Twenty Minute Wars: CBG Seven
by Michael G. Crawford
"Well, I need to talk to you privately, uhh, in a secure area I'm afraid."
"Oh all right. Let me wind up a couple things, I'll meet you in the hall."
Senator Jim Wackston frowned as he quickly tried to prioritize the papers in front of him. It was bad enough that he had volunteered to work on the Intelligence Community portion of the President's budget request. Now he had to talk to the damn Military Intelligence Liaison Officer again.
If it wasn't for the fact that the man always had an exciting tidbit to feed him, he would have told him to wait until tomorrow. Of course, if the meeting was important enough, the officer would resort to a call to the President direct and then the President would ask for a "meetin' rat' now!". And the President would make the "request" in that thick southern drawl just to insure his former Junior Senator from Arizona would toe the line.
He shoved the whole damn stack aside and told his secretary he was slipping out to "stretch his legs", his standard euphemism for making a trip to the bathroom, then spurted across the back door of the office to do the very same.
The young Marine watching the hallowed back corridor for intruders nodded to the Senator as he burst out of his office and headed for the men's room.
After relieving himself, Jim sauntered over to the Intelligence Committee room. The red light was on, which meant that the snoopers had not yet completed their checks before today's session. He loitered there a bit, waiting for the erstwhile Colonel Collins to arrive.
Spying the grim face of his quarry, he smiled, hoping to bring at least a little cheer into the Air Force man's overwhelming job.
"Howdy Ken. You look like you could use a good game of tennis!"
"Cut the bullshit, Senator. I'm not in the mood."
Sticking his head into the room, he shouted, "Need it now, gentleman."
"Two more minutes, Colonel" was the muffled reply. Obviously Collins had phoned ahead, and the crew was trying to finish quickly at his request.
"I'm sorry for jumping on you, Jim. It's been one of those damn hill days for me and I'm ready to kill someone. Damn!"
"Whoa there. I can see you're gonna' be a lot of fun. What's the subject matter."
"A wolf amongst the damn sheep, that's what. In fact, a definite rogue by my judgment. But I'll let you be the judge of that," then sticking his head in the room again, "Anytime, gentleman."
"Sure you ain't a Marine, Sir?" was the question returned. That made the Colonel grin.
The sweep crew came out with a few good-natured grumbles, and saluted the Colonel as he and the Senator walked into the chamber. Above them, the baroque painting of America's Micheangelo, Guissipe Mercater, adorned the ceiling with visions of God and his angels. Although not exactly appropriate for the discussions that went on in here, Jim had found satisfaction in the paintings on more than one occasion of boring financial discussions.
"So what's eating you?" he questioned the military man. Ken Collins was the liaison between the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Intelligence Community. And as such, was the money man between the U.S. Senate Intelligence Committee, the Central Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency, and all four of the different services Intelligence agencies. Just a few hours ago, Jim had observed Collins accompanying the Director of the U.S. Air Force Intelligence Agency into a Joint Services Intelligence meeting.
"You're just gonna love this. General Amstadt just informed me that one of their civilian 'contractors' overflew the Gulf of Sidra last night, and reported that there was 'one helluva lot of activity' somewhere along the shoreline about 100 miles southwest of Benghazi."
"So what. Maybe Mormar is building a new beach house."
"Yeah, could be. Only I think the muther' is building a boat house not a beach house. And its one about 400 feet long, and 50 feet wide. Also he is using dimoplate concrete, and enough steel support to support a heavy lift mobile crane."
"All right, spell it out for me."
"It's a damn sub pen. The ceiling supports are used to run a rail the length of the building, so a crane can be mounted on 'em. The crane is used to drop in large shapes like missiles or other heavy items. Oh, by the way, there is a camouflaged area behind the 'boat house' that is built with what appears to be lead vaults and is about as secure as Hanover Naval Nuclear Waste Site." Then the Colonel pulled a little square out of his pocket and tossed it to the Senator.
"Amstadt's people sent this to us via diplomatic courier."
"What is it?" asked Jim.
"They're film badges...you know a dosimeter. People who work around nuclear weapons or in nuclear power plants wear them. One of our few agents on the ground in Libya took this off a guy who works in Mormar's beach house."
The Senator's mouth dropped open as he finally made the connection, "No shit!"