The Line

CHAPTER 9

“Sit down and let me explain from the beginning,” Boomer said, forestalling Skibicki’s and Trace’s questions.

He began with the mission into the Ukraine, sketching out the events and the people involved. Trace was shocked to learn that the inspectors had been killed by Boomer’s team, but Skibicki seemed none too surprised.

“You think it was deliberate?” he asked Boomer.

“Yes. Especially after seeing the fall-out in the press over the deaths. I think we were sent there to kill exactly who we killed and I think Decker knew it from the start.”

Then he described seeing Decker in the tunnel, the strange happenings in A Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Special Forces Group, with Wilkerson being set up and relieved and Keyes taking over. He added the mysterious jump scheduled for the night of the second with the men in the hotel room who happened to have a load of scuba gear.

“Combine all that with the military’s unhappiness over the MRA and the existence of The Line—”

“Possible existence,” Trace cut in.

“This doesn’t look like just possible,” Boomer said, pointing at the ring he’d taken off the man at the hotel.

“Nothing here has just been a coincidence.

“Anyway,” he conceded, “add in the’ possible existence of this Line organization, and I think we have a bad situation here.”

Trace shook her head.

“I don’t understand what 1st of the 1st has to do with this. So you’ve got a new CO for A Company 1st of the 1st. One who’s politics are sort of right wing.”

“But he’s not S-F-qualified,” Boomer noted.

Trace continued on.

“And he’s taking over because the last commander said he got set up to be relieved and his company is getting new people in that he doesn’t have authority to slot where he wants. Did they set up his making the mistake that got him relieved?”

“They’re stacking a couple of teams there,” Boomer insisted, giving his explanation for events on Okinawa.

“Uh-huh,” Trace said.

“And you have these fourteen people and two bundles jumping into a water DZ on the night of the second off the coast.”

“Most likely those same teams from 1st of the 1st,” Boomer said.

“But how can you connect them to The Line. If The Line exists?”

“I don’t have a direct connection,” Boomer conceded.

“But I think someone, somewhere, is pulling some strings and most of the principal players are West Pointers.”

“So are we,” Trace interrupted.

“Yeah, but we aren’t Rhodes Scholars,” Boomer said sarcastically.

“If they only pick a couple of people every few years, I’m not too surprised they didn’t pick us to be part of their little organization.”

“Speak for yourself,” Trace said, trying to smile.

“I ranked in the top twenty of my class.”

“Shit, Trace,” Boomer said.

“Get real. You could have been number one and they wouldn’t give you the time of day. The Line probably had a shit fit when Congress passed that law allowing woman into the Academy. The damn super intendant at the time threatened to resign.”

“Let’s get back to facts,” Trace said.

“We have no proof that The Line exists. All I had were the muddled memories of an old lady. And what does that have to do with my manuscript? The men in the hotel were connected to the men you killed behind the house. You’re only connecting them to this jump because of their scuba gear—”

“The map,” Boomer said tapping it, “locks them together.”

“OK, they’re connected,” Trace said.

“If this is all fact, what are they here to do?”

Boomer rubbed his eyes, his voice cracking with fatigue.

“When is the President arriving?”

Trace slumped back, the disbelief apparent on her fine features.

Skibicki silently went to a table in the corner of-the room and pulled out a sheet of papers with a classified stamp on the cover.

“This is the OPLAN for security. He arrives on Ohau the morning of the sixth. He’s attending a fundraising dinner at the Royal Hawaiian on the night of the sixth, then the ceremony at Pearl on the morning of the seventh. He’s scheduled to commemorate the anniversary with a minute of silence at 7:54 a.m.” the time when the attack started.

His speech is set for 8:00 a.m.

“So we have six days.”

“Hold on one second,” Trace said.

“How do you come up with a plot against the President? I think you’re stretching here. Boomer.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s writing the book,” Boomer replied.

“You’re the one that told me about The Line.”

“But I was talking about fiction. A novel. Boomer, you know like Stephen King and John Grisham.”

“You based it on facts as told to you,” Boomer said.

“You just automatically assumed she was senile. What if she’s floating with all her oars and told you the biggest secret of the century? God, Trace, it’s as if she told you the mob shot JFK and you called Joe Bonanno and said, “Hey, wanna hear a good story?”

