Flash Point (24 page)

“No, they’re sure.”

“Where is he? Did they find his body?”

“No,” Woods replied. “They’re still looking for him. They’ll have people out there all day, looking for wreckage, trying to figure out what went wrong.”

She covered her eyes with her hand, her diamond wedding band glimmering in the sunshine. She shuddered. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “He was . . .” She couldn’t finish.

At the pier, another officer boat was tying up. “Big, go see if there’s someone from Gator’s squadron on that boat.”

“Rog,” Big said. He hurried down the pier and waited for the officer boat to unload.

Woods reached for Susan and held her close to him. “I’m sorry,” Woods said. Her mouth pressed into his shoulder, muffling her sobs. He stroked her hair, trying to comfort her. He didn’t know what else to say or do.

Big came back with another officer in tow. “Susan, here’s the XO,” Big said, relieved.

Gator’s XO looked at the scene and knew he had blown it. He was the one who was supposed to tell Gator’s wife about her husband. He had taken the Chief’s word for it as to when the first O-boat would leave. He hadn’t anticipated a bunch of anxious officers talking the coxswain into going early. “Hello, Susan,” he began. “I’m sorry about Gator. We don’t—”

“Is he really dead?” she asked, searching his face for any glimmer of hope.

“I’m afraid so.”

“But you haven’t found his body. He might still be out there.”

“We saw his airplane hit the water, Susan. He didn’t even punch out.”

“Aren’t you still looking for him?”

“Yes, we are, but he isn’t alive. Maybe we’ll find his body, but probably not. Don’t get your hopes up because we’re out there looking for his body. Look,” he said, wanting to comfort her, but not having any idea how to, “I’d like you to come with me. I have a place arranged. There are some things we need to do.”

The XO turned to Woods and Big. “Thanks. I missed the first boat. I owe you one.”

Woods spoke. “You need us for anything else?”

“No. I’ve got it from here. Thanks for stepping in.”

“Sure,” Woods said.

The two of them watched Susan and the XO walk slowly down the pier in the beautiful sunshine.

“You did good, Trey,” Big said.

“We didn’t have any choice.”

Big hitched up his jeans and tucked in his shirt. “Oh yes we did. If I’d been by myself I’d have walked right by her. No doubt about it.”

“So now we set off to go get your flokati rugs.”

“Yeah,” Big replied. “But I don’t feel much like shopping. That sure took the fun out of the morning. Nothing like staring mortality in the face.”

“How ’bout a cup of coffee?” Woods asked.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” They began to walk. “You ever come close to just buying it? Flying into the water or something?”

“Once. Scared the hell out of me.”

“Dangerous business, Trey.”

“Keeping the world safe for democracy.”

“I’m saying.”

Congressman Lionel Brown liked to have his staff meetings every day at 0730. Not 7:30, 0730, just like he was still in the Navy. Admiral Brown wasn’t like other members of Congress. He was a Naval Academy graduate and a retired Vice Admiral. His last job in the Navy as AIRPAC had taken him to North Island Naval Air Station in Coronado, California, the peninsula that forms San Diego Bay and sits across the water from the city. After retirement, Brown had moved to Washington, D.C., and worked in the defense industry. A beltway bandit, as they were called.

While in Washington he had been able to observe how the government operated. He had seen how military policy was made by people who had never served a day in the military. It had distressed him so much he’d decided to move back to Coronado, where he had kept a home, and run for Congress. Prior to his election there hadn’t been a single former flag officer or general in Congress. He had come to Washington with one agenda item — to make sure Congress knew what it was doing in the decisions it made about the military. Nothing else mattered to him. Just defense. The Speaker had wisely placed him on the House Armed Services Committee, and through attrition and retirement, he was now the senior member and the chairman. Considered defense-oriented, but rational, he was well regarded on both sides of the aisle.

He sat at the head of the conference table on the edge of his seat as he always did. He believed in daily staff meetings of thirty minutes to make sure everyone was on the same page. His schedule was passed around and problems that had come up the day before were identified and someone was assigned to solve each one. The meeting was over at 0800 whether all business was completed or not.

