“Yes. Who are you?” His eyes darted around for help, in case he needed it. But no one else was there. He always arrived before his peers.
“It doesn’t matter.” The man pulled a gun with a long silencer on it out of his jacket. Pope stared at the gun. He had never even seen a silencer, but he knew what it was.
“What are you—”
The gun jerked as the man shot Pope in the stomach. He fell, his blood spilling out onto the ground. The man moved closer to Pope, now writhing and groaning. The gun barked quietly as the man shot him again in the chest. Pope lay still. The killer put his gun back in his jacket and leaned down next to Pope, shoving his body underneath the Taurus.
The club in Naples had often been used for squadron functions. The F-18 squadron had reserved it long ahead, knowing that it booked up early when the carrier was in port. The Mediterranean usually contained at least one American aircraft carrier, sometimes two. One was almost always at sea. The George Washington was in the eastern Mediterranean and the Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN-69) was in port in Naples. VFA-136, an F/A-18 squadron, had decided to have a Dining-In, an officers-only party, where the officers wore their dress white uniforms and enjoyed the Naval traditions of roast beef, port, and toasts. It was a highly regimented, scripted event. The officers had been anticipating the night for a month, dreading it because they had to wear their dress uniforms, but looking forward to it because of the Navy mythology that rose around the dinners. Stories of great excesses and drunkenness, toasts given and regretted, food fights, general mayhem and craziness. Few had seen such things, and the legends went back several decades, even centuries, but there was always great anticipation of legends in the making.
Commander Gary Witt, the F-18 Squadron Commanding Officer, was by definition the president of the mess. He was, therefore, required to do certain things and behave in a certain way. Very savvy, he knew what was expected of him and so far he had been doing his job beautifully. He caught the signal from the Lieutenant who was acting as the Officer of the Mess with a sword on his side that it was time to parade the beef. Witt stood and asked for attention. “As you all know, it is now time for that great moment where we begin our feast by bringing in the main course for all the red-blooded Americans seated at these tables. I call your attention to the parading of the beef!”
With that the doors opened in the back of the banquet room and two large Italian waiters entered. Walking solemnly, they carried an enormous platter between them on their shoulders. A bagpiper followed them, odd moaning sounds coming from his instrument as he puffed up the bladder in preparation for playing. Finally, in keeping with the tradition, “Scotland the Brave” screamed out of the pipes. The waiters and the piper made their way slowly around the room, allowing each officer to gaze longingly at the beautiful side of beef as their eardrums were pierced by the deafening bagpipes.
Suddenly the doors on the side of the room flew open. A man in a hood and black clothing appeared with an assault rifle with a scope at his shoulder. He glanced around quickly, saw Witt standing at the head table, and sighted through his scope. Several officers cried out at the same moment so that the Officer of the Mess reached to his side for his sword, but it happened too fast; no one could stop the shooter. He fired and Witt fell forward, his head slapping against the lectern as he dropped to the floor, dead. Some of the men jumped to their feet, ready to rush the gunman. The Officer of the Mess had pulled out his sword and was moving toward the gunman when the man saw him and immediately fired three bullets into him, killing him instantly. The gunman stood quietly, waiting for anyone else to move. No one did. The pilots wanted to charge out and attack the gunman but they all had seen what happened. The man began backing up slowly, moving toward the door where he had entered. Two other gunmen, also wearing hoods and carrying assault rifles with scopes appeared, opening the two doors for the killer, and he backed out unmolested. As the room erupted in shrieks of horror, revenge, and anger, the three gunmen disappeared.
26
President’s going on TV in about an hour,” Jaime Rodriguez reported breathlessly to Vice Admiral Brown, who sat up straight at his spotless desk, his reading glasses on.
“What about?”
“The Paris killings. He’s pissed, and he’s going to yell at them. No prepared speech.”
Admiral Brown removed his glasses. “This ought to be interesting.” He sat back slightly, and turned to Jaime. “How is that paper coming on declaring war?”
“Done. We’re just polishing it.”
“Same conclusion as last week?”
Jaime saw where the Admiral was going. “Yes, sir. No reason at all we couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t know if we’re quite ready for such a big move. This is the kind of thing that needs months—if not years—of analysis and discussion. . . . But maybe we don’t have that kind of time.” He stood up and walked around his desk. “Get Tim to get me a copy of the draft memo right now, and be ready to talk about it after the President’s speech. We may have just the tool he’s been looking for.”
Sean Woods picked up the phone that was ringing on his stateroom wall. “Lieutenant Woods.”
“Trey. All officers’ meeting right now.” It was Sedge. He had the duty.
Woods immediately assumed the worst. He was going to be exposed in front of the entire squadron. He tried not to react like a criminal who is spooked by everything, knowing he is about to be caught, but he couldn’t shake it. “What about?”
“President’s going to make a speech about the Paris killings. Skipper wants all the officers to watch it in the ready room.”
“What time?”
“Five minutes.”
Woods had been sickened by the news of the attacks. There was no doubt in his mind who was behind the killings, and that it was his fault. If they hadn’t participated in the attack with the Israeli Air Force, none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t insisted on turning on the radar so he could shoot down one more Syrian airplane, they wouldn’t have been sure an F-14 radar was nearby. His tracks were covered, but his conscience was not.
