Senator Jim Wackston marvelled once more at the beauty of Guissepe Mercater's work on the columns and tapestry of the Senate Intelligence Committee chamber. The man's artistic talent, unappreciated for many years, adorned the room with the kind of epic beauty once attributed to only men like Michelangelo. The pity was, that like Michelangelo, Mercater had died almost a pauper. But his work lived on. Especially when Jim had to sit through the horribly boring financial meetings. Actually the finances weren't that boring. It was pretty exciting to establish what the intelligence community could spend their bucks on. It was the people here. The droll speaking intelligence professionals. They tried to play down the danger, the risks. In today's world of covert action restricted by a number of regulator hands, they had no other choice. In order to get approval, and ongoing support for activity, the U.S. "spooks" had to insure that the bureaucrats wouldn't see too much risk. If they could paint an operation as being "pure white" they would. Despite their operation's being nearly all "black" they would try to whitewash, try to underrate the risks and overrate the chance of success.
"Chair yields to Senator Chambers of the fine state of Arkansas" he said as the previous speaker finished and yielded the rest of his time to the Arkansas Republican. Jim listened intently for a few minutes, trying to pick out if the man had changed his tune. But alas, it became apparent after thirty seconds that the story was the same. Old "handcuffs" Chambers was asking for a hold on the finance report, until someone could investigate the requested appropriation for more clandestine transports and the proprietary to manage them. This was doom to the project requesting the planes. By the time the investigation was complete, the planes would not be needed. Then someone would be screaming about the waste of government funds and time.
As Jim was wondering how he would work defusing the man's comments, he saw another familiar face enter the side door. Other's looked too, as it was rare for someone to enter the secure room after the session had started. But obviously the guard at the outer door had passed the intruder, if you could call him that. The Liason to the Intelligence Community, Colonel Carlston, scratched his head and then put two fingers along side his ear, as if scratching an ear lobe.
Jim replied with a small cough, which with a fine job of acting, interrupted the verbose Arkansas Senator in mid-tirade, and said "...Excuse me Senator, I apologize...cough, hack...for my, cough, interruption. If the Vice-Chairman...cough, thanks Gan, quite a tickle...cough, excuse me."
"Please continue, Senator Chambers" droned the deep baritone of Gan Abrahms, the minority leader of the committee as Jim stood up, still coughing, and followed Alex Carlston out of Committee chambers.
"Nice job, Senator" grinned the young Colonel.
"Right, and it better be good..." began Jim, with a little authority in his voice, making it appear as if resented being "dragged away" from something he preferred to hear.
"Bullshit, Jim. You were just looking for an excuse...and before you chew my head off for my impertinence, it's important."
They walked quickly to the only other secure room on the floor today, and in a scene filled with Deja Vu' Jim watched as the man stuck his head in through the room's door, its red little blinking. As in many times before, the Liason had called ahead for a sweep of the room. The last time this happened had been last year, when Alex had told him of a rogue submarine suspected of terrorists attacks in the Mediterranean. The vital information on that day was the information that a submarine pen was hidden along the Gulf of Sidra. And that Mormar Khadafy was most likely harboring a Soviet built submarine there. There had been strong suspicision of the Libyan Navy waiting for a chance to show the world the nuclear strength of the "Great Libyan General's" strength. If this meeting was of the same import, then Jim would be in for another 30 days of intensive planning and fear.
"Any minute, Gentleman" shouted the Colonel into the room, and Jim felt the strange feeling anew, just knowing he had heard it before. In fact, now that he thought of it, the exact play of events had truly occured in that last meeting, no mysterious force at work here.
Finally the two men sweeping the room opened the door and released it for use, managing to skip any snide remarks about the Colonel's patience this time.
"Okay..." said Jim as they sat in the stiff chairs, "...what bad news do you have for me now."
"First a quick review. We have had four interesting events in the last two weeks. First, confirmed reports of a 300 percent increase in the number of illegal crossings on the U.S. - Mexico border. Three known terrorists have been picked up. One was leading a group of job hunters."
"God damn!"
