Direct Action

11

“I like it!” Admiral Raymond exclaimed. “It’s about time a bunch of my young studs threw away the Ranger Handbook and did some special warfare.” He cocked an eyebrow at Murdock. “You like planning for what might go wrong, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

“Something always does, sir.”

“You’re right about that.”

For this meeting it was just the admiral and the CIA. The Secret Service, the commodore, and Commander Masciarelli hadn’t been invited. MacKenzie, DeWitt, Roselli, and Kosciuszko had come along to help Murdock with the briefing. It had taken just under an hour. Murdock had seen briefings go hours longer, but that was ridiculous. Briefers added a bunch of irrelevant crap just to show off for the brass. Anyway, the human brain couldn’t absorb that much information.

Now the admiral turned to the CIA men. “This plan has my complete approval — unchanged. Can you get the lieutenant what he needs?”

“I don’t see any problem,” said Don Stroh.

“Well, I do,” said Berlinger. “Do any of you realize how expensive the lieutenant’s plan is compared with our original one?”

“Not too expensive compared to two billion in counterfeit currency a year,” the Admiral observed. “Besides, this plan will work.”

“With the expenditure of two armored cars and two limousines alone,” said Berlinger. “Not to mention the increased helicopter assets.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said Murdock. “But if you’ll recall, I said we needed four armored cars. Two reserved for the mission. And two to train with, of which one will be a mission backup and the other I plan on expending for demolition tests. And, of course, three limousines. One of which will be mission backup.”

“And what’s all this backup nonsense?” Berlinger demanded.

“In case one of the vehicles breaks down, sir. We wouldn’t want to postpone the mission while we ordered a new one from the factory, would we?”

Berlinger still wouldn’t quit. “Do you realize that you’re using enough explosives to level a city block?”

“Yes, sir. It should do a really fine job on the warehouse.”

“And you’re not concerned with civilian casualties?”

Beside him, Murdock could hear Razor Roselli grumble, “Is this asshole with the CIA or the fucking Peace Corps?” Murdock quieted his chief with a sharp kick to the ankle.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” Whitbread interrupted. “The rest of us are not about to pretend that we’re concerned about any casualties to the Syrians, Hezbollah, or the good citizens of Baalbek. I, for one, remember that Baalbek was where those same people tortured to death William Buckley, our chief of station in Beirut and a good friend. Lieutenant Murdock, I’m prepared to recommend approval of your plan. Tonight I will present it to the Director and the … appropriate national authority.”

Murdock hoped the President liked it.

“Don Stroh will be in touch with you when a decision is reached,” said Whitbread. “Gentlemen, well done, and good day to you.”

That did a very nice job of breaking up the meeting. Stroh came over to talk to Murdock, and the admiral moved to corner the SEALs before they could slip out of the room.

“Nice job on the briefing, Blake,” said Stroh. “Love the plan. Berlinger’s just bitchy because yours is light years ahead of the one his boys came up with. And you know,” he said quietly, “the computer only gave his plan a fifty-five-percent chance of completion. Yours has got to be up over eighty percent.”

“Great,” Murdock said, without enthusiasm.

“Oh, I also wanted to tell you. That woman at the villa in Port Sudan? It turns out the French wanted to talk to her about the bombings in Paris earlier in the year. They think she might have planted a couple of bombs herself. Woman and a little kid. you know? You wouldn’t figure they’re packing a bomb that’s going to blow up a few innocent people, would you?”

“I guess not.”

“So if anyone was bummed about tagging a woman, you can let them know they didn’t make a mistake.”

“As far as I know, no one was bummed.”

“… Whatever. Our colleagues at the Direction General de Securite Exterieure tell us, on behalf of the French Government, that they’re very pleased not to have her running around anymore. They might even have sprung for a medal, except that it never happened, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, I’m going back to Langley and start putting your shopping list together. Don’t worry about the big boys approving, it’s in the bag. I’ll see you at Niland, okay?”

“Okay.”

Murdock started to walk over to the knot of SEALs that had the admiral surrounded, but George MacKenzie had already slipped away and was waiting to waylay him.

Mac looked around to see if anyone was listening, then said, “You still haven’t told me if you’re taking me along.”

“You want to go?” Murdock asked innocently.

“Hell, yes,” said MacKenzie. “How many ops do you think I have left before I retire?”

“You know I’d take you in a heartbeat, Mac. It’s okay if you don’t give a shit about Razor.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What does Razor have to do with it?”

“The boys would all be looking to you. Really, it’s okay if you don’t give a shit about Razor’s credibility.”

MacKenzie was taken aback. Then he sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I wanted the op so bad I didn’t think about the platoon.”

“So you’re not coming along?”

“You better be careful, sir. You go around making too much sense and they won’t let you be an officer anymore.”

“I’ll just have to take that risk. You going to come to Niland and help us out with the training?”

“No,” MacKenzie said reluctantly. “Razor and Kos can handle it. I’ve got to get back to work. But there is one thing I want you to add to the plan.”

“What’s that, Mac?”

“I want you to bring along a semiauto sniper rifle for every man that’s going. I’d say M-21s, but you’ll want to use sterile weapons that don’t come from the U.S. German MSG-90’s ought to do just fine. Have Magic Brown pack a.50-caliber. Put them in drag bags with one hundred fifty rounds each, all loaded up in magazines, and stash them in the trunks of the limos.”

“Okay, Mac. You think we might need them?”

“No, just something that kept me awake last night. On the off chance you get caught up in those hills with some free time on your hands.”

“Consider it done, Mac. You know, we couldn’t have put it together without you.”

“You can get off the dick now, sir.”

Murdock laughed and threw his arm around MacKenzie’s shoulders. They walked over to the admiral.

“I asked your boys if they had any heartburn, and they said no,” the admiral told Murdock. “Bunch of lying bastards.” The SEALs all laughed politely. Anything admirals said was automatically funny.

“What about you, George?” the Admiral asked.

“They’re good to go, sir,” MacKenzie replied.

“If George MacKenzie says you’re good to go,” the admiral pronounced, “then you’re good to go.”

“He’s the man, sir,” said Murdock.

“I want to wish all of you good hunting,” said the admiral. “Now get on out of here and let me talk to your lieutenant.”

The others left, and the admiral said, “Don’t you worry about Berlinger, Blake. It’s just politics. If the mission goes off without a hitch, no one will remember anything he said. But if it doesn’t, he’s positioned himself for the Congressional committees. He’ll say that he had serious reservations about the mission, and was concerned about all the innocent bad guys who might get hurt. I’m sorry, son, but that’s the way they play the game at this weight class.”

The admiral obviously didn’t know, so Murdock wasn’t about to tell him, that he’d had a lifetime education in Politics 101 from the Honorable Charles Murdock, Congressman from Virginia. Blake had carried that albatross around his neck for years. The Congressman had planned on Harvard, Harvard Law, and politics for his son. He’d compromised on Annapolis, since a short stint of military service never did any harm when you ran for office, especially a nice safe job on a staff or in the Pentagon. But Blake Murdock had gone 180 degrees in the other direction and become a SEAL. And he intended to stay a SEAL. He and his father didn’t talk much anymore.

“I understand, sir,” he told the admiral.

“You remember what I said now. Any problems, and I want to hear your voice on the phone.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” As far as Blake Murdock was concerned, the admiral was his father, and his SEALs his brothers. He didn’t need any other family.