Troubleshooters (Jackson Chase Novella Book 2) (2 page)

“
I
f I may
, I would like to tell you a little story,” the Director said. He leaned back slightly in his chair and crossed his legs, settling in.

When someone as senior as the Director of National Intelligence asks if you would like to hear a story, it’s more in the nature of an order than a question.

“Landon Clark and I have known each other for quite a while. We crossed paths on a number of my unit’s operations in Eastern Europe and the Middle East, as I’m sure you understand,” he said, turning to Sterba. Sterba gave a nod, knowing well the back-and-forth between special operations forces and the CIA.

“We stayed in touch while I was in law school, and had occasions to come in contact during my time as a JAG attorney.

“Both of us saw the growth of every aspect of government over the years, and wondered on more than one occasion if we were creating our own problems. Wondering if the competitive nature of so many agencies, combined with the layers of bureaucracy in each, was eroding intelligence and action so much that we had completely dulled our effectiveness.

“We watched so many opportunities evaporate in Washington. Agency, military, and political committees churned and massaged reports and plans of action so much that the end product was a tasteless, toothless mush. Each time, we wondered, ‘Can’t we just send someone in to look for the asset, to meet the rebel leader, to finish the job?’

“Our bar stool solution was an independent two-man team that could be inserted into a hot spot at a moment’s notice. At a two-man size, the team would be as nimble as it could be. They could assess the problem, and either act swiftly or determine the best action for our military or intelligence teams.

“These two ‘troubleshooters’, as we came to call them, wouldn’t be tied to the Agency or Special Operations Command. They’d work alone, though with access to intelligence or military assets as needed. They’d be held to a high standard. Two men the country could trust to do what’s right, right when it needed to be done.”

Here was a tough-as-nails Ranger-turned-politician, proposing an idea that was contrary to everything I knew about how our intelligence and operations community worked. Small when everyone wanted big; fast when slow was the norm. It sounded rather far-fetched. But that’s what you get when a couple of old warriors put their heads together over a bottle.

“Sir, if you’ll excuse me,” said Chen, breaking the silence, “but why are you telling us this?”

As appealing as his dream of two caped crusaders might be, I understood why Chen was asking this. And suddenly, the idea didn’t sound so great.

“Because, Commander, Landon and I have spent the last several days revisiting the idea. We now think it should be a three man team. Or, more accurately, a two man and one woman team.”

His eyes moved from Chen’s to Sterba’s and back to mine in the silence. The air in the room suddenly felt a little stale.

The tension was broken by a clatter of the doorknob. The door opened to reveal Director Nichols’ co-conspirator, Landon Clark. Landon must have instantly read the stunned looks on our faces and realized Nichols had just dropped the bomb. He went still, waiting to see who had the ball.

Sterba’s eyes moved from Landon back to the Director.

“Sir, respectfully, we’re just three sailors. I think if you’re looking for a few super spooks, the Agency, or even the ISA, would be your first stop.” The ISA, or Intelligence Support Activity, is an extremely secretive unit within Joint Special Operations Command that focuses on intelligence gathering and theater preparation before special operations forces hit the ground.

“It appears I’ve joined you during the exciting part of the conversation,” said Landon, taking Sterba’s response as his cue to enter and join us at the table. “Joe, it’s specifically because you’re
not
a part of CIA, ISA, or the Defense Clandestine Service that you are the right ones for the job.

“The problem is this: what we’ve built over the last dozen or so years has grown too big to move quickly. Did you know there are sixteen primary intelligence agencies in this country? Sixteen. And within each, there are dozens of directorates responsible for intelligence product and operations. Add to that a tripling of the management layers in recent years—and the increasing inability of politicians to make a decision without polling and focus groups—and you end up with a giant jar of molasses.”

Director Nichols took the baton, continuing to address Sterba’s concern. “Chief, you stopping the attack in Afghanistan was the perfect example. As much as Karzai irritates the hell out of me, his death, and the death of the Afghan General Assembly, would have been a devastating blow to the free world.

