Forged in Honor (1995) (16 page)

Thorton's shoulders began to sag. "Somebody better have something, dammit."

Jennings ran his hands through his silver mane before leaning back and speaking tiredly. "Gordy, none of us have assets in place, at least informants who are willing to talk.

This situation is like the Lockerbie Pan Am bombing. We knew the Libyans were responsible but couldn't get the proof until much later. Forget about quick answers on this, there aren't any. To find undeniable proof is going to take time, just like it took to get the Libyans. All of us know what must be done and eventually we'll get them, but-"

"Goddamn it, the president is going to be grilled tomorrow by the press corps!" Thorton blurted. "Did you read the Washington Post this morning? The bombing was front-page news, for God's sake! The people want answers and the president must respond!"

Jennings glared hard at the national security adviser. "Then tell them the truth! Tell the press that the administration wouldn't approve our requests for more people and funds.

Tell them how the White House and Congress told this committee to cease covert operations in Burma because their friends the Chinese had aligned with the junta. The same fucking Chinese that were, and still are, pouring in arms and advisers. Tell the truth, Gordon, and don't come here looking for answers and insult us when you damn well know you cut the intelligence community's balls off years ago."

Thorton glared back. "Don't sit there and blame our policies, Mr. Director. All of us in this room know China is this nation's last real threat. Burma is nothing but a pimple on the ass of an ant. The decision to keep relations friendly with China is in the best interests of this nation. You and everybody else in this room agreed with the president's foreign policy. Don't avoid the problem by giving me excuses. I need to give the president this committee's recommendation tonight."

Cutter pushed back his glasses on his nose and spoke softly. "Mr. Thorton, I understand the need for the president to respond. I suggest you explain the facts to the president and have him take a cautious approach that gives him latitude to come back later and take action. You must give this committee time to find the answers."

Thorton lowered his head in thought. Several seconds passed before he looked up with a distant stare. "I'll advise the president to play it down the middle. He'll accept the junta's explanation but will say he expects from them an agreement to form a cooperative American-Burmese task force to find and bring the terrorists to justice. That approach will give you at least a week to find some proof before the press demands a status of Burmese cooperation."

Jennings shook his head as if dealing with a child. "That's ridiculous. We'll need months to build a case. You're suggesting a cowboy operation that breaks the first rule of the community-plausible denial. Gordy, in our business we must establish a cover story so that our government and the Agency aren't fingered if an operation turns sour. We can't mount an operation without-"

Thorton shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? The president doesn't give a shit about plausible denial. He knows his so-called drug war is a toothless tiger; he knows it and wants to take some real action. These assholes killing our people gives us an excuse to do something that will eliminate at least the heroin problem once and for all. Plausible denial is not a factor in this. It's in this country's national interests to eliminate the junta and shut down its drug production, and no third-world country's whining to the U. N. is going to mean a flying fuck to us. I'll give you three weeks. That's as long as I can keep the press from knowing we're stalling.

Gentlemen, I have to brief the president on this. Find him something that proves or disproves the Burmese government's involvement in the bombing. I will ensure that the president gives you the authority to do so, tonight. Now if you will please excuse me." Pushing back his chair, he stood, dipped his chin toward the three men, and walked out the conference room door.

The CIA director looked at the other men at the table and slowly shook his head. "The president might want to get tough, but the congressional oversight committee will have to have its say."

"They'll approve it," said Cutter flatly. "The mood has changed in Congress since Senator Walker's wife was killed by the junkie last month at Tyson's Corner mall. And don't forget that Post article revealing those four congressmen's kids being addicts. My guess is they'll let the mission go and jump on the president's bandwagon. Burma doesn't have any friends in the international community except for China, and when it comes to drugs they wouldn't dare protest U. S. action. The president smells blood and sees an easy, quick solution. He can get rid of their government and at the same time get rid of one of the world's principal heroin producers."

General Summer furrowed his brow. "This is not how we've done business in the past. It's a major shift in policy that, frankly, I think has been needed for a long time."

Jennings looked at the two men with a rigid stare. "The immediate problem is that Thorton has just told us to throw together a cowboy operation. That's asking for a damn miracle in the time he's given us."

Cutter stood with a weary frown. "I suggest we take a break, order some sandwiches up here, and then see what miracles we can come up with."

General Summer pushed back his chair and stood up, signaling a unanimous decision.

Hours later, Director Jennings puffed on a cigar and paced back and forth in front of the other two committee members.

"All right, we've discussed this thing to death. Let me try and summarize what we've decided tonight. First, we all agree that the military government was involved in the murders of our people. Second, based on the evidence we have, we're going with the theory that the bastards ordered the hit to cover up their involvement in heroin production. Third, we agree that our efforts in finding proof should be directed at linking the government with heroin production or trafficking.

Fourth, we agree to send in teams to find the proof as soon as we can assemble assets. Fifth, we agree to bring in Justice and Treasury so the FBI, Immigration, and Customs boys can work on the tape. We all feel the tape of the agent's phone message is the key to this whole mess. FBI and Customs will have to confirm or rule out that we have Burmese nationals in the United States with bogus visas. If they are here, the FBI will find out why." Jennings stopped pacing and faced the other committee members.

"Anything else?" 'Cutter looked over the rims of his glasses. "We'll need to bring in the DEA. We'll need their resources and backing on the heroin theory."

Jennings's brow furrowed as if he were in pain. "Yeah, you're right, but we're going to have to put up with them screaming foul when they find out they weren't brought in from the beginning. John T. will stick it to us and go crying to the president. You know him as well as I do."

Summer raised an eyebrow. "I'll try and settle his ruffled feathers."