"Yeah. Kind of spooky. Anyway, our people in Silicon Valley have confirmed at least three terrorist acts in just under three days this weekend. A couple got their ass burned while making it in a car - yet another Redeye rocket..."
Jim Wackston grimaced at the thought of the source of those rockets, and cursed within himself the mistakes of the past as the Colonel continued,
"...and a Police Chief stumbled upon an attack on a big computer manufacturer's site and managed to take out four or five bad guys before taking a hit himself. He survived somehow. Although I hear his partner may not be so lucky.
And finally, we just received word that a small group of terrorists took out a large crowd of Navy NCOs and friends in their CPO club at Moffet Field, the Navy base right next to the Onizuka Air Force Base."
Jim locked eyes with the Colonel. "That's what, the link for the Western Test Site there?"
"Yes Sir".
"You said we would pay for our little mission in the Gulf, didn't you?" and the Colonel only nodded. He had warned last year that taking on terrorists with military power would just increase their desires to bring their "fight" home to the American people. When Buck Dayton, an ABC correspondent, independently echoed Alex's theory, Jim had shivered. He had also worked with the U.S. Special Operations Command on quickening the implementation of the Counter-Terrorist Joint Task Force, adding funds to fully equip the best men for the job as well as their ample backup.
"Okay, so you were right, Alex. I've admitted it before. I'll give you preliminary sanction right now. Go so set me up with USSOCOM and Delta, then I'll ask if General Jamison can go over to Pennsylvania Avenue to give the man a briefing. Let's get a full JCS brief on this. I'll break up the meeting in there. Gan and I'll see if we can get some action on the "Ready Force Internal Plan." Jim was speaking of the plan which had been formulated as a result of his own efforts to prod the slow beauracacy by establishing three new think tanks on terrorism.
"I want our anti-terrorism boys to get the first warning of action." The Colonel nodded with a grim face, and left Jim to contemplate his next moves. General Arlie Jamison, the Commander of the US Special Operations Command, would have his Planning Team work on the overall plan of action, present it to the President, then wait for the man's decision. USSOCOM had been set up in 1987 as a unified command for the sole purpose of coordinating and training of all special operations forces in the U.S. This unprecedented move had been made necessary in the last 15 years by the increase of both insurgent anti-American activity outside of the U.S., the rise in worldwide terrorism, and in a precognizant realization of the vulnerability within the United States proper. The moves came about as a result of the tragic rescue attempt to free the Iranian Emabassy hostages by Delta Force and others. The findings of a high level investigation had recommended the formation of a "Counter Terrorism Joint Task Force".
The CTJTF concept had been intended to unify all the different elite forces in the U.S. under one directing authority to prevent any more of the inter- service rivalry in both active participation of missions, as well as the infighting for the vast amount of funds the American political arena was beginning release for the protection of American assets. In fact the language of the proposal was worded, "...would plan, train for, and conduct operations to counter terrorist activities directed against the United States interests, citizens, and/or property outside the United State." In response, the USSOCOM had been set up in the recommended model.
Army General James J. Lindsay, was commissioned as the Commander and Chief of this organization and by May of 1989 he had already confronted most of the controversy, taking firm control of even the reluctant SEAL units of the U.S. Navy. Now it would be Arlie's job to take the new command into its first action.
Jim was sure the General's recommendation would be followed, probably resulting in the first mobilization of the 1st Special Operations Command in the Continental U.S. It was perhaps new ground for the U.S. special operations forces, but certainly not ground that hadn't been walked over in many scenarios since the early 70s. In fact the organization had been recommended in the late fifties by Colonel Charles Beckwith US Army retired, who had formulated his ideas after serving with British SAS in a special exchange program.
According to the new "Internal Plan" the current Commander of the Joint Special Operations Command, JSOC (pronounced JAY-SOC), General Jacob Manders, would most likely be working with the four or more Special Forces units on the West Coast which included Army Rangers, Army Special Forces (Green Berets), Navy SEALS/Special Warfare Units, and at least one USAF delivery team. The Terrorist Force Commander, also second hatted as the Commander, Special Operations Detachment-Delta would be the field commander of the combined units when mobilized. He would fly from their headquarters in the former "Stockade" area on Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, to some appropriate military base on the West Coast making the trip in under five hours.