“You didn’t have specific orders to save them. You didn’t have a committee directing you. Hell, no one here even
believed
you. But you knew it had to be done. You knew it was the right thing to do. And you acted instantly and with conviction.”

Given that we had spent the past several days being berated specifically
for
the perseverance we’d shown, I was rather surprised at this sudden turn of events.

“Sir, I don’t think you addressed the Chief’s question,” I said. “Seems like what you are looking for are spooks. The Commander is probably the closest, given her role in Naval Intelligence. But Sterba is a shooter and I am an aviator.”

“Your designator may be aviator, but we both know you’re a shooter as well, Jackson.” The Director of National Intelligence paused and pointed at the flaming sword insignia I wear on my right collar, despite U.S. Navy regulations. It was clear he knew what it was and had read my file.

While I am, in fact, an aviator in the U.S. Navy, my career at one point took a detour with the New Zealand Army. I am a dual citizen by birth which, while hell on my accent, did allow some flexibility in service. To be honest, my first few days in the Kiwi army weren’t the best. I’d been placed there by an uncle who felt I needed a wakeup call following the death of my parents. But I attacked the assignment with vigor. I grew stronger and more determined every day, every month, and every year, eventually being selected to serve in the NZSAS. And though my sand beret and blue belt are packed away, I still wear the insignia bearing the ‘Who Dares Wins’ motto of the regiment on my collar. And on my heart.

The DNI continued, saying, “You have the skills we need, Jackson. When I was still wearing green, the Army brought a few soldiers up from your former squadron to spend six weeks teaching one of their specialties: tracking.

“I will always remember those NZSAS troopers. They were the most professional soldiers I had ever met. And they hammered into us the fundamentals of tracking. Do you remember them?”

“The enemy leaving breadcrumbs?” I replied. I would like to say I immediately regretted being a smart ass, but that wouldn’t exactly be the truth. Needless to say, I did not look at Chen, knowing that her glare would have been stern enough to knock me off my chair.

The DNI made a humphing noise, though the corner of his mouth did turn up slightly. “Observation, as you well know, is the first. The ability to see everything around you contextually. Understanding what you’re seeing in that little blade of grass, and weighing it against what you see in the field. Against what you see in the theater.”

I remembered those lessons in tracking vividly. It was one of the areas in which the NZSAS was the best in the world. And while some of it could be taught, a fair portion of it was either in your personal character or not. I knew he would get to this next, and he didn’t disappoint me.

“The second is self-honesty,” he continued, more for the benefit of everyone around the table than for me. “The tracker has to be able to separate his preconceived notions of what he thinks is happening from what he is seeing. He has to see the information that the trail presents, and make a plan of action based on that alone. He has to leave behind what he
expects
to see, and see only what
is
there.

“What we’re looking for is the same thing: the ability to put what Washington wants to see aside, and see what’s really there. To focus on solving the problem.”

“Elaborate on that, sir,” I said.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “These ‘troubleshooters’ would handle pressing issues. Opportunities that would dry up if we took the Washington approach of a hundred meetings and position papers. You’ll be sent into harm’s way. Into hot zones where you need to observe, assess, and act in the best interests of the country. This will involve both intelligence and direct action.”

The Director paused. He looked me directly in the eyes, and said, “Lieutenant, I would like you to lead the team. You, the Commander, and the Chief will be seconded to my office. There will be no new department, no secret agency, just the three of you working directly with Landon and me.”

I knew this had been coming, but didn’t realize the moment would have such gravity. I swiveled my head, alternating glances at both Chen and Sterba, my eyebrows raised.

Chen, who had been nearly silent during the entire meeting, looked at me and said, “I will take your lead.”

I turned to Sterba to see that he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was watching Landon withdraw a very thick folder from his briefcase. With the room so silent, all of us looked at the folder. If that was research for us, it sure looked like we’d be doing a lot of homework.

Since Sterba was seated next to Landon, he had an angle to see the inside edges of the folder. Without warning, he stiffened, and then fixed Landon with an intimidating glare. His head gave a tiny shake from side to side.

