The crisis following the discovery of nuclear material in an Al Qaeda safe house in Brooklyn was gathering force. The F.B.I. was clamoring to be let out of the conference room, where they were waiting with the FEMA haz-mat team in full protective gear. The Homeland Security honcho demanded to see the commanding officer and the guard relayed the message. Colonel Hanson, U.S.M.C., instructed Lieutenant Danowski to tell them that he was on a conference call at the highest levels and would join them as soon as possible. The invocation of ‘the highest levels’ partially mollified the rank conscious group, who were seething at being told to wait by a junior officer.
“They’re not very happy being confined together in there, boss.” Danowski reported.
“That’s alright, Ski. This way they may be more upset with each other than with us.”
The C.I.A. agents showed up next and made no objection to waiting in the conference room. Their belief in their inherent ivy-league superiority to the less well-bred members of the government insured that their condescending attitude would rile their colleagues, already agitated by what they perceived as insufficient respect for their positions. Hanson knew he was sitting on a time bomb by making them wait, but he thought it was the best way to keep from struggling with each agency, one at a time. The arrival of an Admiral sent by the Secretary of Defense, along with his aide, forced him to face the lions’ den. Hanson greeted him and Admiral Porter made a distinguished first impression with his military bearing, voluminous gold braid, and chestfull of ribbons. Hanson saw on a closer look that none of the ribbons were for combat, indicating that Porter was a political Admiral. His aide, Captain Rutherford, also had not seen combat. Hanson knew from bitter experience that armchair warriors were the most officious, so he prepared himself for a difficult session, and said: “Follow me, please, Admiral.”
They could hear voices raised in angry dispute before they got to the conference room. The guard at the door snapped to attention when he saw Hanson and stiffened even more at the sight of the dazzling gold braid. The guard opened the door smartly and Hanson stepped aside to let the Admiral enter first. The arguers fell silent at the approach of another service that would further complicate jurisdiction. Their baleful glances turned to Hanson, but before they could launch a frontal assault on him, Admiral Porter saved the day by diverting their attention.
“I am Admiral Porter and I’m here at the request of the secdef to take charge of the situation.”
There was a moment of stunned disbelief at the Admiral’s unexpected broadside. It didn’t last long and the veteran bureaucratic infighters focused their ire on the pushy sailor who presumed to blithely sail in and take control. The C.I.A. haughtily sat back and observed the squabbling of lesser mortals. Hanson, for once in his outspoken career, resolved to stand mute until questioned.
The confrontation had the fuel to go on until exhaustion rendered the combatants senseless. Only Hanson and the C.I.A. noticed the entrance of a civilian, who paused in the doorway and observed the raucous confrontation. Several aides and Secret Service agents hovered around her with arrogant amusement. Hanson recognized the Special Assistant to the President, Jessica Hatcher, known in political circles as ‘The Hatchet’, for her fierce assault on anyone who distressed her lady and master, President Valerie Beaumont. She was tall, thin and pale-skinned, as if she never got out of doors. She wore her dark hair in a tight bun and her dark blue power suit was the only concession to social convention. She had a scornful look on her face and emitted an aura of relentless opposition to anyone who threatened her. The quarrelers gradually became aware of her presence and subsided into an uneasy silence. When she had everyone’s complete attention, she announced coldly:
“I am Ms. Hatcher. I am here to take charge at the request of the President. I will read her written order. ‘November 16, 2012. The White House. I authorize Jessica Hatcher, Special Assistant to the President, to lead the investigation of the discovery of a possible nuclear threat to New York City. All concerned agencies and individuals will give Ms. Hatcher their complete cooperation and her requests will have the highest priority. Signed. The President of the United States. Valerie Beaumont’.”
Hatcher coolly surveyed the room, allowed the message to sink in, then asked:
“Any questions? Ladies? Gentlemen?” She obviously expected no response and looked at Hanson. “Colonel Hanson?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Ms. Hatcher will do.”
“Yes, Ms. Hatcher.”
“If everyone will be seated, Colonel Hanson will brief us.”
Even the C.I.A. quickly sat.