Woods walked quickly to the ready room. To someone who knew him it would have been clear that his usually confident stride was less so. He was carrying a burden he wasn’t accustomed to.
The rest of the officers arrived about the same time Woods did. Bark was there, waiting. When most of the officers were in their seats, Bark began speaking. “Morning. The speech is in about five minutes. We’ll see what the President has to say about all this. But I wanted to say that this Sheikh al-Jabal character is going after Americans directly. No argument like with Vialli that these people were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s coming after us. And after Navy officers. I—”
The image of the President of the United States came on the television in the front of the room. Bark sat down as the President’s speech began.
President Garrett looked somber and angry. The officers were accustomed to hearing the President speak, but none of them had seen this look on his face. “As all of you know, there have been three brutal attacks on Americans in the last twenty-four hours. The first was the Naval attaché in Paris, attacked by someone unknown on his morning jog near the Seine. The second was closer to home, here in Washington, D.C. The Assistant Secretary of State was gunned down in the State Department parking lot. I just heard details of a third attack, equally shocking and disturbing. A Squadron Commanding Officer of a fighter squadron off the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower was at a squadron dinner in a club near Sixth Fleet Headquarters in Naples, Italy. Three gunmen broke in and murdered the Navy Commander and the Officer of the Mess.
“I want to extend the country’s heartfelt sympathy to the families of the men who were killed. Our hopes and prayers are with them. I’m sure they wonder what kind of monsters would do such a thing. We wonder too. We understand from the same London newspaper that received the communiqué from the man who calls himself Sheikh al-Jabal that he is claiming respon
sibility for these attacks as part of his continued response to the attempt to assassinate him by this country working in conjunction with Israel.” The President paused. “These acts, on top of the false accusations against the United States, are outrageous. This man is not only vicious, but completely misguided. He appears to be fixated on the idea that we had something to do with the attack in Lebanon that the Israeli Air Force conducted some two weeks ago. I want to state publicly and unequivocally that we had nothing to do with that raid. Nothing whatsoever.”
Woods tried not to look at Big.
The President stared at the camera longer than was customary in political speeches. His fury was obvious. He was speaking extemporaneously, which was dangerous. He continued. “I want the man who is responsible for these attacks—and whoever is working with him or protecting him—to be held accountable. This country will never rest until he and his men are brought to justice for the murders of innocent Americans, military and political. He has declared a Jihad on the United States. We have done nothing to earn his wrath. I want to say clearly today, I personally will never rest until he is brought to justice. And I hereby obligate the United States and all its power. We will never rest until that justice is satisfied. Not ever.
“I will be meeting with other political leaders and military leaders to decide how best to proceed. But I want the world to know now that we will proceed. We will respond. We will ensure justice is done. Good night.”
As the President’s speech ended Bark stood up and walked to the television in front of the ready room. The Air Wing Intelligence Officer was on the screen, apparently in an attempt to play the ship’s Dan Rather and explain what the President had just said. Bark addressed his officers. “I probably don’t need to tell you that I am not one of the military leaders he is consulting. If he were consulting me, I would tell him to strike now, strike tomorrow, strike every day thereafter until this guy is buried in fifty feet of sand. We may have a special role in this. In fact, we already do. We are the ones accused of having started this with the Israelis. But we know that didn’t happen. We inventoried the missiles. Woods and Big”—their hearts jumped— “have told us they had nothing to do with it. That means that not only did this guy murder Vialli, but he has murdered a Naval attaché in Paris, the Commanding Officer of a Navy fighter squadron and a Lieutenant serving as Officer of the Mess, and some poor guy from the State Department. These guys are really pissing me off. I just hope that we actually get to do something about it personally, and that it’s not left to someone else to do it.
“I have no idea what the President has in mind, but I want us to start getting ourselves ready for whatever action is going to follow, because I believe action will follow. I want to make sure that our weapon systems are up, that our airplanes are all up, and every officer in the squadron is one hundred percent ready to go into combat tomorrow.” To Wink, he said, “Let’s do a weapons-systems NATOPS review tomorrow afternoon. I want written tests for everyone. I wanna be talking weapons, weapons delivery, weapons choice, air-to-air combat, everything we do—I want it discussed every day at every meeting, every meal, and every minute we’re awake in this ready room. We will talk combat, we will talk fighting until this is done.” He studied the faces of his men. “I really hope we get a chance to do something about this. I really do.”
The officers stood to leave. Woods crossed to Big. “Did you hear how the President was talking about the Sheikh?”
“Yeah . . .”
“He’s still a threat.”
Big was startled. “You’re right.”
Woods lowered his voice. “That can only mean one thing. We missed. Shit.”
The conference room in the White House was full. The President had not waited even a day to call the meeting he had promised. Those invited had only a few hours’ notice. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was there, the Secretary of Defense, the Director of Central Intelligence, and the National Security Adviser. Also present were the Speaker of the House, the Members of the Cabinet, the chairmen of the Armed Services Committees of the House and the Senate, the Senate Majority Leader, the Senate and House Minority Leaders and the Vice President. No press was invited. This was not a staged photo opportunity as so many White House meetings were. This was a meeting the President had called to decide what to do about Sheikh al-Jabal.