This meeting had been short, with all business completed at 0750. The Admiral was in a good mood. He pushed his thick, graying brown hair away from his forehead and put his reading glasses into his suit coat pocket. “Anything else for the good of the cause?” he asked his staff.

Jaime Rodriguez hadn’t planned on saying anything, but there was time. “We received an interesting letter the other day,” he began tentatively.

“Why didn’t you bring it up in constituent correspondence?” the Admiral asked absently.

Jaime knew he should have. That was why he was bringing it up now. “It didn’t strike me as being that important then, but it keeps coming to mind.”

“What was it?”

“From a Navy Lieutenant—”

“Constituent?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s his command?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where is he? Where is he currently stationed?”

“A carrier.”

“Ship’s company or an aviator?”

“Um . . . I’m not really sure.”

“What ship?”

“I don’t really remember, sir. Sorry, I hadn’t intended to bring it up. Since we had some time . . .”

“What’s so interesting about it?”

“It was about this Sheikh guy. The new terrorist?”

The Admiral nodded.

“He thought he had a way of hitting back at this guy.”

“What’s that?”

“He thought we should declare war.”

“Against whom?” the Admiral asked, amused.

“Against the Sheikh himself.”

Admiral Brown looked confused. “How could we do that?”

“It’s pretty interesting. He did his homework. He sent it by e-mail. He attached a memo from a priest—”

“A priest?”

“Yes, sir — claimed he had some expertise in ethics. It’s an analysis of whether it would be a just war, mentions Aquinas, and Grotius—”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, sir, but he also talked to a JAG officer about the legality of declaring war against one man. The JAG guy looked at it and said it could be done. Nothing that would keep us from declaring war against one man, a terrorist, or his whole organization for that matter. Then we could send the entire military after him. Wherever he is. And if someone is protecting him, or guarding him, then international law would allow us to go through them too.”

Admiral Brown looked at Jaime, his legislative director, carefully. He was clearly pleased. He loved new ideas. “A Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A very clever Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Admiral Brown glanced around the room. “What do you think about this idea?” he said to no one in particular.

Nobody said anything. Jaime finally replied, “I think it’s incredible.”

Brown nodded and checked his watch — 0800. He stood. “Tim?”

“Vacation.”

“Have him research it. This is the kind of thing that might respond to some good thinking.” To Jaime he said, “You’ll need to do a reply.”

Sheepishly Jaime said, “Sir, I already sent a reply back to him. I sent him a form letter about terrorism.”

The Admiral frowned but then he said briskly, “All right . . . Let’s get on with the business of the day.” Then he had another thought. “Jaime, why this Lieutenant?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Why did he care about it enough to write?”

“You know that bus attack? Where the Navy officer was killed?”

“Sure.”

“It was his roommate.”

“Want me to get your mail too?” Woods asked as he changed into his uniform in his stateroom.

Big nodded, lying there with his eyes closed.

“You should have let me help you carry those rugs. I thought that was the whole idea.”

Woods locked the stateroom door behind him and headed aft toward the ready room. It was deserted except for the duty officer. Woods leaned over and looked in his mailbox. He pulled out two news magazines, a post card, a sports weekly, and two letters, one from his mother and . . . his heart skipped, one from the House of Representatives. He looked at the envelope, not sure whether to open it or bring it back to the stateroom. He decided to take it where he could find some privacy and not have somebody looking over his shoulder. He hurried back to his stateroom, slamming the door behind him. “Big! Look!” he said breathlessly.

Big rolled over and peered at Woods sideways, examining the envelope. “I can’t read it.”

“It’s from Congressman Brown,” Woods said excitedly. “I just e-mailed him!”

“Doesn’t take long to print a form letter.”

“You’re missing this one, Big.”

“Open the letter.”

Woods stuck his finger under the flap and tore the top of the envelope. He opened the single sheet. “It’s on his letterhead, and signed by him personally.”

