Act of War

by Dale Brown

  “He’s a great asset to me, Harold.”

  “He seems to have matured a bit working for you in the White House, Sam,” Kingman observed. “When he worked for me he was an insufferable scheming weasel who liked to prove to everyone how important he was, although he was competent enough. You mentioned to me several months ago about that task force you were going to place him in charge of—I take it it’s not working out?”

  “It was a great concept, but Robert seems to have picked some…unusual characters to be part of it,” the President responded. “I left it up to him, thinking he had thought about it extensively and picked the absolute cream of the special-operations crop to spearhead it, but it turns out he just picked a bunch of untested paper shufflers and lab-bound mavericks that couldn’t work well together.”

  “Chamberlain can be an egotistic putz sometimes,” Kingman said, “but I always found him to be a pretty good judge of character—picking the wrong guys for the job doesn’t sound like him. Maybe he just got sloppy when he went into government service. I imagine being in Washington and having to deal with the brainless bureaucrats around here will do that to a man.” The President closed his eyes and chuckled, letting that comment slide off his back. “That’s why I stay away from this place as much as possible.”

  “A couple of the task force members broke ranks and went down to Brazil to track down that environmentalist group, GAMMA,” the President went on, ignoring Kingman’s remarks, “and they stumbled across Zakharov and Khalimov. Got themselves shot up pretty good.”

  “But they did track down this GAMMA and caught up with Zakharov? Sounds like they might have something on the ball after all.”

  “Half the Cabinet wants their heads on a platter.”

  “As I said, Sam, my complete and utter lack of faith in most of the government and its leadership has been more than justified lately,” Kingman said, filling the air over his head with pungent smoke. “Myself, I’d put my money on those guys that went down to Brazil, and fire everyone else.” The President nodded but said nothing, prompting Kingman to move on so he could get the hell out of there. “Anyway, Sam, I wanted to talk to you about this energy summit that’s coming up in Washington. You know I’m a big supporter of your alternative energy proposals, especially your nuclear power initiatives, which you’re putting before Congress this fall, but I’m not so sure that it’ll be safe enough here in Washington for this confab.”

  “It’ll be secure, Harold, I guarantee it,” the President said. “It’s important this be held in Washington—I want this to be a U.S. government–sponsored initiative, not a corporate one or something sponsored by another country or OPEC.”

  “So why do I need to be involved?”

  “There’s no more powerful alliance we can think of than TransGlobal Energy and the U.S. government,” the President said. “I want to show the world we two are standing together: the world’s most powerful nation and the world’s most powerful energy company, working together to give our nation and the world the energy it needs. You are TransGlobal Energy, Harold. You have to be there.”

  “I don’t go for these political dog-and-pony shows, Sam.”

  “The world needs to know who the players are, Harold. If you just send some junior vice president of corporate communications or something, they’ll lose interest.”

  “What about the environmental and antimultinational corporate lobbies? Aren’t you afraid of pissing them off? They represent a pretty substantial bloc of voters.”

  “Yes they do, which makes it even more imperative that we stand together on this,” the President emphasized. “The American people react emotionally to the environment and to abuses of big corporations—but what they want are cheap and plentiful gasoline, heating oil, and electricity. We’ll convince them that with our domestic energy initiative we’ll give them what they need and be conscious of the other stuff too. We’ll talk about preserving and safeguarding the environment, but what we’ll do is start building nuclear power plants and natural gas-fired power plants and storage terminals again.”

  “You’re the talker here, Sam—you always have been. Let me be the doer.”

  “Do this summit for me, Harold, and you’ll have your pick of the best contracts before they go out for bid,” the President said. “I can also get you a heads-up on any congressional or regulatory agency probes coming out of the chutes.”

  “I’ve already got all the spies I need on Capitol Hill, Sam.”

  “Harold, do this for me, please,” the President said. “You and me together on stage—it’ll confuse the hell out of all your detractors. They’ll think you’re going to run for public office.”