He would be travelling in parallel with the recon team from the 1st Special Forces Battalion from Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. Six hours from now, Delta and Special Forces would be in place and operational. The mission, to directly deal with any terrorist force in the area. Upon their arrival, the US military would have a major action force to protect both civilian and military targets in Silicon Valley.
"But God help the civilians" he said outloud to himself, his voice echoing in the spartan sub-committee room, its grim walls contrasting to that of the beauty in the room he had just left. If things got so rough in Silicon Valley that the JCS had to use these assets, it would be like a war zone down there.
He sighed and stood up, stretching his already sore back. Now he would have to go back into the Committee room and recess the meeting. Then the real work of the Intelligence Committee would begin.
"Hisss!!!" said Jahl, gritting his teeth as Natasha applied antiseptic to the wound. The long cut along his forehead was not serious, having been caused by flying glass, it was a clean cut which would heal quickly.
"It will be better soon, Jihad. We must keep it from infection. I want to place a bandage on it..."
"No, it will be like a beacon to the American policeman. No, I will allow my hair to fail, like thus..." and Jahl brushed his hair down over the cut, hiding most of its ugliness. "And you will apply some American woman's makeup to hide the rest."
"I will try" answered the woman, showing subservience to her Moslem master. With her eyes and head tilted downward, she showed proper respect for the "Angel of Vengeance", all the while feeling the awe and honor of having been chosen to attack the imperialists in their own homeland.
All her life had been spent trying to find a way to make a difference in her world, to somehow fight the hunger, the pain, and the near captivity of the gaza. Now she was striking a note on the bell of life, a stroke so immense, that her name would be linked with Jihad's, the avenger bringing the battle to America. They would bring, finally, true equality to the rest of the decadent world. At last, the hand of Allah would squeeze some of the life out the pigs, just as the Israelites had squeezed the life of her village, and her family. Vengeance, at the hand of Allah, the hand invested in Jihad, His tool, His ever-faithful deliverer.
"Now quickly, go and watch for any others returning. We have all had a busy day. Tonight you lie with the one who has had the most success. Tonight you will make him feel like a King of his people. Then you will come to me and mix his seed with mine. Together we three will make a son who will be the killer of America."
Natasha felt the heat rise, her thighs already beginning to pulse with the excitement in the glorious duty she would fulfill. She would help to create a revolutionary of the likes that the world would marvel. A man-child to carry on the battle. A man-child or nothing else. For a moment the spark of motherhood struck her as she feared for a moment that she would have to kill a woman-child. But Allah would not allow such a thing, the child would be as the Angel had predicted. A man to remember, mixed from the blood of God's hand and the Hand's best fighter. Surely a portent of the child's destiny, a prediction of his strength and courage.
3000 miles away, in Washington, D.C., at the National Security Agency, their SIGINT--Signals Intelligence--unit reported the interception of a coded message being transmitted on an Amateur Radio band. The signal was received most strongly in their analysis gear in the San Francisco area.
Two hours later, an exhaustive search established that the radio transmission had been emitted from a vehicle cruising along state highway 101. This vital artery linked the lower bay area of Silicon Valley and the sprawling metropolis of San Francisco. The radio gear was readily available, since in the U.S. anyone can BUY amateur gear. You only need a license to legally operate it.
The ludicrous situation occurred due to two circumstances, the powerful electronic manufacturers who built the sets, both in the U.S. and Japan, as well as the budgetary limitations of the Federal Communications Commission. With barely enough people to monitor commercial broadcasting, there was simply no way to police a law requiring Amateur license for purchase of amateur radio equipment. In fact, only occasionally would the local area's Chief Engineer for the FCC authorize a search for illegal operators. This limited field operation for the local FCC office would usually concentrate on the misuse of Citizens Band equipment rather than the much better self-policed Amateur Radio community.