“Read it.”

Lieutenant Sean Woods, USN
Fighter Squadron One Zero Three
FPO New York, NY 10023

Dear Lieutenant Woods:
Thank you for your recent letter. I share your concern about terrorism. It is a scourge on civilized societies. I agree it is no way to achieve even a worthwhile end; it demonstrates the inhumanity of the terrorist by his disregard for human life.

I have taken several steps to combat terrorism, both here and abroad. I have endorsed the bill recently introduced in the House by Congressman Black, which strengthens the FBI and its ability to track terrorists. I have also cosponsored the Act to End International Terrorism. That act will do two things, first, increase the ability of our intelligence-gathering agencies, including the CIA, to monitor terrorist activity abroad, and second, facilitate cooperation among INTERPOL and other international police and intelligence agencies making it easier for them to share information and planning on how to deal with terrorists.

I hope this meets with your approval. It is important that a congressman receive correspondence from his constituents. Thank you, Lieutenant Woods, for your letter and your support.

Sincerely,
Lionel Brown, Vice Admiral,
United States Navy (Retired)
Congressman, 49th District of California

Woods stared at the page after he had finished reading the letter.

“He didn’t even
mention
what I said. How can he write a letter like that and not even mention it? He didn’t even say anything about Father Maloney’s memo or the law stuff. Nothing.”

“It’s a form letter, Trey, just like I told you it would be.”

“It
can’t
be,” Woods said. “This must just be the first letter, there’s probably another one coming that will answer mine.”

“You’re dreaming,” Big said.

“But it is the
perfect
solution!”

“That’s got nothing to do with it. You’ve bought into the myth that we live in a representative democracy that is actually responsive. That’s rubbish. Congressmen exist for one purpose only — to stay in office. That’s why they start running for office as soon as they get in. That’s all they do. Shoot, Trey, during the cold war there was more turnover in the politburo than in Congress.”

“Bullshit—”

“It’s true.”

Woods wasn’t even listening. “It’s one thing to tell me my idea is stupid, or wrong. But to treat me like some Rube from Brawley writing about his check for farm subsidies . . .”

Big sat up. “You really think a
congressman
saw your letter? What have you been smoking? Some flunkie gets the letters, sorts them by issues, and cranks out whatever form letter is closest. Then they mark down your issue, which side you’re on, and count them up. All you’ll get out of your letter is that somewhere in your congressman’s office, your letter caused some bright young college graduate with unlimited ambition to put a mark on a list that shows one of the congressman’s constituents is in favor of a stronger response to terrorism. That’s it.”

“That sucks.”

“Yep.”

“Don’t they want to do anything about it?”

Big chuckled. “You don’t understand. You don’t get the critical difference between the
ability
to do something and the
will
to do it. They don’t have the political will. They don’t ever step out in front — they’re afraid of taking the wrong position.”

Woods laid the letter on the desk and stared at it as if it bore a disease. Then he picked it up and tore it in half, then in half again, and again, until he had ripped the letter to shreds, slamming it into the steel trash can.

Big rolled over and moaned. “Anything else in the mail?”

Woods picked up the rest of the mail and went through it again. “No. Just the usual.” He stopped. “Who would send me a postcard?” He examined it, then recognized the writing.

“What?” Big asked. “What is it?”

Woods whispered, “It’s from Boomer. From Israel.”

“You’re shitting me,” Big said, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. “What does it say?”

Woods read it with an odd feeling, as if he were doing something somehow improper. “He’s in Nahariya. He’s in love. Irit is great . . . they’re going to Tel Aviv tomorrow where she is going to interview for a job with E1 A1 as a flight attendant. They’re going to take the bus down the coastal highway . . . should be beautiful . . . very upbeat.”

“That’s kind of spooky.”

Woods was sad, remembering the last time he had seen Vialli.

Big interrupted his thoughts. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I thought she was a schoolteacher. What’s she doing interviewing for E1 A1?”