.

  “What does that mean — the sub coming toward Pearl?”

  Stewart asked.

  Boomer grabbed a slice of pizza and devoured half the piece, thinking as he chewed.

  “I don’t know. Maybe The Line is afraid their plan for the C&C exercise has been uncovered and they’re going to backup plan B, which involves Pearl itself. Maybe stand off with the SDV, swimmer delivery vehicle, and pop off a Mark 32 Standoff Weapons Assembly — which is fancy Navy talk for blowing the shit out of the Arizona Memorial with a big-ass torpedo while the President is on board, or maybe hit the launch carrying him out there — even The Line might think twice about destroying the memorial.” As he spoke. Boomer realized he had stopped adding modifiers such as “if” to his speech. Since he had come to Stewart he had to believe in this plot until he was proved wrong.

  “They think they can get away with that?” Stewart asked, shocked at the concept.

  “The only thing these people care about is not getting caught,” Boomer said.

  “They can blame it on the Ukrainians, the North Koreans, or the Chinese — hell any shit-ass terrorist organization.” He pointed at the newspaper lying on the coffee table.

  “You’ve seen the article in there about the Iraqis protesting our downing that Ukrainian bomber.

  They do have a few submarines. I wouldn’t be surprised if the damn Navy doesn’t have one or two Iraqi subs captured in the Gulf War that they’ve stashed to use as a blind for some sort of operation like this.”

  “Pearl’s secure,” Stewart said obstinately.

  “I was just out there.”

  Boomer laughed sarcastically.

  “Hell, Pearl’s the most un secure place you could think of right now.

  You don’t get the picture do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer.

  “You’re not dealing with some psycho writing threatening letters here.

  You’re dealing with professionals trained in these kind of operations.

  Infiltrating Pearl and taking out the launch with the President on it, with the equipment these people have, is a piece of cake. And you can be damn sure they know every single security measure you have planned, since you probably briefed the chief of security at Pearl.

  Correct?”

  Stewart didn’t answer, and his pizza grew cold on the paper plate in front of him. He’d be glad when the President and General Maxwell arrived. This soldier was correct. He was way out of his league and he didn’t like it one bit.

  He’d received word a little while ago that the two bodies discovered at Kaena Point had still not been identified, and not only that, but that someone had tried to claim them using government ID. Only the fact that Stewart had called earlier had kept the officer in charge of the case from turning them over. The men who had shown up for the corpses had disappeared. That made the threat of a plot all the more real.

  “The President will be here within the hour,” he said.

  “We’ll figure out what to do then.”

  HICK HAM FIELD, HAWAII

  4 DECEMBER

  4:27 P.M.LOCAL 0227 ZULU

  At Hickam Field, as soon as the President and his party debarked. Air Force One was rolled off the tarmac into a secure hangar. An outside security cordon of Air Force police moved in around the building while the normal four man Secret Service detail set up shop inside, securing the interior doors of the hangar with sensors — they themselves were the final line of security on board the plane itself.

  In the sky above the airfield, another specially equipped plane circled once before making a final approach. The modified Boeing E-4B was one of four in the Air Force inventory — specially designed as a post-attack command and control system code-named Looking Glass.

  Right now, it was serving as a ride for the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It touched down and was immediately met upon stopping by a limousine. The chairman and the rest of the service chiefs exited and were driven to their quarters at Pearl Harbor where they would be staying for the duration of the ceremonies.

  The E-4B was directed to a parking place adjacent to the hangar holding Air Force One. Another security blanket of Air Force police was unfolded and placed over the E4B.

  The chief of security at Hickam, an Air Force full colonel, breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t often they received two V.I.P flights in one day. He was glad that they were all safe.

  BENSON, NEW YORK

  4 DECEMBER

  9:30 P.M.LOCAL 0230 ZULU

  Trace heard the words as if from a great distance, echoing through her skull.

  “You’ve got a fever. I’ve put you on antibiotics. Your leg has also been set. Just take it easy and rest.”

  She tried to blink to clear away the film of
haze that covered her eyes but had no success. A large dark figure-she assumed it was Harry; the voice sounded like his — was leaning over her.