“Colonel.”
Hanson proceeded to relate the edited version of the raid, carefully omitting several details that might lend another interpretation to the action. Hatcher wouldn’t allow any interruptions and listened attentively, without showing any reaction to the story. When he finished, she asked:
“Is there anything more, Colonel Hanson?”
“That’s the gist of it, Ms. Hatcher. I think that should be enough for us to consider a suitable response.”
“Thank you, Colonel Hanson. Questions? Ladies? Gentlemen?”
Everyone started yammering at once and Royce, glaring at Hanson, out- shouted the others. “How dare you attack a private residence. The military has no right to wage war without authorization. You should have notified the F.B.I. immediately and let us deal with ….”
Hatcher held up her hand, cutting him off. “The only thing that concerns us right now is do we or do we not face a nuclear threat. I require constructive suggestions.”
There was no quick response and she looked at Hanson. “Do you have anything to say?”
“Yes, Ms. Hatcher. Our first task should be for the experts to verify that we captured genuine nuclear material. Once that’s determined, we can explore an action plan.”
“I concur, Colonel. Does anyone disagree with that suggestion?”
Again there was no response.
“I see there is a haz-mat team here. Can you tell us if we have nuclear material?”
“Yes, Ms. Hatcher,” the team leader replied, relieved at the possibility of not having to sit around much longer in their haz-mat suits. “We should move the material to our containment vehicle, where we can properly assess it.”
“How long before you can tell us what we have?”
“Barring the unforeseen, twenty to thirty minutes, Ms. Hatcher.”
“Please get started at once. Where is the material, Colonel?”
“In my office.”
“Let’s go then. Everyone else remain here and prepare written suggestions as to what we should do if the material is confirmed to be nuclear. Lead the way, Colonel.”
Everyone stood respectfully while she exited, followed by the haz-mat team, a grotesque contrast in their bulky white protective suits to her trim appearance.
The team checked the box with their equipment for radiation emissions, then checked the room and its occupants who were pronounced contamination free. Hatcher ordered them to test the material and bring the results to Colonel Hanson’s office, where she would be waiting. They rushed off to their contamination vehicle to examine the prize, as eager as science hounds with their first experiment. Hanson introduced police Captain Lonigan, Captain Alexandra Kent and Danowski and Hatcher asked them to wait in the corridor. Hatcher waited until the door closed behind them.
“I heard of you before this episode, Colonel Hanson. You caused this administration and the President herself considerable public embarrassment.”
“That was not my intention, Ms. Hatcher.”
“I was under the impression that you had been reduced to the rank of Sergeant.”
“Actually it was Gunnery Sergeant.”
“Well?”
“Well what, Ms. Hatcher?”
“How do you explain your current rank?”
“I don’t, Ms. Hatcher. You’ll have to ask my superiors.”
“You don’t intimidate easily, do you Colonel?”
“Is that what you’re trying to do, Ms. Hatcher?”
She looked at him appraisingly, then let out a brief snort of laughter. “Did you really think that your bullshit story would be believed?”
“I think that the facts speak for themselves, Ms. Hatcher,” he answered calmly. “We captured nuclear material….”
“That’s not confirmed.”
“And a prisoner who revealed the machinations of a nuclear plot, presumably targeting New York City. I didn’t go into specific details about the firefight at the house because it’s of minor importance compared to what we found.”
“I don’t doubt that there was a raid that led to violence. The real questions will be about the alleged confidential tip and how you responded to it…. You better hope that the material you captured is nuclear, otherwise you’re in big trouble.”
“We acted in what we believe were the best interests of the country.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll understand that one of the major issues we’ll consider will be whether or not you used good judgment…. Do Captain Kent and Lieutenant Danowski have any involvement in this situation?”
“No, Ms. Hatcher.”
“Then dismiss them and bring in this Captain Lonigan of the Police Department. I’d like to hear his version of the story.”
Lonigan substantially related the same story, with more details about the tipster’s information and the decision-making process once they were faced with a possible nuclear threat that had to be responded to immediately. He concluded: “I didn’t go into the house with the marines, so Colonel Hanson will have to tell you about that.”
