The Bear

Day Nine The Pentagon

“General Scott’s office,” the aide answered. He was clearly bored, thankful things had settled down now that there had been over a week since the accident in Alaska.

“I need to speak to General Scott.”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

“Stephen Thorn.”

“Uh, Director Thorn?”

“That’s me son. I need to speak to the general, and fast.”

“I’m sorry sir. General Scott is not in his office now.” The aide squirmed in his seat. He didn’t expect this one.

“Son, you need to find him, and find him now.” The voice on the other end of the phone was as commanding as any he’d heard in his military career.

“Yes sir.” The aide nearly stood at attention in his seat, but just as he looked up, General Fitzroy Scott walked into his office. “Sir, the general just came in.” The relief on the aide’s face was apparent. “General? Stephen Thorn is on the line for you.”

“Thorn? Really?” The CIA director’s name caught him by surprise. “Tell him I’ll take it in my office in a second.”

“Yes sir.”

General Fitzroy Scott took his time getting into his office. He’d had a busy day in the Pentagon, but things had begun to calm down a bit, and he was grateful for it. Odd, he thought though to have the Director of the CIA calling him. It was well known through the services that the DOD and CIA were not always on the best of terms. Scott was always of the opinion they routinely stuck their nose into places they didn’t belong. And their information was usually suspect. Scott slipped behind his desk, picking up his phone a few seconds later.

“Scott.”

“General? Stephen Thorn.”

“Yes sir. What can I do for you?”

“We have a situation. It is a direct consequence of what happened in Alaska.”

“Really?” That got the general’s attention. He leaned back with a new outlook on the call. “What can I do for you?”

“General, we’re in a crunch and I need a team for a mission.”

“How soon are we talking?”

“Within a day or two.”

“What kind of team are we talking about? We talking assault? What?”

“General, I need five people who are fluent in Russian, have a significant knowledge of Russian culture, and can work in an urban environment. At least one should be a pilot.”

“That’s kind of a specialized list, Mr. Thorn. It might take a few days to get that together.”

“We don’t have a couple days, General. Let me just say this comes from the highest authority.”

“The highest authority?” That unexpected statement caused a raised brow.

“THE highest authority, General Scott.” Thorn’s voice had begun to rise. He was getting irritated. He swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. “General, I know we don’t know each other very well, but it’s time to put partisanship behind us. We each have our own turf, but this is something bigger. I need a team, a military team, and I need it fast.”

“Let me get on it,” Scott sighed. “You’ll have it in a couple hours.”

“Thank you General,” Thorn answered. “Thank you.”

General Fitzroy Scott let the phone slip back to its base. He simply stared at it. ‘That was quite a request’, he thought. The CIA and the DOD had not been on good terms for years, a tension sparked by poor intelligence leading into the last gulf war. It cost the lives of a lot of soldiers. His soldiers. It was a resentment that still lingered, a bitter pill for many in the military. But he committed. He had a job to do and he lifted the phone, punching a two-digit number. The line connected immediately.

“Bureau of Personnel, Colonel Williams.”

“Charlie? Fitz Scott.”

“Well hello, General. To what do I owe the pleasure? It’s been a long time.”

“It has, Charlie. It has.” Scott straightened in his chair. It made the request feel more formal somehow. “I need a list put together, and quickly.”

“Sure General. Just a second while I get a notepad.” A quick flip of the page he had been looking at and Williams replied, “shoot, sir.”

“I don’t know what you’ll come up with, but I need it quickly. And by quickly, I mean yesterday.”

“Sure thing sir.”

Williams scribbled a note or two before laying his pen down.

“That’s all the criteria you have? It’s not much to go on, sir.”

“I know, but it is important. BUPERS hasn’t let me down before, and neither have you, Charlie. I know its short notice, but I’m in a hurry.”

“I’ll have it to you as quickly as I can, sir.”

“Take personal charge of this one. It’s that important.”

Charlie Williams looked at the receiver as it went dead before slowly putting his handset back down. He looked at the short list he had scribbled, his face scrunching in thought. He wasn’t sure if there were ten people in the armed forces that met these criteria, or a thousand. For as long as he had been in this bureau, he never ceased to be amazed at the requests that came down the pipe. Most requests were often obvious, promotions, transfers and the like, but others were quite the puzzle. This, was an odd list no matter how you gauged it. He pushed away from his desk and was out the door in seconds.