  She felt something on her arm, then the prick of a needle.

  “You’ll be all right. You’re going back to sleep now.”

  “The diary,” she managed to rasp out.

  “I’ve got it. As soon as you’re better, we’ll be able to call Hawaii again. Sleep tonight. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

  With those encouraging words, Trace gave up the fight.

  She lapsed into a deep sleep, her body sinking into the comfort of a large bed.

  Leaving the room. Harry went into the living room. He glanced at the memorabilia on the wall — all Colonel Rison’s — a legacy of years of service. Harry picked up the phone and dialed long distance.

  “She’s out again.”

  He listened to the voice on the other end.

  “She’s in no shape right now to do anything. She’s got two broken ribs, she was hypothermic when I found her and severely dehydrated.”

  A pause.

  “Sometime tomorrow. Probably late morning.” Harry looked about.

  “I’m going to need help with transportation.”

  He nodded.

  “All right.” He hung up the phone, then glanced at a picture of Colonel Rison in camouflage fatigues and nodded.

  “I’ll see it through, sir.”

  HONOLULU, HAWAII

  4 DECEMBER

  5:00 P.M.LOCAL 0300 ZULU

  “Senator Jordan, General Maxwell, this is Major Watson.”

  Boomer noted that Jordan didn’t shake hands, although Maxwell did. He stood at attention as the senator moved directly to the desk dominating the room. He gestured for the others in the room to be seated.

  “I wish I could be more cordial but I’m afraid I have neither the time nor the inclination. From what I have been told, you could well be facing charges for your recent actions.”

  Boomer sat motionless, waiting.

  Jordan continued.

  “I must also tell you that I am not predisposed to believe that there is a coup or assassination plot in the works.”

  Now Boomer reacted, but the senator held up a hand, forestalling any spoken response.

  “However, I am predisposed to believe that there are actions taking place that are prejudicial to the welfare of this country. Actions that may be initiated by some members of the military. Perhaps they are being organized by such a group as this Line you have briefed Agent Stewart about. Perhaps it is simply members of the Joint Chiefs acting in what they believe to be the best interests of the country. But it appears those actions may be crossing the line into areas, that while not. directly illegal, are harmful.”

  Jordan paused and Boomer jumped into the gap.

  “Senator, with all due respect, I firmly believe that this is more than just the Joint Chiefs making a political play. There are military forces at this minute maneuvering in a manner that are clearly a threat to the President’s welfare.”

  “We have only your word on that,” Senator Jordan said.

  “You can check on it,” Boomer said.

  “I can assure you that we are,” Jordan replied.

  Boomer tried to keep the initiative, something he’d been trained to do.

  “There is something I have not told Agent Stewart. I thought it was best to present it personally.”

  Boomer reached into his pocket and pulled out Colonel Stubbs’s ID card.

  He placed it on the desk. Jordan picked it and glanced at it curiously.

  “And this is?”

  “That is the ID card of one of the members of the NATO inspection team killed in the Ukraine.”

  “And how did you get a hold of it?” Jordan asked.

  “A team of Delta Force soldiers under my command conducted that ambush.”

  Senator Jordan sat up straight.

  “You’d better hold on one minute, young man. Do you realize what you’re saying?”

  General Maxwell was nodding slightly, as if his suspicions were confirmed.

  Boomer kept his eyes on the senator.

  “I know exactly what I am saying. I was sent on a military mission into the Ukraine on the night of the twenty-eighth of November. At the time we were told the target was a group of the radical Ukrainian parliament. The same group that was behind the shipment of that intercepted nuclear weapon.”

  Boomer told the story of the mission from planning through the confrontation with Colonel Decker and his banishment to Hawaii.

  General Maxwell spoke for the first time, summing up Boomer’s account.

  “So you believe that the mission was not a mistake but deliberately planned to embarrass this administration?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “That’s a pretty strong statement,” Senator Jordan said.

  “You’re accusing people of murder, including yourself.”

  “I was misled—” Boomer began.

  “That didn’t work for the Nazis,” Jordan countered.

  “Those who worked for the Nazis knew what they were doing. They knew they were following illegal orders,” Boomer replied.

