Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (66 page)

 
          
Elliott’s
eyes narrowed as he remembered “that Kavaznya thing,” the flight of the B-52
bomber they called the Old Dog... never mind what it did to him personally, it
had turned U.S.-Soviet relations to dead ugly . . . Now in just two short years
it was some nebulous “thing.”

 
          
The
Vice President seemed to understand Elliott’s silence. “It was a remarkably
incredible feat, Brad, amazing—even more amazing was how the whole thing was
kept so quiet. Do you think you can come up with something to find out what’s
going on in
Haiti
quietly,
without attracting
attention?”

 
          
“I
don’t think that’s a job for this outfit,” Elliott said. “We’ve got a lot on
our plate, the CIA or DEA should run an operation like that—”

 
          
“And
the Strategic Air Command should have conducted that bombing raid into the
Soviet Union
. Instead you and Patrick and a group of
engineers and lab types did it. Not only did you accomplish the mission but to
this day the public doesn’t know what happened, except by rumor and innuendo.”

 
          
“That
was different,” Elliott said. “We’d been testing gear for the B-l bombers. We
knew all there was to know about the mission ..He paused when he saw
McLanahan’s expression. Patrick looked like he was already at the computers and
chart table drawing up this mission.

 
          
“An
AV-22 Sea Lion could make it in and back using a ferry-fuel configuration,”
McLanahan said. “Otherwise we’d have to get landing rights in the
Bahamas
or the
Dominican Republic
—”

 
          
“That
would be very, very tough,” the Vice President said. “It would take several
days and we’d have to go through channels. State Department channels.”

 
          
It
was obvious the Vice President wanted to handle this mission himself, with as
little interference from outside as possible.

 
          
“I
agree with you, Brad, up to a point. I don’t want any Border Security assets
used in this operation. If something goes wrong I don’t want
Haiti
or anybody else pointing fingers and saying
we’re trying to bully the
Caribbean
countries—”

 
          
“So
what assets are we supposed—?” Finally the light dawned and Elliott understood.
So did McLanahan, who grinned at him. “You mean, use aircraft from Dreamland?”

 
          
“Yes
. . . No one knows what you guys have out there,” the Vice President said,
“hell,
I
don’t even know. But stage
the mission from there, get in, get out and return to Dreamland. Nobody would
know what the hell happened. It has to be dead-bang classified and totally
deniable. If this leaks out the smugglers will go underground and the bad publicity
could wipe out the Hammerheads and maybe Dreamland too. You’ve got to shelter
the White House from all. . . involvement.”

 
          
Elliott
sat back in his seat, wearing a pained expression, then shook his head. “To
tell you the truth, sir, I’m a little tired of
sheltering
the White House. If you want to stage an operation out
of Dreamland, fine, but let’s document the . . . thing. I don’t want to end up
like North and Poindexter.”

 
          
“North
got in trouble because he exceeded his authority and used bad judgement,”
Martindale said. “I trust
your
judgement, Brad. So does the President. He’s authorized me to get things moving
in the Border Security Force, to do everything we can to make this unit more
effective and head off any negative sentiment. If there’s a smuggling ring
operating out of
Haiti
that’s responsible for killing those kids and bringing drugs into
Florida
we need to know about it. Okay, I’ll even
put this in writing and copy your office with a classified memo, but you don’t
want to wait for all the damn T’s to be crossed. I want results, and I want
them right away. I figure you and yours do too. Find out all you can about this
private airfield, do it without attracting attention and involving the
Hammerheads. That’s it, that’s the job.”

 
          
The
atmosphere had chilled. Martindale had always shown Elliott and McLanahan a
huge amount of respect, even deference, on account of what they had done during
the Kavaznya “incident” with the
Soviet Union
.
The Vice President had been virtually cut out of the decision-making process on
that one. Now, when he wanted the same kind of action, he wasn’t about to let
Elliott pull in his horns.

 
          
McLanahan
couldn’t believe what he now heard from his boss. “When I receive your
classified memo I’ll run it through my staff, formulate a plan and advise you
of it. When I receive final authorization to act I’ll execute the plan—”

 
          
“General,
there will be no goddamn plan, no authorization, no staff, no exchange between
you and me. Just do the operation and get it over with.”

 
          
Elliott
snapped back. “Sir, you may think this is exciting, going out there, being the
behind-closed-doors maverick with the bombers and missiles and guns. You may
think you have the authority to call up some super-secret spy plan to bust in
and get the pictures and to hell with the consequences but that’s not the way
it works and it’s not the way I work. I get my orders direct from the President
on everything my Dreamland group does, which is the way it was with the
Kavaznya mission. I’m not running a bunch of damned mercenaries. If you want me
to set up this operation for
you,
Mr.
Vice President, put it in writing and I’ll staff it. I can get an answer for
you in twelve hours.”