Reading the tension in his body language, I asked Sterba, “What does Landon have there?”

“Nothing that he is going to share right now, sir,” he replied. His eyes didn’t leave Landon’s.

Sir? Sterba never ‘sirs’ me. He turned to the Director. In what I like to call his ‘chief’s voice’, he said, “Before the Lieutenant answers your question, I have a few of my own.”

A chill descended over the room. I found Sterba’s change in demeanor interesting, and wanted to see where this was headed.

“First, what are the rules of engagement?”

The Director was not put off by Sterba’s borderline disrespectful tone, and simply replied, “You are authorized to do whatever it takes, including lethal force, if in your judgment you, or the country, are—or will be—at risk.”

I raised my eyebrows. This was definitely not how things were usually done.

Sterba continued, his voice growing slightly louder. “Second, who is your foil? We both know a lot of politicians have tried to start their own little armies, and when the castle comes crumbling down, it’s guys like us that get buried in the rubble.”

I was pretty floored that Sterba had become so direct with a retired two-star now at the helm of the world’s largest intelligence apparatus. Landon apparently was too.

“Chief, I will remind you that you are speaking to the DNI, and you will show some respect for his position.”

Director Nichols made a placating gesture to Landon. “It’s OK, Landon. The Chief is playing a chief’s role. He is both illustrating his leadership and fiercely protecting his lieutenant. And, incidentally, showing why this team is ideal.”

He turned back Sterba. “To be clear, Chief, there are three people outside of this room who are aware of this arrangement. My assistant, Mrs. Rita Hallahan, who will help you with absolutely anything you need. The President is also aware and has authorized this team. Finally, and this may come as a surprise to you, Jackson, Admiral Doug Christie has been read in and will be available to us as needed.”

This certainly eased my concerns about this little folly. The Admiral had long been a mentor of sorts, especially following the death of my parents. But the Admiral wasn’t involved in Naval operations nor the intelligence community. He was retired, for Pete’s sake.

“The Admiral?” I asked.

The Director nodded. “The President has asked him to join the administration as Deputy Secretary of State. It will be announced tomorrow.”

Sterba nodded, knowing that the best counterbalance to the intelligence community would be the State Department. He carried on. “Third, we will need this in writing, sir. I have seen too many congressional hearings filled with ‘I cannot recall’ not to request this.”

“Chief, that has already been done. Mrs. Hallahan has a document for each of you ready upstairs. I have signed them and they have been notarized.”

He paused, offering Sterba the chance to continue. “Will there be anything else?”

The silence in the room solidified Sterba’s stance. If this folly turned nasty, the instigator would need to face one strong SEAL. He let this thought permeate the room before standing down. “Not at this time.”

He then turned to me and said, “I’ll follow your lead too, sir.”

We were, it seemed, back to the original question. I looked at Sterba, then Chen, then the Director.

“We’re in,” I said.

The Director cracked a smile. “Excellent.” His finger then pointed in the direction of Landon’s thick folder, and he said to Sterba, “Now, Chief, this was not going to be the carrot at the end of the stick. I think Landon simply chose the wrong moment to pull it out of his briefcase.” He reached across and opened it to reveal a small leather case containing the shoulder boards for Lieutenant Commander.

The Director addressed both Sterba and Chen, saying, “This promotion is well below the zone, but as I have been told by many people over the past several days, he’s ready. The Chief of Naval Operations approved it this morning. But I think the real approval needs to come from you, Chief.”

“Sir, I have broken in a few snot-nosed lieutenants over the years,” Sterba said. “This is one of the keepers.”

He then stood up and said, “Attention to orders!” and with my oath read and hands shaken, I was bumped to Lieutenant Commander.

So, after six seconds of pomp and circumstance, reality set back in.

“Now that we have that squared away, we are going to send you on your first mission. Yesterday, there was a bombing in a hotel in Arusha, Tanzania; the fifth terrorist attack there this year. The eighth, if you include three deadly attacks on priests in Zanzibar.”