Flash Point

27

The Squadron Duty Officer gave Woods a knowing look. Woods stared at him, confused. The SDO pointed toward the rear of the ready room. Woods glanced back and saw the chaplain. “Oh, man, what’s he doing here?”

The SDO shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Hey. What’s up?” Woods said to Maloney as he approached.

The chaplain spoke softly. “I thought perhaps you would like to talk.”

“About what?”

“Just about all the things that have happened.”

“What things?”

“The attack that went north, the accusations, and now the retaliation and the President’s speech. I think more things may come from this as well.”

“So why would I want to talk to you about that?” Woods was feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

“Is there someplace we can sit down?”

Woods looked around the room and saw two or three officers watching him, trying not to show that they were. “Sure. Let’s sit right here,” Woods said, indicating the briefing area. “What is it?” he asked, not really wanting to know.

“You don’t think much of me—”

“Sure I do. You helped a lot with the letter to my congressman.”

The chaplain measured his words carefully. “Did you fly into Lebanon and Syria with the Israeli Air Force?”

“What? Where’d you get that?”

“Did you?”

“I’ve been through this with the CAG. I’m not going over it again. If you don’t get what happened, I can’t help you. Thanks for your interest, but I’ve got a lot of other things to do. Anything else?”

“I’m surprised that you’re unwilling to answer a simple question.”

“Where do you get off coming in here and grilling me about something that is ancient history? And even if I did go with the Israeli Air Force, so what?”

“If you did, it probably was illegal.”

“Illegal where?”

“Illegal here. On the carrier. Under U.S. law.”

“Probably. So what?”

“I was just remembering how important it was to you that the declaration of war be within the law. You asked the JAG officer to do research on the law so that you could get it right. He kind of stuck his neck out for you, and I’ll bet you sent his information to your congressman, didn’t you? Since I never got a copy…”

“Yes, I did. I meant to tell him about it…”

“You asked me to do the memo I did on what would constitute a just war. All intended, I suppose, to make the declaration of war ‘legal.’ So it struck me as odd, that if in fact you were willing to go with the Israeli Air Force and attack another country, how it was that you came to such a position. If you did, I thought you might be having… some problems of conscience. That is why I am here.”

Woods stared at the chaplain. He didn’t know what to say. His conscience was bothering him. Even what Big had said had kept him up all night. He had never seen himself as a liar, or someone who deceived his superiors and peers. But he wanted to stay out of Leavenworth. He had to. “How’s your conscience? What have you done wrong lately? Done anything dishonest in the last two weeks?”

“A very fair question. I probably have been dishonest in the last two weeks. And if I had, and I remembered, I would hope that I would confess it, and seek forgiveness from the person I had deceived. That seems to be the right course. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Look, Padre. When I get a pang of conscience, when I need to talk to someone about it, maybe I’ll call you. Okay? Until then, I got other things to do.”

The chaplain stood up. “I understand completely. I hope that you don’t feel my visit has been intrusive. I’m concerned about you. Whenever I’ve seen you in the wardroom, you seemed to be deep in thought. If you’d like to talk about some of that with me, I’m available anytime.”

Woods’s icy exterior warmed a little. “Fair enough.”

Lionel Brown found himself in a position he never expected. Word of the meeting at the White House had leaked out before he even got back to his office. The Speaker was jealous of the bomb of publicity that had gone off all over D.C. surrounding the Admiral’s “idea.” The Director of Central Intelligence was livid, for reasons that Brown couldn’t quite fathom, but the phone calls and the general media were full of enthusiasm and encouragement. He was the man of the hour. All the television shows wanted him yesterday.

Jaime Rodriguez, the Mexican-American legislative director for Admiral Brown, was in heaven. He loved his boss, and would do anything for him, primarily because Jaime thought he had found the Holy Grail: A politician who wasn’t owned by special interests and was willing to think outside the box. And Brown listened to Jaime when he expressed his opinions instead of flipping through his Rolodex, something the last congressman Jaime had worked for had done.