She eyed both of them skeptically. “So you decided on your own to attack a house in Brooklyn that might have been inhabited by innocent civilians.”
“Not exactly on our own, Ms. Hatcher,” Hanson said. “I consulted my commanding officer, General Griffin, who decided on the basis of the possible nuclear threat to approve our investigating the suspect’s house.”
“Do you think a Marine General has the authority to order the invasion of civilian property?”
“We all agreed that the situation warranted immediate action.”
“Those could be your last words when you face a firing squad.”
“We don’t use firing squads any more, Ms. Hatcher.”
She smiled and he smiled back, a mutual respect forming.
The Sergeant of the Guard celled. “One of those guys in the spacesuits is back, sir.”
“Have him escorted to my office.” Hanson turned to Hatcher. “The haz-mat team leader will be here in a minute.”
“Then we’ll know what we’re dealing with. As I said earlier, you better hope it’s nuclear.”
“I hope it isn’t,” he replied.
“Why? That’s the only thing that will save your ass.”
“I’d prefer that there wasn’t a nuclear threat to my country. The implications are terrifying.”
The haz-mat team leader entered, then paused dramatically.
Hatcher impatiently demanded: “Well? Is it or isn’t it?”
He was slightly miffed at being deflated in his big moment, but understood the importance of his announcement and stopped pouting. “We have positively identified the material as enriched uranium 235. Our preliminary assessment is that it has the signature of a P2 centrifuge, which indicates it was produced at the giant Iranian nuclear facility at Natanz. We concluded that there is enough material to make a low yield, nuclear device.”
“That tears it,” she muttered. “We have a genuine event to deal with…. What will you do with this material?”
“We’ll take it to our laboratory for further inspection and wait for disposition instructions.”
“Alright.” She handed him a card. “Cell me immediately when you have more information.”
The team leader started to go.
“One moment, please,” Hanson said. “I’d like a receipt that confirms I transferred possession of the nuclear material captured in an Al Qaeda safehouse to FEMA.”
She eyed him calculatingly. “Why do you want a receipt?”
“To make sure that there’s an official record of captured nuclear material, in case anyone decides to cover up this event.”
“Are you trying to cover your ass, Colonel Hanson?”
“This is a lot bigger than my ass, Ms. Hatcher.”
“I think you can trust your government to handle this properly.”
“I trust my government, Ms. Hatcher. It’s certain individuals that I doubt.”
“What if I refuse your request?”
“Then I’ll just have to retake possession of the material and turn it over to the U.N.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, Ma’am. I’m trying to convince you of the importance of not letting this event disappear into the limbo of bureaucracy.”
She nodded to the team leader. “Give him a receipt.”
“I’d like it on a copy of your presidential order, if you please,” he said softly.
She grinned. “You have balls of brass, Colonel.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hatcher.”
“Call me Jess,” and she stuck out her hand.
He was not surprised by her firm grip. “Sam.”
Hatcher went to the copier, made a copy and handed it to the team leader. “Write the receipt.” When he finished, she took it and turned to Hanson. “Can he go about his business now?”
“Yes, Jess.” Hanson waited until he left, than said: “I’d like you to sign it, Jess.”
She laughed loudly. “I’m starting to believe the things I heard about you, Sam.”
She signed the document, which he folded and put in his pocket, Lonigan watching every movement with wide-eyed amazement.
“Before we rejoin the others, Sam, is there anything you’d like to tell me that you wouldn’t say in front of them?”
“I hope that everyone agrees that our highest priority is to find out if there is any more nuclear material in the country.”
“What about retaliation if we prove that this was sponsored by Iran and the Saudis?”
“Our first need is to protect the homeland, then we can consider other issues.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet a military man who’s not eager for war.”
“Some of us know how to think, Jess.”
“Not many. Do you think your prisoner can be helpful?”
“Possibly.”
“Does he speak English?”
“Enough.”
“Then I want to talk to him.”
Dmitry was as eager to please as a puppy. “I thank again for saving me, General, sir.”