  “Hell, Sam, I’d shoot myself in the head first, and they know it,” Kingman said. He took another deep drag on his cigar, then shot a last cloud of smoke at the President of the United States. “Tell me more about this task force that Chamberlain was heading. Who’s in charge?”

  “An Army Special Forces sergeant major by the name of Jefferson.”

  “Chamberlain put a noncom in charge of a task force? That’s odd. Who else?”

  “That army major who rescued those people in Kingman City.”

  “The guy inside the robot? That was pretty darn cool, Sam,” Kingman gushed. “The robot too?”

  “Of course. That’s what got Robert interested.”

  “He always did like the high-tech toys.”

  “There’s an FBI special agent too by the name of DeLaine co-commanding the unit. Runs an intelligence office out of FBI headquarters.”

  “Military and FBI in the same unit? Chamberlain’s showing extraordinary imagination,” Kingman admitted. “It’s a weird combination—I’m not surprised it didn’t work out—but Chamberlain at least showed he still has an original thought in his head.” Kingman fell silent for a moment. Then: “And you’re shutting down this task force, even though they almost got Zakharov?”

  “It was pretty obvious that Robert lost tactical control of them,” the President said. “They got a little too…rambunctious, I’d say. Loose cannons. We thought for a second they stole a bunch of equipment and hightailed it to Brazil.”

  Kingman nodded thoughtfully again. “I’ll do your circus in Washington, Sam, on one condition—you lend me this task force.”

  “ ‘Lend’ it to you?”

  “Call it a plant and port security assessment visit,” Kingman said. “Let me have them for…oh, a year. They’ll be ordinary citizens, no federal powers; I’ll pay their salaries and provide a secure location for them to train. Who knows—I might even snare Zakharov for you.”

  It was the President’s turn to lean forward in his seat this time, and he did so, just as Kingman expected him to do. “It’ll cost you more than a couple days in Washington, Harold,” the President said.

  Kingman nodded—he enjoyed playing these quid pro quo games. “Collins happened to mention to me that she’s forming your reelection committee soon. I think TransGlobal would like to see to it that your committee is properly set up and running…shall we say, three million?”

  “Let’s say ten million, Hal,” the President said.

  Kingman made a sigh as if he had just been outmaneuvered, but inwardly he was thinking that he was getting off cheap: he would’ve paid twenty million to get his hands on that super-strong bulletproof robot technology. “You got it, Mr. President,” Kingman said. “How quickly can you load them up and send them on their way?”

  “Where and when do you want them?” The President held up a hand. “Wait, let me guess: San Francisco Bay area—today.”

  “Great minds think alike, Mr. President,” Kingman said. He leaned forward a bit and added, “And maybe Chamberlain doesn’t need to know about our deal?”

  “I’ve already ordered him to wrap up his investigation and let them go,” the President said. “I think he’s pretty much washed his hands of them. He’ll find out. But I don’t want to see robots marching down the middle of Fisherman’s Wharf or the
Embarcadero, Harold. Don’t make me look bad on the Left Coast.”

  “They’ll be out of sight, Mr. President, I promise.” He got to his feet, approached the President’s desk, and extended a hand. “Thank you for a very productive meeting, sir.”

  The President rose and shook his hand. “Have fun with your new toys, Harold,” he said. “If you happen to find this Zakharov guy, squash him for me, will you?”

  “Gladly, Mr. President. Gladly.”

  Cannon Air Force Base, New Mexico

  A short time later

  She waited until Bolton was taking his turn in the shower, then got up and left to see where the other members of the task force were. She didn’t sleep one bit, and the information she got from her colleague in Washington was like a leech sucking her blood—but at the same time, she didn’t want to confront Bolton about it again.

  There was a fair amount of activity happening for a disbanded military unit who were under criminal investigation, Kelsey DeLaine thought as she went out to the aircraft parking apron. Jefferson, Richter, Moore, the staff officers, and the TALON strike platoon looked like they were just getting ready to begin an early-morning run complete with rifles, Kevlar helmets, combat boots, and body armor with ammo pouches and CamelBak water bottles clipped to them; Ariadna Vega, her face still bruised and bandaged but already looking better, was handing out gear from the back of a Humvee. Kelsey hurried back to her barracks, put on a pair of fatigue pants, an athletic bra, black T-shirt, and boots, and ran out to go with them.