Jaime was waiting for Admiral Brown when he came back from the White House. He had already watched the report on CNN that had claimed that Congressman Admiral Brown, as they always called him, had recommended to an unprecedented gathering that the country declare war against Sheikh al-Jabal and go after him wherever he was. The option they had been looking for for thirty years had been laid in front of them by a retired Admiral.

Actually, Jaime smiled, it had been laid in front of them by a Lieutenant who might be in just the right place to make it all happen. Jaime wanted to make sure Lieutenant Sean Woods got his chance, if there was any way in the world to pull it off. “Admiral!” Jaime yelled as Brown walked into the office. “Congrats!”

“Thanks, Jaime,” Brown replied as he removed his soaked suit coat and tossed it on the small couch across from his desk. The press was waiting for him to come back into the hall as he had promised.

“Admiral,” Jaime intruded.

Brown waited for the next question.

“I’ve got some ideas on how we can, um, return the favor to our constituent.”

Brown liked it. “Always thinking, Jaime, that’s what I appreciate most about you.”

Sami didn’t like going to the Association of Arab-American Businessmen’s meetings, the AAAB. They were well attended and the people he met there were, for the most part, interesting and intelligent. What he didn’t care for about the meetings was what they did to his father. He strolled around with his chest puffed out, going on at length about the good old days in Syria and in Egypt, where he had spent time. He even managed to mention Saudi Arabia and Tunisia, emphasizing the position he’d held on the Syrian Ambassador’s staff. He was the life of the party with some of the best Arabic bona fides. But the scene never failed to make Sami uncomfortable.

Sami slipped into the front seat of his father’s Mercedes and closed the door softly.

“You’re late,” his father scolded.

“I’m busy. I shouldn’t even be going.”

“You must go. If you don’t look out for Arabic concerns for your generation, who will?”

“There seem to be plenty of people who are quite happy to do that for me,” he responded tiredly.

“Don’t you care about your heritage?”

Sami glanced over at his father as he drove into downtown Washington. “We have this same conversation every time we go to these meetings. Let’s just skip to the part where you tell me you expected better of me.”

His father switched to Arabic. “You need to treat your father with respect,” he growled.

“I do respect you. You know that.”

“Then be the good son you should be and enjoy the meeting and your heritage.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You never come to the Mosque.”

Sami bit his tongue, but it didn’t prevent him from saying, “We haven’t had this conversation in probably three weeks.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“I don’t like going.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What do you want to talk about? Your work? What is it you’re working on anyway? Helping the U.S. help Israel?”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“Have you seen how they are causing the latest problems? I’m sure you have, with all your inside information. All your big secrets. You must see much that gives you concern about Israel, if they let you see those things, unless you’ve brainwashed yourself into ignoring the obvious.”

“What has got you so hot tonight?”

“The latest news. I can’t help wondering what is behind all the curtains.” He made a sharp right hand turn into the parking lot of the Hyatt Hotel. “You see behind them, maybe. Maybe you see who is pulling all the strings. Frankly, Sami, I agree with Sheikh al-Jabal. He, or those like him, have been around for nine hundred years. I don’t agree with the way he is doing it, and I’m not in favor of the Nazir Isma’ili sect that he comes from. I am not in favor of murder, or terror—”

“How can you agree with—”

“Let me finish!” he said, stopping the Mercedes. “I agree with their position against the Crusaders and the Jews. They don’t belong there.”

He turned off the car and got out. Activating the alarm, he looked at Sami across the roof of the shiny black sedan. “Don’t ever forget what Muhammad said: ‘Let there be only one religion in Arabia.’ And Arabia is the entire Arabic world. Don’t ever forget that, Sami.”

Sami followed his father, walking a few steps behind him, feeling like a tethered goat. When they entered the large ballroom, ornately decorated with flags and banners from Arabic countries, it was full of people, mostly men in suits. Sami’s father headed straight for a group he recognized. As the most recent past president of the Association of Arab-American Businessmen he knew nearly everyone there. Reluctantly, Sami joined the circle.

