“Thirty seconds,” announced the producer, pointing directly at the host, Ken Wick, who had only missed his cue once but the producer would never let him forget it. Instead of flipping the man off, he flashed a pearly smile before turning his undivided attention to his guests.
He counted down the seconds in his head and tried not to hold his breath. Before he knew it, the red light on the lead camera came on and The Ludlow Report’s theme music played overhead. He looked directly into the camera and began speaking.
“Good evening, America, and welcome to The Ludlow Report. I am your host, Ken Wick.” He paused allowing the last syllable to hang in the air before continuing, “Tonight, I’m filling in for Damon Ludlow, currently on vacation. Sitting across from me are tonight's guests. Van Bloodgood is a former analyst for the Central Intelligence Agency, and currently the principal at a Boston-based think tank specializing in international policy. Thank you for joining us, Mr. Bloodgood.”
“Thank you for having me, Mr. Wick,” Bloodgood replied with a nod of his massive head.
“And tonight’s second esteemed guest is the former U.S. Ambassador to Denmark and current professor of international relations at Princeton, Ambassador Engelbert Wheatley. Thank you for joining us, Ambassador.”
“It is my pleasure, Ken.”
Ken Wick noticed that the ambassador’s smile was even whiter than his own. He’d selected the two men himself and the differences couldn’t have been more obvious. While Ambassador Wheatley looked like an ambassador, tall and stately, Van Bloodgood looked like a bull mastiff, large and imposing. Even his name sounded ominous. Wick was sure the audience would eat that up.
“Now gentlemen, we don’t have a lot of time, so I’d like to get right to it. I, along with the rest of the world, would love to know your thoughts on President Zimmer’s recent remarks at the United Nations.”
The guests looked at one another and with a nod of his head the former CIA analyst deferred to the ambassador.
Wheatley began. “Now, Ken, while I admire the president’s courage, I am not sure I agree with the way he is executing his agenda.”
“Could you elaborate, Ambassador?”
Wheatley nodded, taking a moment of thoughtful contemplation before answering. Wick knew this was all for show. It was a well-known fact that the Ambassador loved being in the spotlight.
“In my time with the State Department and during my tenure as ambassador, I couldn’t tell you how many times I witnessed our allies blatantly abusing the aid we provided. Now, while it may sound noble that the president wants to wipe the slate clean and dispose of every nefarious character he can, I think it is naive to say that is even possible.”
“But don’t you think it is well within our right to examine the ways in which our aid is being used?” Wick asked.
“Of course, but it could have been done behind closed doors like we’ve done for years.”
Van Bloodgood shifted in his seat, his placid face swiveling to face Wheatley.
“And how do you think those policies have served us thus far, Ambassador?” Bloodgood asked, snatching the role of host from Wick.
It took every ounce of self-control for Ken not to squirm with glee. This was exactly what he wanted. A confrontation would boost ratings. Hell, it might even push the bigwigs up at corporate to let him do more hosting. As far as he was concerned, Damon Ludlow was on the way out and Ken Wick was on his way in.
Wheatley was responding, “While we may have hit a few snags along the way, I do believe that by and large our foreign policy, specifically our aid packages, hold up well under intense examination.”
“And what about our supposed allies?” Bloodgood asked, his droopy eyelids never moving.
“What about them, Mr. Bloodgood?”
“Do you believe that our allies have taken advantage of their favored statuses and have, at times, turned right around and thrown our goodwill back in our face?”
Wheatley chuckled. “Yes, as I mentioned before, I have witnessed such inconveniences in my time overseas.”
“And what did you do to stop those transgressions, Ambassador?”
Wheatley’s face reddened for the briefest moment. Wick noticed it immediately and hoped the moron behind the camera had caught it too because the ambassador’s outward congeniality quickly returned.
“As with any discrepancy I or my staff reported them through the proper channels.”
“And do you believe that reporting those discrepancies helped improve the system as a whole?” Bloodgood asked. Nothing but the man’s mouth and jowls moved.
“I am sure they did,” Wheatley replied, returning to Wick.
“But how do you know?” Bloodgood pressed. “Can you give us one example of how the system righted itself?”
Wick saw another crack in Wheatley’s demeanor. The Ambassador was staring at him like he needed to moderate the conversation. Wick obliged.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bloodgood, our time is limited. Let’s move on to the next question. This time we’ll begin with you.”
Bloodgood nodded. He looked almost bored.
“Mr. Bloodgood, how do you think the president should respond to the accusations leveled by fellow world leaders following his U.N. address?”
“I think he should stand his ground.”
“Would you like to elaborate?”
Bloodgood leaned forward.
“I think the president’s correct. If the American people knew the extent to which we’ve been seduced and abused by our allies, I am sure there would be quite the outcry for accountability. It is the taxpayers' dollars being abused. We give away trillions without a good system for tracking its usage. Sure, we say there are checks and balances, but in reality, sometimes we’re just going on blind faith.”
“Should we not have faith in our allies, Mr. Bloodgood?” Ambassador Wheatley interjected. “We are all human after all, and no system is perfect.” He chuckled but Bloodgood did not return the laugh.