“Calm down, both of you,” Skibicki said. He was looking at the map.

“The water jump. It makes sense now. The President’s speaking at Pearl Harbor; that has quite a bit of water in it, last I checked. If I was going to plan an operation, knowing the security that the President always has, I don’t think I’d come at him on land.”

“You think it’s an assassination?” Boomer had not taken it to that drastic conclusion.

“I don’t think they’d go that far. More likely they have something planned to politically hurt him.”

“I don’t even know that anything’s planned,” Skibicki countered.

“We’re just speculating here. We got some strange shit going on and we’re checking it out.” He looked at the map.

“The President’s exact itinerary is classified, but there’s one place and one time everyone knows exactly where he’s going to be: the Arizona Memorial at 7:54 a.m. on the seventh of December. If I was doing a target folder, I’d start with that fact. And the Memorial is in the center of Pearl Harbor, which just happens to contain a lot of water,” he added, looking at Boomer.

Skibicki sat down in the seat marked commander and swung his boots up on the conference table.

“Let me ask Vasquez to do some checking.”

“Vasquez?” Boomer repeated.

“She’s smart and she’s hooked into the intelligence apparatus on this island like you wouldn’t believe. She can go up to PA COM or over to Pearl and check on damn near anything. Hell, she’s got a direct computer line into the NSA back on the mainland.”

“What will you tell her to look for?” Boomer asked.

“Anything out of the ordinary,” Skibicki said.

“In fact, I’ll set it up like I would if I was going to do a mission.

Have her check to see if anyone else has done any checking on information about the President’s visit or about security, or the setup at Pearl. Anything.”

“Sounds good,” Boomer said. He turned to Trace.

“Try to remember. Is there a way to learn more about The Line?

If it’s real it had to have had a history. More than just involving Patton. Sixty years is a long time for a secret organization.”

“You’ve made up your mind this thing exists and you,” she said, pointing at Skibicki, “think they’re going going to kill the President.

Do I have this right?” She waited and their silence was her answer.

“Hell, then I have the entire history of The Line. It’s my outline.

The stuff I made up last month that now turns into fact.”

Boomer grabbed her hands.

“Listen, Trace. You don’t want to believe it, but those guys at your house had a sniper rifle loaded with a bullet that had your name on it.

Maybe that’s why. Maybe taking the nurse’s story and whatiffing through history like you did is exactly what happened. Can you talk to this woman again? Is she still still alive?”

Trace was pale, her hands trembling in Boomer’s grip.

She nodded with resignation.

“She lives on the mainland. I’ll have to go, won’t I?”

Boomer nodded, but his brain was racing over the events of the last few days. He turned to Skibicki.

“You told me that you saw Hooker in Vietnam.”

Skibicki was looking at the map.

“Yeah?”

“If The Line exists. Hooker’s one of them. You said he was involved in what happened at Nha Trang with your commander.”

Skibicki nodded.

“Yeah, he was.”

“Does Colonel Rison know anything about The Line?” Boomer asked.

“Who’s Colonel Rison?” Trace asked.

“The Special Operations Commander in Vietnam in 1968,” Skibicki replied.

“Why would he know about The Line?” Trace asked.

“It’s a long story,” Boomer said.

Skibicki flipped open his spiral notebook one more time.

“Let’s find out. Last I knew Rison retired to New York.

Up in the Adirondacks.” He checked his watch.

“It’s just after two in the afternoon there.” He turned on the conference room speakerphone, punched in the number, and waited.

After two rings, the other end was lifted and a strong, but very guarded voice came out of the box.

“Hello?”

“Colonel Rison?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

“This is Sergeant Major Skibicki calling from Fort Shafter in Hawaii.”

“Earl Skibicki?” The voice warmed considerably.

“How are you doing, you young fool?”

“I’m not so young any more, sir.”

“Hell, none of us are, son, none of us are. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got some people here that want to talk to you. You remember Mike Watson, RT Kansas?”

“Hell, yes, I remember him.”

“Well, I’m with his son. Boomer Watson. He’s a major now, assigned out of Bragg.”

“I guess from the echo I’m on a speaker,” Rison said.