 
          
“Don’t
get big-headed about your importance to the White House, Brad . .

 
          
“That
goes for you as well, sir.”

 
          
Martindale’s
eyes blazed. “You are still in
my
chain of command—”

 
          
“True,
and I’ll do what you want, and I’ll do it right. I’ll plan a helluva mission,
but I want the right authorization first. For me, yes, and for my people. If I
don’t get it we tangle and the whole thing gets backburnered. You can fire me
if you want, but we both lose out— and I think we’re both working toward the
same objective.”

 
          
The
Vice President gripped the armrests of his seat, his jaw muscles tight. He hit
a call button on his right armrest. “Todd, get in here. Bring a notebook.”

 
          
His
aide appeared, closed the curtain behind him, braced himself on the bulkhead
against the gentle sway of the Black Hawk and got ready to take dictation.
“Classification: secret, my office as OPR. Date, place, time, persons present.
Subject: Special reconnaissance mission. The Vice President of the
United States
hereby authorizes Bradley J. Elliott,
chief, Border Security Forces, add office and identification number, to undertake
covert operation to collect information vital to border security operations.
Objective: information on possible narcotics smuggling operations by unknown
individuals in or near town of
Verrettes
, nation of
Haiti
. Funding through NSC file one-one-nine dash
J, limits as specified in file. Time limit, none. Coordination through my
office only in accordance with contingency operations master regulations
special use section eleven—research the proper ones and add applicable
paragraphs. Add my name. Copy through distribution list Echo. Print that out on
the teletype, send it out on the satellite right away, get me all the
acknowledgements, make three copies and bring them to me.” The aide added the
names of the three men present, glanced at his watch to note the time, turned
and departed.

 
          
“Distribution
Echo,” the Vice President told Elliott, “the NSC, Joint Chiefs . . .”

 
          
“Departments
of Defense, State, CIA, and DIA,” Elliott finished for him. “All more or less
directly accountable to the President of the
United States
.”

 
          
“You
sound like you disapprove. You want me to get on the radio and broadcast it on
your AM dial?”

 
          
“No.”

 
          
“My
NSC action file specifies no more than twelve hours before I brief the
President, and seventy-two hours before I brief the rest of his staff. Once I
get approval from the President he can authorize immediate execution. That’s
what I expect. I expect you, Brad, to be airborne ten minutes after that. Which
means I want a plan on my desk in eight hours.”

 
          
“It’ll
be ready.”

 
          
They
flew on in silence. Several minutes before landing at
Miami
International
Airport
the Vice President’s aide entered the tiny
office and handed him a red-covered folder with several sheets of paper in it.
He gave one to Elliott. “Satisfied? Orders, funding, distribution records,
receipts. Paper trail.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” Elliott said, and handed his copy to McLanahan without looking at it.
McLanahan held onto the classified document as if it would leap out of his
hand.

 
          
After
Marine Two landed in
Miami
, Elliott and McLanahan were told to stay in their seats until the Vice
President left and the press had been cleared from the ramp area. The Vice
President shook hands with them both, telling Elliott, “I’ll contact you soon
through your office here in
Florida
. I assume you’ll direct the operation from
there.”

 
          
“Right,
and if I’m not there my office will patch the call through to Dreamland or
wherever in between.”

 
          
“Good.”
He allowed a smile. “We’re counting on you, Brad. Do it.”

 
          
Border
Security Force Headquarters,
Aladdin
City

 
          
Two Hours Later

 
          
Two
hours after the Vice President’s departure from Hammerhead Two, Maxwell Van
Nuys met Sandra Geffar outside the
Aladdin
City
headquarters of the Hammerheads in his
Jaguar XJ-7. He looked very much what he intended .. . the sophisticated
Italian race car driver. He greeted her and settled her into the passenger
seat. He moved into the sedan and roared out of the Border Security Force
parking lot.

 
          
They
drove along in silence until reaching the Florida Turnpike, where the pace
improved on the open highway. “So how was the visit to the new platform?” he
asked once they were established in the fast lane. “Was the Vice President
impressed?”

 
          
Geffar
had resisted meeting him, but also argued with herself that she was entitled to
some life outside the service ... “I think so,” she said. “I just really wish
Congress would make up its mind to support the Border Security Force all the
way.”

 
          
“What
do you mean? Sounds like they’re supporting you all the way. A new platform, new
aerostat units. Are they deactivating some of your installations?”

 
          
“No,
they’ve even recently activated a new radar installation.” “That’s great,” Van
Nuys said. Be careful, now, he told himself. Be cool ... “I think I heard about
that proposal from someone at a Customs party a few weeks ago. The base in
Arizona
, right?”