Jennings blew out another cloud of smoke. "Good luck trying to talk to that asshole. All right, I think we should go home, clear our minds, and get some sleep. But first let's contact our staffs and have them put together folders on assets for the infiltration. I'll take care of the calls to Justice and Treasury. Nathan, you call John T. and see if you can smooth the waters. We'll have a full working group meeting at ten to get them all on board, then afterward the three of us will meet again to compare assets and begin initial planning for the operation."

"Have you thought of a name for this operation?" asked General Summers.

Jennings took the cigar from his mouth. "Yeah. We'll name it what it is. We'll call it Operation Miracle."

Josh glanced at the crowd in the bar at Pier 7. The shift was almost over. He nodded toward two men sitting at a table. "The one on the right is the one they called us about.

He might be trouble."

Bob gave the man a casual glance and turned back to the bar. "He's big and he looks drunk."

"He is," Josh said. He leaned against the bar but kept his eyes on the heavy customer. "Okay, we've made the rounds twice and I've explained the business. You think you've got it down?"

Bob's brow furrowed. "I think so. You've got two officers watching the two access roads off of Maine Avenue onto Water Street. Their job is to report anything out of the ordinary like cars making multiple passes or gang cars. They also keep a watch on the cars parked on the street for break-ins.

Three officers are rovers and make the rounds of the parking lots and the restaurants, checking the bars, kitchen, receiving area, and back. Base's job is to screen the incoming calls and notify us if there are real problems. Base is also responsible for calling the First Precinct if we need backup, right?"

Josh still kept his eyes on the customer. "Yeah, it's a simple but effective operation. You've been working the day shift where all you do is answer calls and pass them on. I thought it was time you saw what we really do. The reason is this: I want you to start taking over for Stefne. She's been able to manage school and the admin stuff, but she starts law school in the fall. I'll up your salary to five hundred a week for the extra work. You think you can handle it?"

Bob began to respond when Josh pushed off the bar and nodded toward the customer. "Now we're gonna see if our boy starts trouble."

A waitress had gone to the table to pick up the empty glasses. The big customer ordered more drinks. The young, mini-skirted waitress smiled and followed procedure. "Sir, I'm sorry, but we're not allowed to serve more than six drinks per customer."

The big man gave her a lopsided smile. "Get the drinks, honey, and you'll find a big tip waiting."

"I'm sorry, sir."

His smile turned into an angry scowl. "Get 'us the damn drinks or-"

Josh stepped up to the table with a pleasant smile. He sat down uninvited and spoke evenly. "Sir, this young lady is just doing her job. She is trying to protect both herself and you, since the law says it's illegal for her to serve you more drinks. Please understand and have coffee instead."

The customer snorted through his nose. "Who the hell are you? I'm not drunk, and you have no right to insinuate I am."

Josh kept his smile. "Sir, I am the chief of security for the Waterfront. I didn't say you were intoxicated." He raised his hand from beneath the table to expose the slender Motorola.

"But according to the law, you have consumed enough alcohol to be in trouble if you were to drive. Please have some coffee on the house."

The other customer leaned over to his heavy friend.

"Come on, let's get a cab back to the hotel."

The big man leered at Josh. "What would you do if I said `Fuck you, shorty'?"

Josh's smile turned into an exaggerated frown. "Then you would be causing a scene, sir. I would be forced to demand that you leave and you'd probably say no, and I'd have to call the police and then, sir, you would be embarrassed, because you would be escorted out by Washington's finest and-"

"Shut up. I'm going. I can't stand your voice." The big man got up and glared down at Josh. "I could shove that little radio up your ass if I wanted."

Josh lowered his head to avoid eye contact. "Yes sir, you probably could, but that would be assault and get you five to ten from the judges in this town. Don't forget to pay your tab on the way out."

Only after the men left did Josh get up. He walked straight to the bar and told the cute cocktail waitress, "You did a good job. I'll pass it on to your manager."

The waitress looked at him worriedly. "What would you have done if he got violent?"

Josh smiled. "He didn't-that's my job."

A woman's voice came over the Motorola. "Hawk One, this is base. We have an India Charlie situation at El Torito's, over."

Josh held up the radio to his lips. "Roger, base. I'm inbound. Out."

Bob looked puzzled. "India Charlie?"

"Intoxicated customer."

"Looks like it's your night, boss."

Josh motioned toward the door with one hand and held out the radio to Bob with the other. "Not anymore, the rest are yours. I wanna see if you've learned anything."

Josh walked along the lighted pier down to Lil' Darlin' and stepped down to the deck. It had been a relatively quiet night and he'd found out Bob had what it took, at least in understanding the business. He was an all right guy, thought Josh. He stepped up onto the top deck and sat down, leaning against the mast. It was a beautiful night. He'd seen hundreds of such nights sitting in the exact same spot, but those times had been very special because Jill had shared them with him.

He shut his eyes and could see them on the boat, working, laughing, not a care in the world.

"Darn you, Dad, you scared me. I heard the footsteps and ... What are you doing up here?"

Josh looked at his daughter, who was standing on the catwalk. "Just sittin' here," he said in a whisper as if he were in church. "It's beautiful out. How come you didn't go back to your apartment?"

"I got caught up studying. I'll just sleep on the couch tonight and go back in the morning."

Josh patted the spot beside him. "Come on, sit down. Did I ever tell ya about the old Shan teacher I had?"

Stefne sat down and cuddled against him. "About a hundred times. 'Knowledge will give you strength,' right? You told me and Mom those stories so many times we used to pretend we were asleep so we wouldn't have to hear them."