“I’m a Lieutenant Colonel, Dmitry. Are you comfortable here?”
“Much. Is better than with nasty arabs.”
“Good. This is Ms. Hatcher. She is the Special Assistant to the President.”
“Of all U.S.A.?”
“Yes.”
Dmitry bowed. “My honor to meet boss lady.”
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Dmitry Goncharov.”
“Tell me about yourself.”
“What want know? Where from? How old?”
“Tell me how you became involved with Al Qaeda.”
“Was physics teacher in high school. Not enough money make for family to live, so borrow from Russian mafia. When not repay, they give choice. They take daughter, or I work off what owe. Not say how, but love daughter, so choose work off. They say work as science advisor in foreign country and while gone they help family. They take me to Denmark, then Mexico, where meet arabs who smuggle across border. We walk in little river, then desert, where we meet SUV. Then long ride to New York Brooklyn, where they say work with uranium 235. Arabs angry when tell cannot make bomb. Hurt me. Say kill if not make. Then ask if I make with book help. Not want them kill, so say yes. Then Colonel sir save me. I’m glad. Will help. Just worry family not safe.”
Hatcher studied Dmitry without revealing her thoughts. “Is that what he told you, Sam?”
“Basically. He added a few more details.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I need to know a lot more before I answer that. I have an interrogation team that can find out everything he knows.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The Justice Department has insisted that they are the only agency with jurisdiction over terrorists captured in the U.S.”
“Can’t Homeland Security override that?”
“Not in this case. The Director of the F.B.I. made the arrangements with the National Security Advisor.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Why?”
“They’ve been intimidated by the A.C.L.U. They place terrorist’s rights above the safety of the nation.”
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“You’ll find out the hard way, Jess.”
“You sound like one of those right-wing reactionaries who are ready to suspend the constitution.”
“The constitution wasn’t carved out of stone. I think due process has to be negotiable when terrorists plan to nuke our country.”
She stared at him appraisingly. “I’m beginning to get an idea where you’re coming from. I’ll see what I can do about interrogation, but don’t count on it. Now it’s time to hear what our colleagues have to say.”
“What do with me, boss lady?” Dmitry asked.
“You help us. We’ll help you, she said bluntly.”
“I help.”
The jurisdictional dispute was going full blast when Hanson and Hatcher reached the conference room. The volume of disagreement was sufficiently loud so that marines passing in the hall deliberately slowed to overhear a few choice morsels. The guard opened the door for them and whispered: “Semper fi, sir.” Hatcher heard the comment and glared at him, but the guard just nodded politely to her and resumed his neutral duty countenance.
Hatcher murmured softly to Hanson. “I’ve never been able to make up my mind whether loyalty to a military leader is good or bad for the nation.”
“True loyalty is a two way street,” he replied. “And in that case it’s good and a military organization can’t function well without it. One of the unfortunate failings of our system of government is the frequent lack of loyalty both ways.”
“Who has your loyalty, Sam?”
“The troops who serve well. My trusted superiors. The Corps. The constitution.”
“You didn’t include the President.”
“I’m loyal to the office, not necessarily the temporary occupant.”
“You’re not the cave man warrior who was described to me…. I noticed that you omitted god.”
“That’s personal and we have padres in the Corps for that.”
She wasn’t sure if he was being impudent or sincere. Before she could question him further her secret service detail rushed to her like pet dogs urgent to greet the returning master and formed a protective phalanx, ready to ward off any threats, real or imagined. The angry voices trailed off and everyone looked at Hatcher expectantly. She paused for a moment to get their full attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen. This is an official statement. The material in question that we are concerned about has been confirmed by the FEMA experts to be enriched uranium 235….”
Everyone spewed out questions trying to outshout the others, except the C.I.A., who sat back smugly as if they knew it all along. Royce of the F.B.I. was the loudest of all. Hatcher held up her hand for silence.
“Before I left you earlier, I asked you to write down your suggestions as to our course of action if the material turned out to be nuclear. Who wants to go first?”