So it was inevitable that radio of choice for terrorists in the U.S. was the relatively inexpensive yet highly sophistacted Amateur rig, with eight bands, 1000 watts of power available with solid state amplifiers, and bumper mounted full power rated antennas. Without having to worry about recognition of the non-Amateur community, the terrorist could easily drive down the road, passing information back home to the Middle East, with only two or three relay stations. And when the 10 meter band began to "open-up" as the sun cycle abated, they might even be able to talk direct, around the world.
"Right, I'll see what I can do" said the Director of Central Intelligence as he hung up the phone. He had two jobs, one as the overall director of Intelligence for the U.S., and the other as the Director of just one of those agencies, the Central Intelligence Agency. In his role as Director, Central Intelligence, he was overall leader of the Defense Intelligence Agency, the Bureau of Ingtelligence and Research, the National Security Agency, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Get me DIA, NSA, and FBI" he spoke into his intercom, and his secretary hurried to get the Directors for the Defense Intelligence Agency and the National Security Agency on the phone.
"This is the DCI. Scramble. Okay? Mike, have you heard about the CPO club in California? Here's the situation. Wackston is pushing the man to move Anti Terrorist force in there. The man doesn't want to make it a big deal, and I've recommended just Delta. Jamison called me and wants us to figure a way to do it big without getting in the way of Delta. Right. Before the Joint Chiefs get involved. My thought too. Can DIA come up with a deployment plan in the area to take the heat off them? Okay. Also, let's pass all info into a central control point. I vote for it to be Commander Delta. Yeah, I'll be here for awhile...hell no, I haven't slept for a week. How 'bout you. Bastard. Yeah."
Then, pressing the button his secretary had indicated as NSA, "NSA, DCI. Scramble. Okay? Heard about the CPO club? Good. What can you tell me?". He listened for a few minutes, then continued, "Good work. Listen, I don't like the idea of someone transmitting out of the country while doing their dirty work. It doesn't read right. Normal terrorists operate totally independent. This smells like a little bigger outfit. Yeah, if these guys can use our Amateur Radio to communicate, with their leaders...No, I don't want to stop Amateur Radio, that's ludicrous. We're here to protect the right, not take it away. No, what I would like your people to do is see if we can't do something in software...you know, look at patterns of use, signal strength, spectrum ID of mobile signals, etc." The Director listened for a minute then replied,
"Well, yeah along those lines. I need to be able to watch the bad guys roll one time, and the next time zoom right in on them. Yeah anywhere in the country. You've got the stations setup, it's just a matter of fine tuning it to go back and look at the tapes you already are making, and add spectrum data to it. Well if you say so. Don't tell me it's tough, just come up with a solution Eddy. That's what all that big budget shit is for my friend. Right. Thanks anyway, but I can't do that, it's not physically possible. Meantime we need some similiar help. If you hear one of the same kind of transmissions local to the bay area, give the people on the job there the info direct. Yeah, I'll have the FBI continue to administer the interface between local agencies and us. Right. Thanks."
Then picking up the line to the FBI, "This is DCI. Scramble. Okay? On Blue Sword. Here's what we're doing. NSA will be feeding your people the SIGINT if the bad guys use the airwaves. Maybe we'll catch them organizing. Second, DIA will be be working on all the data they can dig up, and my people will wake up some of their assets in the Middle Eastern communities there. With luck we'll be able to pick up one or two of the terrorists and get some insight into where and when the next strike is to occur. Hell yes, we've got people on the ground now. You think we've been sitting around crying about it? Hell no. Yes, good assets. Right. Sorry for being so touchy. Well anyway, I still want your people on the scene to interface to the locals. Yeah. Delta will be there shortly, and the Field Commander will take charge of the operation. Have your man on the spot work with them. Okay, give Ruth a kiss for me. Tell here she could have married a Doctor and gotten more sleep. Right."
Finally he pushed his internal line and dialed 677 for OPS.
"Operations" said the quiet voice.
"Director here. I have three. First. I want minimum of four sleeping beauties up and around in Section West 3 by noon tomorrow."
"Yes, Sir. Got any preferences?"