President Garrett was from Texas. His drawl was mostly gone, but when he was angry, the drawl came out more clearly. And he was angry now. A tall, thin man with wavy brownish-gray hair, his personality was so large that it overwhelmed others who were in his presence. He scanned the room to make sure everyone was accounted for before he began speaking.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know it’s a bit unusual, and I hope that you don’t misunderstand what I’m trying to do. This is not some attempt at a political event. I realize we have people here from both parties and I know that might look like a publicity stunt rather than a planning session. But I want you to know right now, I am here for one purpose only—to do whatever we can to eradicate this Sheikh al-Jabal rodent from the face of the earth. He has killed innocent Americans, he has attacked us in every way, and he has declared a holy war on this country and its citizens.
“I have my own ideas of what to do about this, but I want to hear your ideas as well. I don’t want to do some secretive behind-the-scenes action. I want something new.” He raised his hand. “Before anybody says it, I’m not inclined to use the Letter of Marque or Rules of Capture Congress has implemented in the recent past with which we’re all too familiar.
“I want to do this together. I might agree that Congress abdicated some of its authority in the past, and the Presidents of the past took more liberty with the employment of the military than they were entitled to; but I don’t want the pendulum swinging too far in the other direction either. Let’s work together, come up with the right approach, and execute it immediately. That’s why we’re all here.” He waited, then had another thought. “Tell you what. Carl is here for the CIA. Anything new?”
Carl Spear, the Director of Central Intelligence, stood up. “Mr. President, there really isn’t a lot more to say about this man than has already been said. You received our report, written by one of our analysts, which compares this man to his namesake of the eleventh century, and a few others since then. You know the history of the group, the Assassins, and it really isn’t necessary to go into more than that at this time. . . . The thing that I might add—which may make this discussion a little more difficult but is something we all need to be aware of—is that we don’t know where he is. We have some leads, and we’re trying to locate him. We had a good bead on him once, but not anymore. We simply don’t know where he is.”
Garrett agreed. “Terrorists don’t have capital cities, or Navy bases with piers and ships parked next to them, or airports with fighter jets lined up like ducks. Always one of the hardest things to do in attacking terrorism is finding the terrorists. But let’s set aside that difficult issue for just a moment.” He folded his arms. “Let’s assume that the largest military in the world can find him. I want to know what we should do about it. I can send the military. I can do that. Presidents have been doing that for long time. I will do that, if it’s what we agree on. But that is the question. How do we justify going into somebody else’s territory with our military to get this guy?”
The Attorney General spoke. “There would be some international legal considerations that we would be wise to take into consideration before doing something like that. You might recall when President Clinton attacked Osama bin Laden by simply sending off a flurry of Tomahawk missiles into Afghanistan and Sudan. That clearly violated the sovereignty of those countries. There were all kinds of international ramifications—”
“I don’t really care if there are ramifications for our attacking him in another country if we’re sure he’s there. It’s not that that I’m worried—”
“Yes, sir, what I meant was if we can av
oid some of that, it might be wise to do so.”
The rest of the people in the room shifted uncomfortably. None of them had any particularly new or creative ideas on how to attack terrorism. They didn’t want to say anything at this point and look stupid before they knew the way the President wanted to go.
Congressman Lionel Brown, the Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, spoke. “I may have an idea, Mr. President.”
Everyone in the room looked at him. When he spoke about the military, people listened. The President knew better than to try to argue with him about military policy. At least here. “What might that be?”
Brown had been debating whether to actually bring it up. He was afraid he would look foolish. “I’m a little embarrassed to say where this idea came from, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since it came across my desk. When I first heard it, frankly, I disregarded it. But it’s one of those ideas that grows on you. It has definitely grown on me. In fact, since hearing about the idea, although initially rejecting it, I had my staff look into it and research it over the last few weeks.”
“What is it?”
“This Sheikh al-Jabal, by his own words, has declared war against the United States.”
Everyone in the room nodded their understanding. “Several weeks ago, after that Navy officer was killed in the bus attack in Israel, I received a letter from his roommate on a carrier in the Mediterranean. I’m sorry, but I don’t recall his name. He was very upset. On reflection, I think I failed to give the letter the respect it deserved, probably because it came from such an unlikely quarter. What he said”—Brown hesitated, knowing this was his last chance to avoid being known for this idea, however it came out—“was that Congress should declare war against Sheikh al-Jabal. As an individual. And against the Assassins, as a group. He had even gotten the JAG officer on the carrier to do some research on the issue, and he saw no reason why it couldn’t be done. The Lieutenent got a priest, of all things, to do an analysis of whether it would be a just war under the old just war doctrine that goes back hundreds of years. Both of those other officers supported him. This Lieutenant is one of my constituents, and frankly, I think we should give his idea some consideration, certainly more than I gave when I first heard of it.
Flash Point Page 32