Suddenly the aggressive representatives of their agencies were hesitant to participate in what they suspected might turn into a career threatening situation. Hatcher waited for a minute and when no one responded, said: “Admiral?”
Looking more like a flustered midshipman, he reluctantly got to his feet and consulted what might have been a shopping list his wife had entrusted to him for an upcoming cocktail party. He hemmed for a moment, then read slowly, stumbling over half-formed thoughts.
“We need to discover where the material came from. Then the civilian authorities must decide how to deal with the situation…. We must explore every option before we consider resorting to military force.”
A snicker, probably from the C.I.A., caused the Admiral’s face to turn red.
“Do you have anything else to add, Admiral?”
“No, Ms. Hatcher.”
“Then thank you.”
He was grateful to escape being singled out so easily and sat down, wiping his sweating forehead with a large handkerchief, letting out a slightly audible sigh of relief. Royce held up his hand to be recognized, but Hatcher ignored his urgent waving and selected the C.I.A.
“Let’s hear from your agency next, gentlemen.”
Their spokesperson slowly stood up, almost insolent with his casual attitude.
“I’ll have to consult my superiors first, then verify the level of security clearance for anyone receiving privileged information.”
Hatcher looked at him coldly. “That’s not very helpful.”
“We’re restricted by certain parameters from discussing foreign operations,” he replied, without the slightest hint of apology.
Hatcher realized that a power struggle was purposeless and turned to her aide, a young, competent looking black man, and instructed him to get the C.I.A. agent’s name, so she could deal with him another time. Then, once again ignoring Royce’s now frantic waving, she pointed to Homeland Security. A trim, attractive blonde in her early thirties, who looked as if she could jump right into a beach volley ball game, said crisply:
“I’m Sandra Palfrey, regional director of the tri-state area. Our first requirement is to get additional verification that the material is in fact uranium 235. Once that is confirmed, we must establish the origins of the material, how it got to the purported terrorists, how they got it into the country and what their intentions were. If this indeed proves to be a valid threat, we must present our findings to the National Security Council, who will then determine the appropriate response. Homeland Security will do everything it possibly can to facilitate the investigation into this most serious situation. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you’d care to add, Ms. Palfrey?” Hatcher asked.
“No, Ms. Hatcher.”
Now that Royce knew he would speak next, he composed himself so that he would be fully prepared to uphold the honor of the F.B.I. in front of their rival agencies. When Hatcher finally signaled him, he rose pontifically and raised his arms so that in anyone but a bureaucrat it would be a benediction. That elicited snickers from the C.I.A., who smirked at his impotent glare. He quickly forgot the assault on his dignity in the pleasure of once again occupying the spotlight.
“As you all know, the F.B.I. has jurisdiction over all investigations of domestic terrorism. My Director has entrusted me with the responsibility of carrying out that task in this case….”
“I’m not sure that it’s purely a domestic issue if the terrorists are foreigners,” Palfrey commented.
“I don’t have time for jurisdictional disputes, Ms. Palfrey. If you have a problem with the allocation of authority, take it up with my Director.”
Palfrey was ready to argue the point, but Hatcher cut her off. “We can discuss that later. Right now I want to hear from the F.B.I. Please continue, Agent Royce.”
Royce inflated from what he perceived as approval from the White House. “Our preliminary inquiry indicates that an illegal military operation was carried out, resulting in the loss of civilian life, damage to property and the unlawful detainment of an individual.”
He glanced at Hatcher to assess her response, but she was watching Hanson for a reaction. He was aware of her gaze and maintained a polite and slightly distant expression. Royce took out his notepad and read:
“We will thoroughly investigate this incident and present our findings to the U.S. Attorney for further action. We request the immediate transfer of the detainee to our custody. We require Colonel Hanson and Captain Lonigan to give us a list of the names of all personnel who participated in the incident. We will question everyone involved and determine whether or not they violated the law. If it is determined that violations of the law took place, we will obtain warrants from the U.S. Attorney for the arrest of any violators, who will be held for trial in a federal court. Thank you.”