  “Nice of you to join us, Agent DeLaine,” Sergeant Major Jefferson said.

  Kelsey went over to him, very aware of all the angry, accusing eyes around her. “Mind if I tag along, Sergeant Major?” she asked.

  “Rumor has it the FBI Director and the Attorney General are going to get you pulled out of here today,” Jason Richter said. “Sure you wouldn’t rather be packing to go?”

  “I want to go with you guys,” Kelsey said.

  “How touching,” Ari said. “Or do you just want to take another shot at Jason?”

  “Dr. Vega, put a cork in it, draw her some gear, and let’s get going,” Jefferson said gruffly. Ari hesitated, glaring coldly at her, then picked out some gear and threw it on the ground behind the Humvee. The helmet and body armor were too big and the CamelBak was empty, but Kelsey didn’t complain as she went over to fill up her bottle, then donned her gear and got in line. They did some stretching and a walk around the big hangar to warm up, then started an “Airborne Shuffle”—a sort of a slow jog designed to cover long distances while wearing a heavy backpack or parachutes—out among the sagebrush and sand dunes of the Pecos East training range.

  They took a break after about a kilometer’s jog. “How are you guys holding up?” Kelsey asked Jason after she sipped water from her CamelBak.

  “Fine.”

  “Are they letting you work on the CID unit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to talk to me just in one-word phrases from now on, Jason?”

  “What do you want from me, Kelsey?” he asked. “I’ve taken full responsibility for everything I’ve done and I’ll take my lumps. If it hurts anyone else…well, I’m sorry. But I still feel we’re getting screwed, and I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Zakharov or Khalimov. I don’t know when or how, but they’re going to strike again, and soon.” Kelsey’s mouth turned dry when Jason said that, but she held her tongue, took a deep drink of water, and got ready for the next leg of their run.

  The next two kilometers was a fast jog instead of the “Airborne Shuffle,” and now there was a lot more huffing and puffing at the rest stop. Kelsey drifted around near Jason, hesitating, then finally made up her mind and went over to him. “I wanted to let you know, Jason: we think Zakharov is in the United States,” she said.

  Jason nearly spit out a mouthful of water. “What?” he exclaimed. “Zakharov is here?” Now everyone’s attention was fixed on them. “How? When did you find out?”

  “Early this morning,” Kelsey replied. “He has a resident alien alias that he’s been using for years. He’s had full entry and exit privileges.”

  “Where?”

  “San Jose International.”

  “What in hell is he doing in the U.S.?” Air Force Captain Frank Falcone asked.

  “We don’t know.”

  “What’s his alias?” Jason asked.

  “He’s a Mexican national with resident alien status,” Kelsey replied. “Brokers and flies helicopters between the U.S. and Central America. Lives in San Mateo, California—has for years.”

  “Jee-sus…!”

  “Haven’t the Fee-Bees picked him up yet?”

  “We had his apartment under surveillance but missed him,” Kelsey said. “He either didn’t return there or spotted the surveillance team and took off.”

  “So now he’s loose in the United States!” Jason exclaimed. “My God…” He turned to Jefferson and said, “Sergeant Major, we need to get the task force loaded up and sent out to the West Coast as soon as possible. He’s going to strike somewhere out there, and we’ve got to be ready.”

  “We’re not authorized to do anything except cooperate with the investigators, Jason,” Jefferson said.

  “We’ve been sitting around here for two days, and all they’ve been doing is asking us the same questions over and over again,” Jason said. “Something’s going on, Ray. We’re being chopped out for some reason.” Jefferson fell silent, and Jason saw something that he’d rarely ever seen in the sergeant major before: doubt and confusion. “Kelsey, we need to talk.”

  “What about?”