The conversation immediately turned to the Sheikh. Everyone had something to say. All, of course, had heard of the Hashasheen, and several knew the basic historical origin of the Sheikh and his followers. And they had also heard the Washington rumors, that the United States government was considering declaring war against him as an individual. There was general scorn and derision over the idea, and many commented that it was of course only an Arab who would receive such individual attention, unprecedented in history. It was just another example of the general anti-Arab sentiment of the United States.

Sami didn’t say anything. He tried to figure out how long he had to wait until he could make an exit.

One of the men addressed Sami. “So, Sami, you still work for the CIA?”

Sami hated the question. “Yes, more or less.”

The man smiled. “We need men like you at all levels of the U.S. government.”

Sami drank from a tall glass of water a waiter had just brought to him.

“Are you able to make any headway?”

“In what way?”

“In protecting Arab interests. What else?”

“I protect the interests of all Americans.”

The man frowned but quickly smiled again. He glanced at Sami’s father then back at Sami. “Don’t you think our interests are different? What we’re here for?” he asked, indicating the entire room of people.

“Different in some ways, sure. But not for what I do.”

“Don’t you find that often there is a certain derogatory mind-set about Arabs? About Islam? Is it in the CIA?”

“I’m really not free to talk about my work,” Sami replied.

“Yes, but people come to conclusions that are different if someone you’re thinking about, or studying, is an Arab. Am I right?”

“I don’t know—”

“What about this Sheikh?” the man pushed. “Does anyone explain his roots? His history? What he means in our countries?”

“Like I said—”

“Yes, yes.” The man laughed. “Never mind. Too Top Secret. I understand. Let me ask you this instead,” he said, leaning toward Sami. The rest of the small circle listened carefully. “Can we count on you to be fair to the Arab cause? To what we stand for?”

“I’m fair to every cause.”

“Then you should have no problem at all in promising me, all these men here, all of the members of the Association of Arab-American Businessmen, that you will personally be fair to the Arab cause in whatever you do in your Top Secret job. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you will be fair to the Arab cause.”

“I will be fair.”

“To the Arab cause.”

Sami took another sip of his water and noticed his father staring at him from his left. “To the Arab cause.”

The man smiled and lifted his glass to Sami in victory and camaraderie.

The idea had swept through Washington. As soon as President Garrett had gone on the record publicly as supporting it, the only opposition was from those who felt it degraded a declaration of war so much as to render it useless, like turning a firm pine baseball bat into a plastic Wiffle-ball bat good only for playing the make believe backyard game forever thereafter, never fit to return to the big leagues. But its supporters had won the day in two furious days of debate, mostly on live television with appearances by harried law professors and scrambling politicians. Most of the politicians had lined up in the idea’s favor and the opposition was sounding limp and bitter. Admiral Brown was the public hero, and the mysterious Lieutenant who had come up with the idea was the unknown hero. Admiral Brown had acknowledged him, but had refused to name him. He was painfully aware of how easy it was to find people, and the last thing he wanted was for Lieutenant Woods, or someone in his family in the States, to be the next victim of the Assassins. The press pressured him, but Brown balked, unwilling to identify him.

But now Brown’s time had come. The President had asked him to present the resolution for a declaration of war before a joint session of Congress. And the President would be there to sign it as soon as it passed. He stood looking over the packed House floor.

Brown waited for the minor conversations on the floor to die down. He had the attention of everyone in the room and he began with the usual introductions, then, “This country has declared war six times. But there have been more times when the United States has sent its armed forces into combat and never called it war. We have done our military a grave disservice by asking them to do the work of the politicians, without the politicians having the nerve to call it what it is. We have put the burden on men and women of our country to risk their lives when we were unwilling to risk our political lives. The result has been the divorce of warfare from the people. The founding fathers put Article One, section eight, into the Constitution, stating that Congress has the power to declare war. Congress, not the President. It has exercised that power before, but not since World War II. Since then, Congress has been afraid. We have fought all over the globe, sending the members of our armed forces to their deaths in defense of American interests, and have not declared war once.