Hatcher was annoyed that Hanson was right when he suggested that none of the agencies would give the highest priority to the search for possible additional nuclear material. She was also dismayed that she hadn’t thought of that herself and that she might have casually dismissed Hanson as a troublemaker and an ongoing problem for the administration, rather than a capable individual. She was appalled that the sophisticated, professional anti-terror agencies were oblivious to the most important problem they faced, while a controversial Marine saw things so clearly. She knew that the President would accept the F.B.I.’s agenda as a practical solution to a difficult problem, but she also knew that Hanson was right. She briefly considered allowing a coverup to avoid a crisis, and throwing Hanson to the jackals to appease the various agencies. But the image of a nuclear fireball consuming an American city deterred her. She immediately rejected that option, however much it might have benefited Valerie to complete her lame-duck term without a major crisis and let Jeb Bush inherit the problem.
Hatcher gave her full attention to her expectant audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I want to thank you and your respective agencies for your prompt response to a federal emergency. This group will convene tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m., at the Federal Building, in the main F.B.I. conference room. Please bring anyone from your agencies who can be of direct help in further developing our objectives. Please clarify the initial suggestions that you presented today and prepare a priority action plan to search for possible additional nuclear material in our country. I will see all of you in the morning.”
Each group was startled at their dismissal while they were still trying to assess the implications of her statement for their agencies. Only Royce was obtuse enough to question her.
“What about our legal investigations? Should we postpone them?”
“I believe I specifically said I wanted a written proposal in the morning.”
“What about the prisoner? I want custody of him right now. The Director arranged it with the National Security Advisor….” He trailed off weakly at the look on her face.
“We’ll consider your request in the morning,” she said coldly. “Thank you for coming.”
Everyone quickly left, eager to avoid her well known temper. Hanson stood there calmly while Hatcher conferred with her aides, and her secret service detail eyed him warily. He finally got tired of her gamesmanship.
“Is there anything further I can do for you, Ms. Hatcher?”
“I’ll be with you in a moment, Colonel.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied.
She glared, finished what she was saying to her aides, then said: “We haven’t eaten for a while, Colonel, so that’s next on our agenda.”
“We’d be pleased to have you and your staff dine with us in the mess hall,” he offered.
“That’s very courteous of you, Colonel. We’re staying at the Waldorf, in the Presidential Suite. Would you care to have dinner with us there?”
He quickly considered the risks of facing them alone. “Thank you, Ms. Hatcher. May I bring my staff?”
“I wasn’t thinking of anything so formal. Perhaps we can talk here for a few minutes instead.”
“Certainly, Ms. Hatcher. Shall we go to my office?”
“Yes.”
She told her aides to wait in the car and squelched the objections of the Secret Service to leaving first without her. “I think I’ll be safe with the Marines.”
Hanson held the door for her, but not her chair. When she was seated, she said: “It appears that you are the only one who thinks our highest priority is searching for possible nuclear threats.”
“My staff and superiors agree with me.”
“I’m afraid that your rogue operation has disturbed a lot of influential people.”
“I resent that description, Ms. Hatcher,” he said quietly.
“What would you call it?” she asked.
“Necessary and appropriate. We produced results.”
“Are you claiming that the ends justify the means?”
“In this case, yes.”
“The F.B.I. thinks you broke the law and should be prosecuted. The other agencies think you over-stepped your authority.”
“I did my duty, Ms. Hatcher, and I will do it again, if I have the opportunity.”
“Regardless of consequences?”
“That will be determined by what’s at stake. If there’s a nuclear threat to my country, I’ll do whatever is necessary to avert it.”
“You may be surprised to learn that I agree with you completely, Colonel,” and she observed him closely, looking for a reaction.
He replied without a change of expression. “I’m glad that someone in our government has the common sense to see the obvious.”
“There are still a few of us,” she replied.
She paused thoughtfully for a moment and he studied her, beginning to understand that she had such an imposing reputation because in the land of the uncertain the decisive were feared. His admiration for her was growing, but he didn’t know her well enough to reveal it and just watched her patiently.
“I will advise the President that we must urgently launch an immediate search for nuclear material throughout the country.”
