Uncivil Liberties

by Gordon Ryan

  Six, and then eight days after returning from Pakistan, Lieutenant Connor and Sergeant Castro attended each funeral, having met with the families, in the first instance, a mother and father, plus three siblings. In the second, a grieving nineteen-year-old widow with an eight-month-old son. Pug had told Castro later, as they flew back to Pendleton, that he would rather face an armed enemy than a grieving widow.

  Sitting in the press office of the White House, the feeling had not abated. While the president would be the primary person to brief Mrs. Austin, Pug knew her, had dined at her home, had been treated as a son. And, unrecognized until this moment, Pug had come to respect, admire, and after nearly ten years serving under his command and partaking of his paternal advice, even love, his former commanding officer.

  Rachel walked back into the room and sat beside Pug. “You okay?” she asked.

  “Just remembering,” he replied softly. “How did your mom respond?”

  “She’s calling Christine right now, and my office is arranging for her to fly out this evening from Kansas City. I’ll fly back with her on Friday night, unless General Austin’s funeral delays her return. I’ve got to go, since I’m scheduled to address a convention of city managers in Kansas City on Saturday morning.”

  “For a few moments back in the car, I forgot that your family was such close friends with the Austins,” Pug said.

  Rachel nodded. “We’ve known each other for over forty years. After all this time, the roles are reversed. Christine Austin was the first person to call my mother after the military notified Mom of my father’s death in Vietnam. They’ve been close ever since.”

  Pug reached for Rachel’s hand, gently stroking the back of her fingers. “I know you understand the nature of such loss better than most, Rachel, but it took me a bit longer. General Austin said as much while he was trying to convince me that working in military intelligence had just as much value in the war on terror as field operations. He said ‘It’s not the warrior who suffers the real agony, Pug, it’s the wife, the mother, the children, the remaining family who live to regret his absence, the daughter who walks up the aisle without presence of her father, the wife who raises the child without the father to share the love.’”

  Slowly tears began to form in Rachel’s eyes and Pug stopped talking, content to hold her hand. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

  She nodded, placing her hand over his.

  Abruptly, a White House aide stepped into the doorway. “Senator, General, if you’ll follow me, please, the president is about to enter the press room. I have two seats set aside for you.”

  Pug and Rachel stood and silently followed the young man down the corridor. They were engulfed by a bevy of reporters and White House staffers. As soon as they sat, another staff person came through the door and announced the arrival of the president. Pug and Rachel stood along with the occupants of the room as the president mounted the dais and took his position behind the lectern.

  “At 11:20 this morning, local time, Homeland Security Secretary William Austin was killed in a car bomb attack in Brussels. Secretary Austin was attending a conference of security leaders from European nations seeking ways to confront terrorism. Once again, it has been demonstrated that terrorists do not want peaceful solutions to the ills of the world. Secretary Austin served this nation for four decades, both in war and in peace. He was seeking further methods to assure peace when he was needlessly killed. The United States puts these terrorists on notice that we will follow every path to find and kill or capture those who planned this murder. I personally offer my sincere condolences to Mrs. Austin. The general was . . .”

  Chapter 29

  Dulles International Airport

  Washington, D.C.

  June

  Sometime after 10:00 PM, Pug drove Rachel to Dulles International Airport to meet her mother’s plane. The president’s visit to the Austin household had been difficult, to say the least, but Pug recognized in President Snow the gentle hand of a compassionate man, belying the weight of his office. Mrs. Austin was a remarkable woman, her strength resilient, her expression of gratitude to the president sincere. Despite the many other occasions when Pug had met her, his admiration for the woman took on a new dimension during the president’s visit. Shortly before they had left, Christine Austin’s sister had arrived to fill the absence of family. With no children of their own, Rachel had been concerned that the older woman would be alone for the night and had offered to stay, but Mrs. Austin had declined, grateful that Rachel’s mother would be coming to visit tomorrow.

  As they waited near the luggage carousel at Dulles, Pug held Rachel close, his arm around her shoulder.

  “These are not the circumstances that I envisioned for us to become friends, Rachel. I’m truly sorry for this loss and the memories it fosters.”

  Rachel raised her hand to her shoulder, covering Pug’s hand. “The circumstances are not important, Pug. I’m grateful you were with me. Uncle Bill was like a father to me and I know he was fond of you, trusted you, and that his feelings were reciprocated. It’s your loss, too. I feel numb, actually. I might—”

  Suddenly, Rachel leaned to the right, scanning the passengers coming down the escalator. “There she is,” she said, quickly walking forward and embracing her mother as she stepped away from the moving throng of people. Pug remained quietly behind. After a few moments of tears and hugging, they approached him together.

  “Mom, this is General Pug Connor. Pug worked with Uncle Bill for the past several years. They became very close.”

  Mrs. Thompson extended her hand and showed the briefest hint of a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, General. Thank you for meeting me.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. Your luggage will be on carousel eight. I already have a trolley.”

  “I only brought one bag. I have some of my things at Rachel’s home.” She turned to Rachel as they walked toward the luggage carousel. “Do you know when the funeral will be held?”