“The reasons for this are obvious. We did not want to declare war against a small country and have that country believe that we were going to annihilate it. We did not want to declare war against a large country, whether cold war or hot war, thereby causing World War III and a nuclear exchange. Those fears are understandable. It can be debated whether or not it was right to fight without declaring war from the end of World War II until the end of the cold war. But from this point forward it must be done differently. War must be declared by Congress, the representatives of the people of the United States of America. Without the participation of Congress, the war powers become just another arrow in the quiver of the Executive Branch. The war power is probably the greatest power that can be held by any government. To allow that power to migrate to the Executive Branch and be held by the President results in our taking one large step toward monarchy. Such a step is not only intolerable, it is unthinkable. Yet, it is exactly the step we have taken.

“But it can be undone. Congress must reestablish itself with the power that it was given by the founding fathers.

“I say all that by way of background. I am bringing such a request before the House now. I hereby request that the United States declare war against Sheikh al-Jabal and his group of murderers, his empire of Assassins, those who have harmed Americans, those who have participated with those who have harmed Americans, and anyone else found with them. This is the time of limited war. Not based on geography, but based on people. Not about conquest of territory, but of fear, and of terror. We are ready for this war, and will prevail. We will bring to bear all the force that the United States has, and we will never rest until we are victorious in this endeavor.”

Sami turned off the television in the task force room. “Looks like he’s dead serious. I think it’s a great idea.”

Cunningham was less enthusiastic. “Seem to be an awful lot of international law implications here people aren’t dealing with. How do you declare war against an individual? The whole idea of war is against another country, a sovereignty.”

“And what do you do if all the people who are waging war against you, killing all your people, are not found in any particular country?”

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t sound right to me.”

“Some people think the whole nation-state concept is basically dead anyway. All the major countries that were formed from consolidation or takeover are falling apart. Look at Russia, Yugoslavia, China, the United States.”

“United States?”

“Just seeing if you’re listening. But it’s only a matter of time here too.”

Kinkaid interrupted the banter. “You know what we have to do, don’t you?”

Cunningham and the others nodded. “Find him.”

“Exactly. We have to provide the geography for this new kind of war. We’d better know where he is. We’d better have someone to go to war against. When we give this target a place, the war is going to start in earnest. And if we don’t find out where he is, the entire thing is going to stall out and we are going to look really stupid. Anybody know what happens to the people who make the President start to look stupid?”

Sami raised his hand and changed the direction of Kinkaid’s point. “I’ve been thinking.”

“What?” Kinkaid replied, annoyed by the interruption.

“Remember when I said he might be living in the same places as the old guys did?”

“Same kinds of places?”

“I’m wondering whether he’s gone back to the identical places where the original Sheikh lived.”

Kinkaid stared at Sami. “Could he?”

“I don’t know. I just thought of it. We should do some work to locate them, and get some imagery.”

“Where are they?”

“One is Alamut.”

“What?”

“The only one I know of for sure is Alamut. It’s a mountain fortress that is almost completely inaccessible.”

Kinkaid looked around the room wondering what everyone else was wondering. “Where is it?”

“Western Iran.”

“Iran?”

“Yeah.”

Kinkaid hesitated, not liking this information at all. “You realize the implications if these guys are in Iran?”

“Makes it harder.”

“Uh, yeah. Of all the guys that you don’t want to dick with, those would probably be at the top of the list. They have no sense of humor at all.”

“It’s a long shot. I doubt he’s using Alamut anyway.”

“We’ve got to find out. You know the location?”

“I can get you a picture.”

“You got a latitude and longitude for our satellites to look?”

“I’ll have it to you by this afternoon.”