“Will she believe you?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes. We will involve every possible agency that can help; federal, state and city, and we’ll use every resource available to the best of our ability.”
“If I can help, just let me know.”
“I don’t think we’ll need the Marines, but I’ll keep you in mind. Can you get any useful information from your prisoner by tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll try our best.”
“Royce will have complained to the Director by now and he’ll be complaining to the National Security Advisor. You’ll probably have to give up the prisoner in the morning.”
“We’ll do what we can. I’ll tell you what we find out at the meeting.”
“No, Colonel. Your presence will not be required. I’ll call you at eight a.m. for the information. Now, on behalf of President Beaumont, we thank you and your troops for your exemplary service. Goodnight.”
He was taken aback by the abruptness of her departure and realized that he would have no further participation in the nuclear crisis. The only contribution he might still make would be if he gleaned useful information from Dmitry. He had no idea if he, Lonigan and the other troops who went on the raid would be prosecuted for their actions. The thought of possibly going to prison was depressing and for a moment he gave into despair, then he forced himself to pull out of that negative state of mind and focus on other things. He buzzed Danowski, who had been waiting nearby.
“Send in Captain Lonigan, please, Ski.”
Lonigan was a refreshing change from the people he had just met with.
“Thanks for all your help, Mike. Ms. Hatcher is going to recommend to the President that the search for nuclear material in the country be given the highest priority. We’ll see what happens.”
“What about our version of the raid?”
“That’s a wait and see. You’ve done a great job. Go home and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Thanks, Sam. I’ll work with you anytime.”
They clasped hands, then said goodnight.
Danowski poked his head in. “How did it go tonight, boss?”
“They may not hang us.”
“That’s reassuring. Did they buy your story?”
“We’ll find out in the next few days. In the morning I want you to prepare the paperwork for promoting gunny Le Beau to Master Sergeant. Also, put a letter of commendation in everyone’s file who was involved in today’s action, including yourself.”
“Thanks, boss. What do I say it was for?”
Hanson thought for a moment. “Make it for exemplary conduct in a fire-fight with Al Qaeda.”
Danowski nodded. “That’ll work.”
“Find out how Moskowitz is and let me know before you go off duty.”
“She’s fine, boss. I checked on her a little while ago. Doc Carver gave her some pain pills after he treated her and as the saying goes, ’she’s feeling no pain’.”
“Good. Thanks, Ski.”
“You look beat, boss. Why don’t you call it a night. I’ll hold the fort.”
“I need to talk to Al first. Ask her to come to my office.”
Al looked as tired as he felt and she slumped in a chair in a decidedly unmilitary posture.
“You look exhausted, Al. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Do I have to make it an order?”
She grinned impishly. “Don’t be my C.O., Sam. I want to know what happened tonight.”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“I can’t wait until then,” she snapped impatiently.
“You’re being insubordinate.”
“Yes, Sam. But I don’t do it often.”
He finally grinned back. “Alright.”
He outlined what each agency rep had said, going into particular detail about Admiral Porter, the ineffectual representative of the Navy. He avoided any personal comment about Royce, confining himself to relating his accusations of criminal wrongdoing and his demand for the prisoner.
“He sounds like he’s out for blood,” she said.
“He won’t rest until he hangs us high.”
“What are we going to do about him?” she asked.
“I’ll get to that. Fortunately for us, he’s just a bureaucrat who’s only a threat because he knows how to use the system.”
Fatigue caught up with him and he paused for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
“You have a right to know.”
“Then correct me if I’m wrong, but I bet no one said how urgent it was to look for more nuclear material.”
“I regret to say yes. But there’s a surprise. Hatcher agreed with me and said she would recommend to Valerie that they give the highest priority to the search for nuclear material.”
“I thought she was Valerie’s pit bull? She should hate you.”
“Apparently she has a mind of her own and understands the danger. Whether Valerie will let her do anything about it is another question.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, Sam. Even Valerie should recognize a nuclear threat.”
“She may not want to deal with it and prefer to leave it for Jeb.”