“Yes, sir,” Skibicki answered.

“Well, Major Boomer Watson, your dad was one hell of a soldier. Who else do you have there?”

“I’m Major Benita Trace, sir. I’m a friend of Boomer’s.”

“What can I do for you?” Rison asked.

Skibicki gestured at Boomer, who took the cue.

“Sir, this is Boomer Watson. I appreciate what you said about my dad.

The sergeant major told me about his last mission.

We have a problem and Sergeant Major Skibicki says you might have some information that could help us out.” That earned a glare from Skibicki, but Boomer didn’t have time to play games.

The voice hesitated.

“What do you need to know?”

Boomer took the plunge cold.

“Sir, have you ever heard of an organization called The Line? It’s a group of—”

“Wait a second,” Rison’s voice snapped.

“Skibicki, you still there?”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant major sat up straight in his chair.

‘ “Verify for me the name of the mascot at the B-50 base camp in early ‘sixty-eight.”

Skibicki nodded.

“We had a mangy old dog there named Crazy, sir.”

“And who did what with the dog every Friday night he was in camp?” Rison demanded.

Skibicki glanced at Maggie and Trace.

“Uh, well, sir, Howie Mendenez used to get plastered, then take the dog in the club and—”

“All right, that’s enough.” Rison interceded.

“You’re Skibicki, but I won’t talk about this over the phone.”

Boomer leaned forward. “Sir, this is important. We need to—”

“No, young man, you listen to me. You want to know about that organization, you come here and talk to me.”

Boomer looked at Trace. She shrugged. He turned back to the phone.

“Sir, that’s not possible right now. We—”

“It mustn’t be that important to you, then,” Rison replied sharply.

“It’s very important to us,” Boomer protested.

“But we’re in Hawaii and we need to know now. There are things going on that are vital to national security.”

There was a loud snort of derision.

“I’ve heard that bullshit before. I don’t who the hell you or the young woman are. I know who Skibicki is, but they’ve turned others on me before. I won’t talk over the phone.” He paused.

“You want to see me, you come to me.”

“Wait one minute, sir.” Boomer hit the hold button on the phone, then turned to Trace and Skibicki.

“What do you think?”

“I think if you want to know what the colonel knows, one of the two of you ought to go talk to him,” Skibicki said.

He pointed at Trace.

“I think she ought to go. We’re going to have to guard her if she stays here. This way we can get her to the mainland and out of sight for the time being, while we figure out what is going on.”

“We don’t have much time,” Trace added.

“Can you go?” Boomer asked.

Trace nodded.

“I can get leave this evening. If he’s in New York, I can see Mrs. Howard. Maybe she does know more.”

Boomer took it one step further. “Will you go?”

“This is so crazy,” Trace said.

“I know everything you say fits a pattern but-“-“

“People have died.

Trace,” Boomer said.

“That we know for sure.” He pointed at the phone.

“Rison acts like he’s heard of The Line.”

“Rison does know something about The Line,” Trace agreed.

“And I guess I’m the one who started all this with my manuscript. I want to know what he knows.”

Boomer reached over and turned the phone on. “Major Trace will come to talk to you, sir. She can meet you in New York.”

“I won’t be here,” Rison said.

“Meet me Saturday in Philadelphia.”

“Philadelphia?” Boomer asked.

“Yes. The Army-Navy game. I’ll be seated in section GG. Row Twenty-three. Seat One.” There was a click, then a loud dial tone buzzed through the room.

Boomer turned off the phone.

“Rah-rah-rah-boom. On brave old Army team,” he began to chant in a derisive voice.

“I’ve heard it before,” Trace snapped.

“What are you two going to be doing while I’m seeing Rison?” she demanded.

“We,” Boomer said, “are going to try and find out several things. We need to know the departure airfield for the plane. That will give us a good idea who’s dropping in. So while you’re in Philly enjoying the game, we’ll be greeting our incoming guests.”

Trace pulled out her wallet, removing her credit card.

“Let me call the airlines and see what they have leaving this evening for the mainland.” She paused.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Boomer stood up.

“Believe.” He pointed at the phone.

“Rison knows about The Line and I think The Line is here on this island. We’ve got six days to uncover what they have planned.”