Instead he said, “We are human, Mr. Wheatley, and a government-run system is far from perfect.” Wick saw Wheatley bristle but his face was turned from the live camera. “That is why we need a periodic reevaluation like the one the president has proposed.”
Somehow Wheatley held back a snort. “So, you’re saying that we should throw away decades, and in some cases centuries, of diplomacy just so that you can feel better about the system itself?”
“Not for me, Ambassador, but for the American people.”
“Excuse me?”
“Like the president, I believe that the American people have to feel better about where their hard-earned dollars are being spent.”
“Well, of course they do, but the time…”
“The time it takes is irrelevant. You said it yourself, the abuses are real. They will always be real. What President Zimmer has said is that if you intend to be our ally and receive the enormous benefits of an alliance with the U.S., you’d better do your best to make sure you and your citizenry are doing what you’re supposed to be doing. I don’t see why that’s so difficult to comprehend. It is not an unfair requisite either.”
This time Wheatley did laugh. “Mr. Bloodgood, I don’t think you fully understand the implications of such an undertaking.” Even Wick thought the ambassador sounded like a snob with that comment and he was on Wheatley’s side. It was time to step in.
“Well, gentlemen, it seems that we have much more to discuss after we take a quick commercial break.” He turned to the camera and said, “When we come back, our guests will give us their predictions regarding the effects of The Zimmer Doctrine.”
+++
The White House
President Zimmer sighed and turned off the television. At least he had one admirer. It seemed like the rest of the world was lining up to take pot shots at both him and his proposal. He’d spent the day calming his harried staff and making calls to legislators on both sides of the aisle. Everyone was confused and wanted to know the plan.
&
nbsp; There was no formulated plan as of yet. He was still figuring it out along the way. Hell, he didn’t even know what the expected outcome would look like.
What he wouldn’t give to have Travis there. Together, they would've figured it out. But he had faith that the answer would come soon. It might come in the natural course of their investigations. The answer could come from one of his advisors or maybe a fellow head of state. Maybe through playing damage control a path would form to improve the system. Either way, it was too late to go back now.
He tossed the remote on the bed and pulled a T-shirt over his head. It would be good to get away. Maybe with a little space his team could get the bipartisan commission formed.
Tonight he had a party to go to, and the helicopter was awaiting his departure. Nothing in the world would prevent him from attending this momentous occasion to celebrate Travis's life.
Chapter 8
Unknown Location
August 27th, 8:22pm
“Is the cargo hold ready?”
“Yes, Captain,” replied the man wearing a pair of coveralls with light streaks of grease on his pant legs. Normally, the captain would have told the crewman to change his clothing. After all, he ran a respectable vessel but his mind was consumed with other problems.
“And you’re sure the new railing system can support the weight?”
“The final test showed no excess pressure, Captain. The railing could carry twice the weight, if needed.”
The captain suppressed a frown. Things were going too quickly. His men should’ve had at least another month of preparations before going operational. But the powers that be had made their decision known in no uncertain terms that now was the time.
“Very well,” the captain said, smoothing back his black hair. “Commence with the loading.”
The crewman nodded and left the bridge. The captain followed two minutes later after dispatching a brief radio transmission to a local relay station. The message was innocuous enough so as to never raise an alarm. It was all part of the plan. In order to stay concealed from the prying eyes of the Americans, they had to play it safe. Playing it safe meant handling things the old way, using messengers and seemingly archaic technology.
The captain had first learned how to use a shortwave radio as a child. It was what first led him to the navy and now to his current position. He smiled at the memory and marveled at the utility and reliability of such simple tools. The Americans would never suspect. They’d been too busy chasing down Islamists since 9/11 and now their president had incurred the world's wrath for his remarks at the United Nations.
The captain chuckled and grabbed his hat from the helm. He stroked the gold ropes on the bill for a moment and once more ran through his mission. His superiors called it a bulletproof plan. As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as a bulletproof plan. Add a detail and the probability of defeat multiplied. Add one hundred and your luck would inevitably turn.
He tried to ignore his ever-present pessimism and tried to focus on the goal. He could go down in history for this and nobody would even know. A handful of men and women would give him and his men medals, heralding them heroes, but that wasn’t what was important. The captain wanted one thing and that was for his country to regain its rightful place on the world stage. If he was just another cog in the plan, so be it. But if it meant being on the leading edge and laying the groundwork for what could secure his country’s future for years to come, he would die a happy man.
The captain slipped on his white cap and checked his reflection in the window. After stroking his mustache twice, he made his way aft.
At exactly 9 pm, a semi pulling a flatbed trailer stopped one hundred feet from the end of the pier. Within minutes, straps were undone; hooks and clamps were secured to the large package. One minute later, the pier’s crane lifted the package off of the bed. Using hand signals and the occasional curse, the ship’s crew directed the operator’s expert handling of the crane.
The parcel was lowered into the cargo hold where it was then mounted to its custom frame. Five minutes later, the man in the greasy overalls gave a thumbs-up, and the crane withdrew the hook from the vessel.