“That’s scary.”
“Yes.”
“What can we do to help the search?”
“Nothing. Our participation is no longer required.”
“You mean that’s it for us?”
“Yes, Al.”
“That’s crazy. We discovered the threat. We captured the nuclear material. We’ve accomplished more than all the security agencies combined.”
“You’re right. But it’s out of our hands now and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“That sucks. They need us.”
“That’s the way it is, Al. We have to stand down.”
Al muttered curses softly and he gave her a minute to get used to the situation.
“There is one thing we can do.”
“What?” she asked hopefully.
“We have to turn Dmitry over to the F.B.I. in the morning, but we can question him until then. Maybe we can learn something that will be helpful.”
“Good. I’ll get Le Beau.”
“Not this time, Al. He knows I saved his life, so I think he’ll cooperate. You and I will question him.”
“Sure, Sam. Do you think he knows anything about additional nuclear material?”
“If he does, we’ll find out.”
She looked at him pensively. “Now that we’re officially no longer participating in the nuclear crisis, what will they do to us?”
He considered her question carefully. “If we’re lucky, they’ll buy our story and treat us like heroes.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then the story won’t hold up when they question the troops. There are too many contradictions.”
“Like what?”
“I said we were on patrol, but we left from the barracks. Why were we dressed in civvies? There are too many other loose ends, but at least they won’t find out about you and Blakney.”
“I’m not worried about myself,” she said indignantly.
“I know. But you won’t to be able to help me if you’re in the cell next to mine.” She nodded begrudgingly.
They sat there brooding for a while, then she asked quietly:
“What about Royce. I know that you and Jed hold him responsible for the deaths of your sons, Kyle and Tyrone, in the terrorist attack on the barracks. You aren’t going to let him get away with it.”
He took a deep breath. “As Jed was lying wounded in my arms, he made me promise to kill Royce. I intend to keep that promise.”
“I knew it. I’ll help you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you involved in this. What you did earlier tonight was in the service of your country. Killing Royce will be murder.”
“I know that, Sam, but Kyle and Tyrone were also my family. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t avenge them. Besides, you need my help. You can’t do it alone. How would you do it? Walk right up to him on Federal Plaza and whack him? I’m an experienced hit woman now. I’ll guide you until you make your bones.”
He finally managed a weak grin as he gave in. “Alright.”
“Thanks, Sam. You can always rely on me.”
He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words.
“This is not what I meant for you, Al. I planned a long, honorable career for you that would let you use your considerable abilities to serve your country. Now I’m recruiting you for murder.”
“I don’t see it that way. First of all, I’m volunteering. Even insisting. Others may not see it the way I do, but I know I’m serving my country honorably. In the last few days I’ve lost most of my family. I’m running out of tears for my country and my loved ones.” She took his hand. “I can’t afford to lose you.”
“You’re all I have left, Al,” he said softly. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
She grinned jauntily. “Why didn’t you tell me that before I joined the Corps?”
He smiled back. “I didn’t know it would come to this. We might even be dismissed from the Corps.”
“Then I guess we could do hits for hire,” she said lightly.
“I’m glad you can joke about it.”
“It’s either that or tears and I’m tired of crying.”
“Then we’ll go to the firing squad with a smile.”
“I’ll follow you anywhere, Sam. Even there.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Will I be able to request a last cigarette?”
“You know that smoking kills, Al.”
“So now my exalted leader is a comedian?”
“Not really. But I’m also running out of tears. Everything’s so uncertain that the only way to endure may be to laugh at our suffering.”
Author biographical sketch: Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director and worked as an art dealer when he couldn’t earn a living in the theater. He has also been a tennis pro, a ditch digger and a salvage diver. His chapbook ‘Remembrance’ was published by Origami Condom Press and ‘The Conquest of Somalia’ was published by Cervena Barva Press. A collection of his poetry ‘Days of Destruction’ has been published in 2009 by Skive Press. His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway and toured colleges and outdoor performance venues. He currently lives in New York City, where he’s busy writing. His poetry and short stories have appeared in numerous literary magazines.