“Do it.”

The Sheikh was extremely pleased. They had performed better than he had hoped. They had not yet had even one casualty, and had inflicted on the world a mass panic and concern for the future for not only the Middle East but for all Americans worldwide. The Sheikh sat in his dark, stone room inside the fortress. He was surrounded by those who had grown up yielding their will to his. He operated with a group of men around him, his staff, although he didn’t call it that. There were six or seven near his age — forty-five — whom he thought had enough wisdom to manage the men underneath them.

He worked closely with his inner circle, on a daily basis. They sat around him now. No one spoke. They were reveling in the glory of their success, and their newfound world fame. The Sheikh finally broke the silence. “Allah has been very good to us. We have succeeded in everything we have tried.” The group nodded, agreeing with his sentiments. “But the war has just now begun. The United States has declared war against us. That is fair and just, as we have already declared a Jihad against them. By doing this, they have given us even greater recognition and power than we ever could have hoped for. No country has ever done this to one man before, this declaration of war that the West does. They have recognized me as their threat, large enough for their entire government to declare war against me. A larger threat, one must assume, than Korea, and Vietnam, and Iraq. This is a great honor and a great sign that they are afraid.

“But they do not understand us. They do not know who we are, or what it is that we hope to achieve. They do not understand that we have already achieved much of what we hoped to achieve. From this point, it can only get better. We must execute the rest of our plan to draw the entire region of Palestine into the bath of fire that we will create to eradicate the Jews, America’s puppets. The PLO has gone soft, all for the pitiful Gaza Strip and part of the West Bank. Although they are our brothers, they have failed.

“Now the Americans have, as I told you they would, walked directly into our trap. They have obligated themselves to come into our land. But they don’t know where we are.”

The youngest of the inner circle had been listening closely. His face showed concern. “They will find us. They almost succeeded in killing you at Dar al Ahmar.”

“That was my error. I deviated from my rules to help a member of my extended family. It will not happen again. Our circles are tight. Our intelligence is good. We have those in the right places who tell us the things that we need to know. Our locations have not been discovered. But we must now execute our plan. If I am right, the Americans will attack, and when they do, they will attack our protectors, who also hate us.”

He reached down to the table in front of him and picked up a cup of strong coffee. He drank from it. “Then the bath of fire will truly begin.”

Woods, Wink, and Pritch stood in CVIC and stared at the charts of the Middle East that covered an entire corkboard wall. Other aircrews were poring over the same charts, checking out the latest intelligence now represented by marks for SAM sites, navigation points, outlines, and other points of interest. Woods spoke to Pritch without looking at her. “This would be a lot easier if we knew where we were going.”

“Yes, sir. We’re working it.”

“We who?”

“Your entire intelligence community at your service, sir.”

Woods winced. “The same professionals who didn’t know this guy existed a month ago.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll find him.”

Woods didn’t respond. “Can’t even plan anything. No route.”

“Think of it as a challenge, sir—”

“Quit saying ‘sir’ all the time.”

“Yes, sir. At this point all we can do is become familiar with the area.” She put her hands on her hips as she gazed at the charts. “I think it’s helpful to chart the SAM sites, for example. I’m in the process right now of updating Syria and Lebanon, and particularly the Bekáa Valley.”

Woods’s face showed his surprise. “You think we’re going to the Bekáa Valley?”

“I don’t know,” Pritch replied. “A lot of things seem to happen in the Bekáa.”

“This guy have any ties there we know about?”

“Not directly. But as you recall, Dar al Ahmar is in the southeast part of the Bekáa. They’re trying to figure out all this guy’s ties around the world.” She looked around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation, as if it made some sort of a difference.

She continued. “The FBI is working with the CIA to try to find out where this guy has his money, his contacts, his false documents, any people in place in the United States, anywhere they can find anything. They’re pulling out all the stops. Plus the usual analysis, imagery, you name it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I guess that’s good.”