Now there was a frenzy of activity as the rest of the crew prepared to get underway. The captain watched it all from the aft helo deck.
“Is there anything else you require?” asked the man standing to his right. He wore a suit and a heavy overcoat, despite the mild weather. They’d been both friends and compatriots for almost thirty years.
“Get me as many of these as you can,” the captain said.
“Do you mean the boat or the cargo?” his friend asked, a note of humor in his voice.
“You know how I feel about your calling this vessel a boat.” It was the same conversation they’d had since rooming together in boarding school. The captain’s friend was not a navy man, had never served in the military, and pretended not to know a thing about its capabilities. But he did and only feigned ignorance to annoy the captain.
“Would you still be cross with me if I told you that I smuggled a case of Scotch aboard?”
The captain’s mouth watered. He’d allow himself a nip or two once they made their way far from the coast. The beauty under his feet could practically get to the other side of the world by herself but he was still the captain.
“You're sure you won’t come with us?” the captain asked with a wry grin.
His friend moaned, grabbing his stomach. “The last time I took you up on that offer I lost half a bottle of twenty-year aged Scotch overboard.”
The captain chuckled. “You’re lucky it was raining or I would have made you clean it up.”
His friend shrugged and directed his attention back to the busy crew.
“We are doing the right thing, you know.”
The captain nodded. Initially, he had not thought highly of the plan. It had seemed like suicide on so many levels. But when his friend had explained the breadth of what he’d concocted, it only took the captain a day to swear his allegiance.
“You can stop trying to convince me,” the captain said. “Just make sure the rest of them do what is necessary for a successful outcome.”
“They know what to do.”
His friend was right. He was only one of many who’d been chosen for service. Military training aside, it was what they’d done as civilians while still maintaining their ties to their homeland. They had the experience, including the skill of not drawing unnecessary attention to themselves, acting like chameleons. The captain told himself not to worry, all would be well.
“Fair winds, Captain,” his friend said, holding out his hand.
“And following seas,” the captain answered, grasping the extended hand. Both men nodded to one another. There was nothing left to say. Without another word, his friend descended the ladder to the main deck below.
The captain turned from the railing and headed towards the bridge. In fifteen minutes they would be pulling away from the pier. After that it was a straight shot across the Atlantic. He’d made the trip countless times before, but never before had he been carrying the message he now held below deck.
+++
Twenty-seven other vessels left their respective ports within the next six hours. Their crews were loyal and their objectives clear. With destinations scattered across the globe, this would be the first of many trips if all went according to plan.
Their country had suffered at the hands of its enemies and allies alike. Their once-proud citizenry now stood on the second tier of the world stage, and the men on the crews of the twenty-eight vessels yearned to fight their way back to the top.
And so they left their moorings under the cover of darkness, their destinations known by the captains alone. The vessels would travel as they had in their previous journeys, taking circuitous routes and lazy meandering loops along paradise coasts. They had time, which they would use to their advantage.
Chapter 9
Wild Dunes
Isle of
Palms, South Carolina
August 27th, 9:03pm
The beach bonfire threw its flames into the moonlit sky as if daring the waning orb to shine brighter. Country music thumped from a large Bluetooth speaker. Just what Travis would’ve wanted; country music and Jack Daniels.
While the music played, the liquor flowed freely as the twenty-odd guests chatted and told stories about Travis, the former CEO of SSI, who had been their boss and, more importantly, their friend.
“Remember that time Travis told Top that he was getting recalled to the Corps? Man, I wish I’d had a camera to capture that look on your face,” Gaucho said, howling at the memory and pointing a stubby finger at his best friend.
Most of them were there now. Jonas Layton and Dr. Higgins had arrived via the company jet flown by the brothers, Jim and Johnny Powers, along with their fellow pilot, Benny Fletcher, who was a former Army Apache ace. The last three men hadn't known Travis well, but they laughed right along with the others. It was hard not to laugh when Gaucho and Trent were storytelling.
“You remember when Travis convinced us to go on that cold weather op in Alaska?” Trent said, eliciting a pained look from Gaucho. “I’ve never seen Gaucho so miserable.”
“Don’t remind me, man,” Gaucho answered, taking a healthy swig of his drink as if it would erase the memory. “I still can’t feel the tips of my big toes.”
Through it all Cal felt like he was on the verge of tears, but happy tears. Tears shed for a soul lost, but one that would never be forgotten. During the past five months he had been so engrossed in his own pain that he’d never once considered the pain felt by his friends. As he watched them laugh and drink, arms often draped across each other’s shoulders and exchanging playful jabs between shots, Cal’s mind refocused. It was like coming out of an impenetrable fog. It was more like an unseen enemy had dropped the world’s largest and densest smoke grenade. The smoke had hurt him at first, blinded him and then muted his senses. But now the smoke was clearing and his senses were returning. Due to Travis’s letter and, more importantly, the presence of his friends, Cal felt he was beginning to return to his former self.
The Zimmer Doctrine (Corps Justice Book 11) Page 4