  “Yes, Mom. Friday morning at Arlington. Christine did not want any public ceremony, but agreed to the president’s request that Bill be buried in the national cemetery. I have us both booked back to Kansas City on Friday night.”

  Mrs. Thompson nodded. “That’s my bag, General,” she said, pointing to a light gray case which Pug retrieved.

  Thirty minutes later, Pug placed the suitcase just inside the front door of Rachel’s home.

  “Rachel, if I can be of any assistance over the next several days, please phone. I’ve called a meeting of my team tomorrow morning to discuss several items, but mostly to deal with our new reporting line to the president’s office. Please, do call if I can help.”

  Rachel looked up at Pug for several seconds, then stepped close to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She then kissed him lightly on the cheek, pulled back, and looked into his eyes. “You’ve already been helpful, Pug, perhaps more than you know. Thank you.”

  “If I don’t see you beforehand, I hope to see you at the funeral on Friday,” Pug said.

  “I’ll arrange it, Pug. My staff will organize seats for us.”

  “Good night, Rachel.”

  Chapter 30

  Office of Strategic Initiatives

  Washington D.C.

  June

  Wednesday morning, Devlin Hegarty sat in John Harford’s office, discussing the latest turn of events and the final plans for the Saturday events in San Antonio and Kansas City.

  “Who could have envisioned that Homeland Security would lose their secretary so quickly? General Austin was one of the staunchest opponents of Domestic Tranquility, or so my inside sources tell me. We’re well-rid of the bastard,” Harford said.

  Hegarty wondered silently whether Harford had other teams working on such events, or if it was truly a coincidence and Al Qaida was behind the attack.

  “One more thing, Devlin. It’s come to my attention that Senator McKenzie of Kansas will be at the Marriott on Saturday morning,
giving an address to the city managers who are holding a convention. That’s actually a stroke of luck.”

  “Do you want the explosion timed to her address?” Hegarty asked.

  “Absolutely not. That’s what I’m saying. She’ll speak at 11:00 AM, giving the keynote. I want the explosion no earlier than 2:00 PM. She sits on Culpepper’s intelligence committee and I think she can be swayed in favor of Domestic Tranquility. A close brush with death will help convince her. I need her vote.”

  “They reconvene at 1:30 after lunch, so 2:00 PM it will be,” Hegarty replied. “The Overland Park mall will be hit earlier in the morning, followed by the Marriott. San Antonio will take place about 4:00 PM. Texas is in the same time zone, so about two hours after the Marriott explosion. Saturday will be a busy day for Fox News and CNN, not to mention emergency services.”

  “Yes, well, if this doesn’t wake up America, I don’t know what will. Are you sure the San Antonio SI security team is prepared to intervene successfully?”

  “Absolutely. The team leader of the SI defense squad is ready. I’ve worked with him before. Sean Kilpatrick. A good man. His great-grandfather trained my father in Belfast in the old days.”

  Harford gave a quick chuckle. “No matter the cause, there always seems to be work for enterprising young men, eh? How are things in Ireland these days?”

  “Too peaceful,” Hegarty replied.

  “Well, we can thank our lucky stars for Al Qaida then, right? Catholic or Protestant, Muslim or Christian. Some religious group always wants to kill another religious group. It’s a good thing we have all these men of faith, or there might not be any wars to prosecute.”

  Hegarty nodded assent. “And some financial wolf is always ready to help them through the process with no religious compunctions.”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed that your Swiss account has increased substantially. Be certain you share some of those proceeds with your key players. I don’t want any disgruntled employees complaining and drawing attention because they weren’t paid.”

  “Not to worry. Everyone is taken care of. Everyone who will live to spend it, that is,” Hegarty replied.

  Chapter 31

  Marriott Hotel

  Kansas City, Missouri

  June

  Senator Rachel McKenzie, Republican, Kansas, finished her address to the International City & County Manager’s Association gathered at the Marriott Hotel in Kansas City about ten minutes to noon. 377 municipal administrators had gathered for the annual conference and were just breaking for lunch prior to the welcoming speech by the mayor of Kansas City, scheduled for 1:30 PM.

  At her invitation, Rachel’s mother had attended her speech. She met Rachel in the foyer as they made their way toward the front entrance, but were stopped by several police officers who asked her to wait just a moment.

  “What’s the problem, Officer?” Rachel asked.

  “Ma’am, there’s no danger at the moment, but there has been a shooting at the mall in Overland Park. Quite a large shooting, with multiple injuries. Your staff director, Mr. Halversen, asked us to assure your safe arrival at the airport, so we’ve arranged for alternate transportation with a police escort.”

  Rachel and her mother took seats in the foyer for a moment while they waited. “Do you want to come back to Virginia with me, Mom? Just while they sort this out?”

  “No, of course not, dear. I can take a taxi home. Don’t worry about me.”

  “No way, Mom. Ted will see that you get home safely.” Ted Halversen was director of Senator McKenzie’s Kansas City office. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather that I stay for a few days?”

  “Rachel, as terrible as these events are becoming, we need to carry on with our lives. You have work to do, I have a Sunday school lesson to teach tomorrow, and I refuse to let these people disrupt my life or make me live in fear.”