The fourth corner he turned brought him to the main computer terminal where data entry personnel dutifully went about the job of keeping and organizing all the military personnel records. It was a never-ending job. He slipped in behind an attendant and dropped his noted in front.

“I need this routed to my terminal as soon as you can find anything.”

A simple nod was his only reply.

“This has top priority.”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s better,” the Williams replied.

Colonel Williams returned to his desk and waited for the results. The time dragged by. He tried to busy himself with his routine functions, but he kept coming back to the same question: what was this list for? It was simple actually. Perhaps he was digging too deep. Keep it simple. Russian speaking. What did that mean? That meant they knew some of the culture. Urban warfare trained. An assault in a Russian city? His eyes widened. No way! A pilot? Someone to get them in, or maybe out. He leaned back into his chair with only one thought. This was part of a covert mission in… where?

The terminal chimed meaning a new file had been delivered to him. He looked at his watch. Two hours. Not bad. Not bad at all. He grabbed the mouse and opened the file as twenty names stared back at him. It took a half hour to read through what he wanted to find. Three women, two Army and one Navy, the rest all men, one Air Force, three Navy and the rest Army. All indeed had dossiers that said they spoke Russian. The sole Air Force representative was a pilot, though not actively in that duty. This was what he needed and he was immediately on the phone.

“General Scott’s office.”

“This is Colonel Williams. I am returning General Scott’s call.”

“I’ll put you through.”

“Scott.”

“General? Charlie Williams. I have the information you requested.”

“So soon? I appreciate that, Colonel. What do you have for me?”

“I can send it over if you want.”

“Just tell me what you found.”

“Well sir, there are only twenty names that fit the criteria you asked for. Three are women and the rest men. They are spread out across three of the services.”

“Any bad news?”

“Well sir, they are spread out a bit and not all are currently stateside. One woman is in the hospital and is unavailable for duty. The other two are available, one Navy, one Army. Of the men, one is in Alaska and is an Air Force pilot, though not currently in that role. Several are deployed in the Middle East, one is stationed here in Washington and one is at Bragg.”

“That’s not many to choose from.” Scott leaned back, a frown on his face. It did narrow down the choices he would have to make. “Charlie, send the names over to me. You still have my email address?”

“I’m sure I do sir. I’ll send it right away.”

“Thanks.” Scott leaned forward, his elbows landing on the wooden desk as he stared at the computer screen. God how he hated these things. As intelligent as he was, nearly a Rhodes scholar, he was sure computers actually made for more work instead of more efficient work. The red dot on the screen with the white numeral embedded, increased by one. That was it. He grabbed the mouse and clicked on the dot. From Bureau of Personnel, BUPERS, as it was generally referred to — he clicked on the email and the message filled his screen.

He scanned the services quickly. Army, Army, Air Force, Navy. All were represented. No Marines. He thought that odd. Likely none knew Russian. That was his first guess. His next qualifier was duty station. If he had to put a team together in only two days, they had to be stateside, or at least close enough he could pull them in quickly. That search narrowed them down to eight. Three women and five men. It was the same as Williams had said. One woman out, leaving two. Two men were close. The pilot was in Alaska. All the others were too far away. He picked up the phone and looked at the number he had jotted down on his scratch pad.

“Director Thorn, please. This is General Scott of the DOD.”

“I’ll put you right through, general.”

“Thorn.”

“Director? Fitz Scott. I’ve got a team.”

“Thank you General. That was fast. How soon can we get them?”

“Well, let me rephrase that. I have a list of names that we can pull together. It’ll take the better part of the day to get them all in place. And, well, how fast they can come together and work as a team, that’s just anybody’s guess. A military team takes time to gel, Director. They need to work together to become a unit.”

“I understand, General. We don’t have too much time for that. They leave in two days for this mission.”

“You know what you’re asking?” Scott replied. “You’re asking for a failed mission. And I’m guessing a mission in a foreign country, and I think I know which one.” The bitterness in his voice was beginning to show. You don’t send untrained teams into the field on a whim.

“I know the risks, General. I’ve commanded teams in the field. I’ve had them go bad. I still have nights that those failures rob me of sleep.”

“Then you understand.”

“I do. I’ve sent men to die, and I’ve almost died myself. I don’t want to do that again. These people have to be the best, General. They have to be able to think on their feet, and pull a trigger.” The conversation went quiet for a few seconds before the director asked the last question. “How soon can you get them here?”

“Noon tomorrow.”

“Thanks General. I’ll be in touch.”