  “Zakharov. Who is he? We know he’s an ex-Russian colonel and has apparently taken over this radical environmental group, but what else is he? We need some clues before we can take this guy down.”

  “The FBI is tracking him down…”

  “Kelsey, the guy used a nuclear weapon in the United States and is more than likely going to do some other attack—and if he’s got access to more nuclear weapons…”

  “He might,” Kelsey said hesitantly. “He commanded a Soviet tactical nuclear rocket battalion back in the eighties.”

  “Oh, my God…!” Lieutenant Jennifer McCracken breathed.

  “After that, he was the head of a large private oil company in Russia and a powerful right-wing political operative.” She paused before adding, “He joined GAMMA when his oil company was bought out by…”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess: TransGlobal Energy,” Jason said. “That’s why he’s attacking all of those TransGlobal facilities in Brazil and the U.S.—he’s on some sort of revenge kick. And now he’s back in the U.S., on the West Coast…”

  “TransGlobal Energy is headquartered in San Francisco,” Kelsey said, “and they have a major terminal and storage facility in the Bay area…”

  “That’s his target—it’s got to be,” Jason said. “We’ve got to deploy the task force out there and hunt this guy down.”

  “We’ve got the FBI, customs, Coast Guard, the National Guard, and every state and local law-enforcement agency within a hundred miles of San Francisco on the alert and after him,” Kelsey said. “We’re setting up surveillance on every possible target. What is the task force supposed to do that they can’t?”

  “Kelsey, you’re acting as if this guy is just some sort of common criminal,” Jason said. “He’s a psycho with knowledge and probably access to military weapons, including nuclear weapons. You don’t fight him with guys with a pistol and a badge—you fight him with superior firepower. You can’t go out there expecting to apprehend him—you’ve got to go in expecting to hunt him down, battle it out, and kill the sonofabitch.”

  “And what makes you such an expert, Major—the outstanding job you did down in Brazil?” Kelsey asked irritably. “Listen, Jason, we’ve got folks on the case who figured this stuff out a long time ago and they’ve been on the move and setting up ever since…”

  “Oh, really? How long have
you known about this, Special Agent DeLaine?”

  “…and Task Force TALON is alive in name only,” she went on. “Let the professionals handle it.”

  “Zakharov brought six squads of paramilitary troops, antitank weapons, and a helicopter gunship, all led by a former Russian commando, just to nab one guy—if he’s going to attack a heavily armed target in the heart of a major city in America, he’s going to bring a lot more firepower than that,” Jason said. “He’ll be no match for the police department.” He turned to Jefferson. “Ray, we’ve got to find a way to get out of here,” he said. “Who else can you talk to besides Chamberlain? How about Secretary of Defense Collier?”

  “I can try to contact him through friends of mine in the Pentagon,” Jefferson said. This time, there was no argument about trusting Chamberlain—he knew something was wrong. “I’m friends with the command sergeant major working in the office of the director of the Joint Staffs. He might be able to get a word to the SECDEF.” He pulled out his secure cellular phone and dialed. After a few moments, he closed the phone, and for the second time Jason saw a very uncommon sight—a confused look on his face. “You’re not going to believe this, sir,” he said. “We’ve just been ordered to prepare to deploy—the entire task force. A C-17’s on the way to pick us up.”

  “Where are we going?” Jason asked—but when he saw Jefferson’s face, he knew instantly: “You’re shitting me: San Francisco?”

  “I shit you not, sir. San Francisco. They’re calling it a ‘security assessment’ for…”

  “For TransGlobal Energy,” Jason said. “Did they plant listening devices on us, or what? Let’s get back to the training area, Sergeant Major. Let’s go, folks.”

  “What if they’re wrong about San Francisco?” Kelsey asked as they started jogging back to base. “Zakharov could be anywhere.”

  “I don’t think he’d fly into San Jose and then risk flying somewhere else to do whatever he means to do,” Jason said. “Whatever he’s doing back in the States, he’s going to do in the San Francisco Bay area.”

  “It’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack.”