  Rachel smiled momentarily as her mom bristled at the intrusion into her life. The police officer stepped in to the seating area and said, “It will be just a few minutes, Senator. They’re bringing up an unmarked van to transport you. Why don’t you step into the lounge while you wait? The news is broadcasting the shooting on TV and you can watch what’s happening.”

  Indeed, Fox News had a live feed from an overhead helicopter, and the parking lot near the main entrance to the mall was crowded with police vehicles, including the SWAT van. Heavily armed officers were located at every position outside the mall entrance, and some were already on the roof of the building. As Rachel watched, she thought about how many times she had entered through that same revolving door into the Overland Park Mall, how often her mother had used the entrance, and she wondered whether any of their friends were there this morning.

  Sheppard Smith, a Fox News commentator, was voicing over the camera shot from the helicopter, conversing in a split-screen shot with Megyn Kelly, who was on the scene having quickly departed another assignment she was covering across the Missouri River.

  “It’s our understanding, Megyn, that an alert security officer assigned to the mall, but unarmed, notified police of the first shooting before he himself was shot and presumably killed. His body is just inside the doorway and emergency rescue has been unable to reach him to ascertain his condition. At least two of the perpetrators have also been shot, along with a wounded police officer who has been taken to the hospital. We don’t know yet how many people inside the mall, if any, have also been shot, but we have to assume that injuries have taken place. This is not the usual shooting we’ve come to expect, or to learn about after the fact, with one or two shooters killing silently and then disappearing. It’s also the first attack we’ve been able to see live, where police were on the scene before the shooters departed. By first reports, there are at least four, perhaps five armed men who entered the mall and began shooting at random, starting with the security guard.”

  Megyn adjusted her microphone and turned to look at the camera. “Shep, police officials on the ground have just informed me that contact with retail shop personnel inside the mall, who have taken shelter in the back of their stores, has alerted them to the fact that at least two men are barricaded inside the front entrance. They have numerous customers seated around the large flower planter you can see through the door. They’re using them as a shield against a police assault. This is a very dangerous situation and far from over. Hold on, Shep, the police spokesman is making a further comment . . .”

  The live shot of the parking lot continued while Shep contributed a voiceover, reiterating all that had been learned about the opening events in the shooting. Shortly, Megyn returned.

  “Shep, the police spokeswoman just informed us that four alleged terrorists have already made their departure, and the police, assisted by the Kansas Highway Patrol, are involved in a high-speed chase heading west on I-70. It would appear that there were six terrorists in this assault, an usually brazen attack, with, presumably, two men still inside with hostages.”

  At the moment Megyn made her final comment, the picture being broadcast of the mall parking lot and entrance erupted in a large explosion, smoke and flames pouring out of the mall entrance, reaching the closest police vehicles. Megyn was standing about sixty yards away and the picture of the scene skewed violently as the helicopter carrying the camera veered away from the rising blast, steadying several seconds later as the pilot gained control.

  “Are you still with us, Megyn?” Shep said, his voice rising.

  With a shaky picture, the camera again focused on the disheveled reporter, her hair and clothing in disarray. “I’m here, Shep,” she said, regaining control. “There has been an explosion. Someone inside the mall has triggered a bomb and one can only imagine that those closest to the blast have been severely injured. We could see at least a dozen or more people seated around the planter inside the front door. Hold it, Shep,” she said, even more intense. “The police are rushing the front door. SWAT is storming the entrance, Shep.”

  Senator Rachel McKenzie and her
mother stood transfixed in the Marriott Hotel as they watched the dramatic scene play out in front of their eyes. Rachel stepped outside into the foyer and motioned to the officer who had spoken to them.

  “Officer, I want to go to my local office. I won’t be returning to Washington today. Can you arrange that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The van is arriving now. If you would like to come with me, we’ll see that you and your party are transported safely.”

  By 1:30 PM, just under 300 city and county managers had reconvened in the Grand Ballroom where the mayor of Kansas City was to address them. The remaining seventy-seven registered attendees had presumably remained in the lounge or their rooms, watching the horrific event unfold on their televisions. At 1:36, just as the deputy mayor was advising the attendees that the mayor had been called away to deal with the terrible developing disaster in Overland Park, the first explosion erupted in the room, midway through the seated crowd. Over the next four minutes, three other explosions blasted various areas of the Marriott Hotel, including the lounge, the main foyer, and the circular entrance to the hotel, bringing down the overhanging balcony and balustrade. Over 175 people died in what became known as the Kansas City Massacre and made news headlines around the world.

  In Tel Aviv, two cabinet ministers seated in a local café watched CNN coverage when one remarked, “I wonder if American politicians will ask themselves to use restraint in their response as they have always asked us to tread lightly.”

  “One thing is for certain,” his companion replied, “they can no longer be neutral.”

  It was 2:54 PM in San Antonio, Texas.

  Rachel’s cell phone rang just as she entered her private office in downtown Kansas City. Her staff was absent, other than a couple of key members who were present during the ICMA speech.