  “I was following orders, but they were not illegal orders as far as I knew. And what actually happened was not at all what I was ordered to do. I would never have gone on that mission if I had known what it really was.

  Once I realized what was happening I did everything in my power to stop it. The blood on that ID card is the blood of a friend.”

  Boomer fixed the senator with his eyes.

  “Sir, there’s dirty work out there needing to be done all the time and somebody does it for this country. I’m one of those people.

  During Desert Storm I went into Iraq with three other men several weeks before the start of the ground war to try and get a shot at Saddam Hussein on direct orders from the National Command Authority. And if I’d gotten the shot, I would have taken it, regardless of the fact that there’s a law against that in this country. I figure that one shot would have saved hundreds of Americans, and thousands of Iraqis.

  But beyond what I figured, those were my orders.”

  Senator Jordan wasn’t swayed and met Boomer’s gaze.

  “Following orders?” So if the other guy is dirty, we get dirty too?

  Then who is right? We? Because we believe right is on our side? But doesn’t the other guy think right is on his side? And if we use the same tactics and techniques, then don’t we intrinsically sabotage the rightness of our cause by the wrongness of our methods?”

  “I don’t know,” Boomer said.

  “I don’t have the leisure of philosophical discourse before I act.

  Because of the nature of covert operations, I often don’t have the opportunity to find out all the information I would like to have in order to make an informed decision. I trust that the orders I am given are legitimate. That’s the way it works.

  “But I do know the’ same man in Turkey who ordered me on the mission into the Ukraine, Colonel Decker, was involved in the parachute drop off the north shore of this island. And that same Colonel Decker is somewhere on this island right now. And I believe those same people are involved in the movement of a Special Operations submarine, first toward the site of the C&C exercise, and now toward Pearl Harbor.”

  “The sub has changed course?” Maxwell interupted.

  “Last report I received — yes, sir,” Boomer replied.

  “That’s strange,” Maxwell said.

  “All right,” Jordan said in a flat voice, cutting through the discussion.

  “I think we all understand the ethics involved here, but the major does have a point — all the ethics and moral arguing in the world are not going to do us a damn bit of good if what he says is true. The problem is, Major Watson, that even with this”—he held up the ID card—“you really have no proof.

  “I just find it hard to believe that a secret military organization has been in existence for what �
�� seventy years yet we’ve never heard of it.

  That’s stretching my credibility quite a bit.”

  “Major Trace has proof,” Boomer said.

  “Major Trace isn’t here, nor is her proof,” Senator Jordan pointed out.

  Before Boomer could say anything, he swiveled his seat and looked at General Maxwell.

  “Again, I want you to check out this submarine and those paratroopers.”

  “All right.”

  “You might want to try and find Colonel Decker,” Boomer added.

  Jordan turned back to Boomer.

  “Major, I think you will understand if I want you kept close at hand.

  I’m turning you back to the custody of Agent Stewart. We have two days before the seventh. Let’s hope we find something more solid before then.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t,” General Maxwell said as Boomer and Agent Stewart left the room.

  “General, is there anything more you can tell me about this?” Senator Jordan asked.

  “I find it very difficult to believe that this Line exists. You told me earlier that you do believe it. Give me your reasons, no matter how vague.”

  “All I’ve ever heard are rumors,” Maxwell said.

  “Every officer in the Army has heard of the WPPA, the West Point Protective Association. We know that most of the ring knockers scratch each other’s back.” Maxwell sighed.

  “However, like the problem we have now — I have no proof but I’ve heard things. Things that I never cared to report because I didn’t want to believe them.”

  “Things like what?”

  “Let me give you an example,” Maxwell said.

  “For the last thirty years, ever since Vietnam, there’s been a big rift in the Army between the conventional forces and the Special Operations forces. The Special Operations forces have conducted over ninety percent of the real-world missions since the close of Vietnam yet receive less than one percent of the budget. The conventional folks who run the Army have always been preparing for the big war, yet the trend in the latter half of this century has been the little war.

  Anyway, I won’t go into the details or the positions of all the players, but suffice it to say that there are two opposing camps, and that the camp with all the firepower and the money and the pull is the conventional camp.”