“It’s good unless you’re him. I would bet that we find him, and pretty quickly. Think of how much easier it is to look for someone than to be looked for. It’s a lot easier to shine a flashlight into the dark than to try to be invisible when someone else shines his light.”

“You got that right.” Woods returned his attention to the charts. He studied the Bekáa Valley. “If he’s there, he’ll be under a SAM umbrella on the way in and on the way out.”

“Looks that way.”

“What are his ties to Lebanon? What was he doing in Dar al Ahmar in the first place?”

Big strode quickly into CVIC. He saw Woods and came to where he and Pritch were standing. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Just checking out the charts. Trying to break the code on where we’ll be going,” Woods replied.

“Sure,” Big said, studying the charts. “Hell, Pritch, these charts make it look like there are more SAM sites than people. What is up with that?”

“We’re working the problem, sir—”

“Shit, Pritch,” Big said. “We’ve already declared war! You telling me we don’t even have a target? We’re going to look stupid again. For once in their lives the politicians step up to the plate, and Intel can’t get their shit together to find out where the target is?”

“We’re trying, sir.”

Big was getting frustrated. “You buying this preplanning a hundred routes?” he said to Woods.

“I hear ya,” Woods replied.

“I’m not going to plan nonexistent strikes. I’ll wait till we have a real target.”

Lieutenant Commander Randy Dennison, the Air Wing Intelligence Officer, yelled at them from across CVIC. “You guys hear?”

“Hear what?” Woods asked.

“Syrians say they found a missile casing from the big air battle with the Israelis. They’re claiming it’s an American missile.”

Woods tried not to look surprised or show his inner panic. “What do they mean by that?”

“They say it’s different from the Israeli missile casings that they have. There’s some different writing on it.”

“That’s a dead issue,” Big said. “They’re still trying to make us look bad. Pretty desperate. I wonder what they did to it to make it look American. Probably put ‘This missile is American, fired by an American fighter at a Syrian without authorization’ on it.”

Dennison walked over to them. “Could be interesting if the missile is truly different.”

“Interesting in that it might help us see how clever and deceitful they are. We weren’t there, Commander. And if we weren’t there, there sure wasn’t any other carrier or American airplane nearby.” Woods hoped his bravado disguised the panic that was about to engulf him.

“If the missile has a number on it, it can be traced,” he said, smiling. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

Pritch tried to get back to the planning. She didn’t even want to know about the missile. She wasn’t ready for her world to crash down around her, which is exactly what would happen if the missile they found had an American serial number on it. She was sure she’d be exposed at some point. She had begun to think that not being fully informed about the entire operation wouldn’t get her out of it. Yet she couldn’t tell Bark about Woods. It would ruin him, and she had grown very fond of him, fonder than she would ever acknowledge. “What exactly is the plan for the strikes?” she asked Big and Woods.

Woods replied first. “The Eisenhower battle group is on its way. They are supposed to be here tomorrow—”

“From Italy?”

“Right. Naples. Where the CO of VFA-136 was shot.”

“It’s ironic,” Big said philosophically. “They murdered an officer off each carrier. Makes the revenge knife just a little sharper.”

Pritch studied the pilots. “What did we ever do to him?”

“We’re the Crusaders of the Middle Ages, conquering the Middle East in a different way. They used horses and soldiers, we’re using Israel and diplomacy.” Big pushed his sleeves up. “These people construct these bizarre dead-wrong theories, and go kill people based on them. They are so far from reflecting reality that it causes you to wonder if there isn’t something else at work.”

“Are we going to have some kind of briefing where we discuss who will be doing what?” Pritch asked.

“There’s supposed to be a joint strike planning meeting when the Eisenhower gets within helicopter range. Big and I are on the strike planning team. I’m not sure if the meeting will be here or on the Eisenhower—”

“Think I could go?” Pritch pleaded.

“I doubt it. Why would you want to?”

“Because I need to know what’s going on.”

“We’ll see.”