"No, and don't wake the AD. Get it started on your call, and the AD will add a fifth in later when he comes in, if he likes. I'll be talking with him in the morning. This Carl?"
"Yes Sir."
"Okay, Carl. Call me back at my special line, when you have the assets awake. Second. I want our "lonelys" in Section 10 to quietly try to find out who's listening to their radio's every nite. Frequencies in the U.S. Amateur band."
"Amateur Band?"
"Yep, another one. Then, third, start on a list for the A.D. of probable targets of terrorism in Section West 3. Also, DIA will be giving you military targets. Look up operations brief, Blue Sword, prepare it for the AD in the morning. Pass all your target info to FBI contact, Supervising Agent Dan Alburger. Telex F153939, at 408 933 2332."
"A.D. just phoned in Sir, want him to call you?"
"Yep. Now that he's awake" sighed the Director of Operations, CIA. He knew full well that the politically savant Carl Banks had one of his people phone up the Assistant Director as soon as "the boss" was on the line.
"General, this is DIA" said the sleepy voice.
"Yeah, so to what do I owe the pleasure, AT midnight" said General Alexander Taylor, III, the current Chief of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
"50 Navy people were taken out tonight at the CPO club at Moffett NAS, California. Our information indicates a strong force of terrorists confirmed in country, with several targets, as you know, having been hit in the last few days. Recommend we ask the man for operation Blue Sword."
Taylor grimaced as he tried to remember the operation behind the name.
"Standby" he said, then set the phone down and walked into the den, unlocked his safe. Pulling out the one time cipher sheet for the day, he turned on the Wang Word Processor workstation. In a minute, he was ready to call up the note he had written to himself with the memory joggers. Scanning down the list, he grimaced again. DIA was recommending a small force of elite personnel to respond to a double sting by terrorists. Terror to both civilian and military targets. A nasty occurance the think tanks had come up with in early in 1984. Now they were about to live through this particular nightmare.
"Okay, I understand, Chick. Look. This is pretty heavy stuff. I'd like more assets in there if we could. Can't we sneak in some Rangers or Green Berets just in case there is a need to show force?"
"Well Sir we could. But as you know that would bring some interesting attention from the press. Besides the man wants us to act as if it's not a big deal."
"I can understand that. But look at it this way. Suppose they successfully take out a military target? It ain't gonna be a quiet affair anymore. In that case I want the world to see us swarm all over the place like flys to shit. I don't want us to look vulnerable in our own backyard. And I want to scare the shit outta anyone looking from outside. And, Chick. If a military target gets hit it'll be martial law inside of five minutes. We go to Condition Two. You get your people ready to read the world's response. First guy to smell the fart it is he who did the deed. Right? Okay. Good Night."
Arlie walked across the room, in response to the shrill buzzing of the red phone across the room. It sat in one of the three "dens" in his "quarters", the vast Georgetown "manor" his wife had bought back when he was first in the Pentagon as a brigadier. God, he reflected suddenly in a flash, how that woman had made a difference in his life. He made recomendations on billions of dollars of budget, but when it came to things personal, Bonnie had ten times the business sense. She always seemed to make the right decisions. Even the horror of almost going bankrupt back then had turned out to be a fabulously excellent move. The $200,000 dollar they paid for the house in 1972 was now an investment worth over $2,000,000.
His friend Alex Taylor had paid $900,000 for his new home recently, and was having a hell of time with the payments. Course they were paid nearly the same salary. As Chief of the Joint Chiefs, his former West Point buddy Alex received a slightly higher entertainment allowance, the highest for all the General Officers in the U.S. in fact, and was expected to entertain Senators, Congressmen, various of the service secretaries such as the Secretary of the Air Force.
As the Commander, US Special Operations Command, Arlie didn't entertain as much, but still his salary never quite met the requirements of his role in the U.S. military power structure. He wined and dined all the services leaders, from Major Generals thru the Chiefs of Staff, but only during periods when there were no crisis pervading their existence.
"General Jamison" he said answering the phone knowing already by the hour and a sixth sense, that it was not good news.
"Hi Alex, how can I help?" he replied to the voice on the other end of the line.