By Order of the President tpa-1 Read online

  One of the ways he had done this after 9/11, when the FBI and the CIA-and some other agencies-had sent him "liaison officers," was to tell them, politely and privately, that unless they considered themselves as part of the CentCom command team, and behaved themselves accordingly, he was going to send them back where they came from as "unsatisfactory" and keep sending whoever was sent to replace them back until he was either relieved himself or CentCom had liaison officers who regarded themselves as members of the team.

  That had not, of course, endeared him to the directors of the FBI and the CIA, but, in the end, he had prevailed.

  "I don't have them running five miles before breakfast, honey," he told Mrs. Naylor. "Not yet. But neither do they think they were sent down here to write reports on what I'm doing wrong when they're not soaking up the sun on the beach."

  There was no question in Naylor's mind that both the FBI and the CIA had dropped the ball big-time in not knowing what was going to happen on 9/11. So had the Defense Intelligence Agency and the State Department intelligence people. He didn't know the details, and made no effort to get them. But he heard things without asking that told him he was right.

  He also understood that the president had been in a tight spot. He couldn't fire the heads of the CIA and the FBI in the days immediately after something like 9/11 happened no matter how justified that would have been. Legitimately frightened people need reassurance and not to hear that the heads of the country's domestic and foreign intelligence had been incompetent and had been canned.

  Another direct result of 9/11 was the establishment of the Department of Homeland Security and the president's naming of Governor Matt Hall as its secretary. Naylor thought that making it a cabinet-level department was a fine idea, and not only because it meant he would have an ear at cabinet meetings.

  The Department of Homeland Security did not have a "liaison officer"-at least, not a senior one; there were half a dozen or more DHS employees around MacDill. One wasn't needed. The secretary of homeland security and the commanding general of CentCom talked just about daily on a secure phone line.

  And, of course, Charley's up there with Matt in Sodom on the Potomac.

  General Naylor looked again at Charley's e-mail message, and, in particular, at the "we just got this from Langley" opening.

  Jesus Christ, Charley! We? You're just a lousy major!

  But he was smiling fondly, not frowning.

  "General?"

  Naylor looked at the door to the conference room. Sergeant Major Suggins was standing there.

  "Sir, General Potter's waiting outside your office."

  It was an unspoken question-"What do I do with him?"-as much as a statement.

  "Be right there," General Naylor said, closed the lid of the Infernal Black Box, disconnected the ethernet cable, and then carried it into his office, set it on his desk, and connected it to the ethernet cable there.

  [FOUR]

  General George Potter was pouring himself and General Naylor another cup of coffee when Mr. Lawrence P. Fremont, the CIA liaison officer to CentCom, appeared in the door to General Naylor's office.

  "Ears burning, Larry?" Naylor said, waving him in and then motioning to the coffee service.

  "No, thank you," Fremont said, then: "I'm the subject of discussion?"

  "The agency is," Naylor said. "George tells me your guy in Luanda is one of his. And we were idly wondering why they'd send a special operator to Angola."

  "And your sure to be less than flattering conjecture, George?"

  "Well, he's black; he probably speaks Portuguese; and he's a special operator. Langley probably decided he'd be less dangerous there."

  " 'Less dangerous,' George?"

  "In the sense he wouldn't have much of an opportunity to make embarrassing waves," Potter said, unrepentant. "I also said it was probably because he's black and speaks Portuguese."

  "I respectfully disagree with premise one," Fremont said, smiling, "and agree with the rest. White people have trouble not standing out in crowds in Africa. But, to judge from this, your/my/our guy seems to know what he's doing."

  He handed two printouts to Naylor.

  "The first was on my desk," Fremont said. "That's what you had, I suppose. The second came in just now."

  "Yeah," Naylor said, glancing at the first. "That's what I had."

  He handed it to Potter and then read the second message and handed that to Potter.

  SECRET

  SATBURST 02 LUANDA 23 MAY 2005

  FOR REGDIR SWAFRICA

  (1) SOURCE AT AEROPORTO INTERNACIONAL STATES LA-9021 UNDERWENT

  REPAIRS DURING PAST WEEK UNDER SUPERVISION OF CAPTAIN A.J. MACILHENNY

  OF LEASE-AIRE.

  (2) REGISTRY OF HOTEL DEL QUATRO DE FEVEREIRO, LUANDA, INDICATES

  ALEX MACILHENNY, US CITIZEN OF PHILA., PENN., CHECKED IN 16 MAY 2005.

  INSPECTION OF HIS ROOM SHOWS NO INDICATION THAT MACILHENNY PLANNED

  DEPARTURE. ALL CLOTHING, PERSONAL EFFECTS, ETCETERA, STILL IN PLACE.

  POSSIBILITY THEREFORE EXISTS THAT MACILHENNY PILOTED PROBABLY

  UNWILLINGLY LEASE-AIRE LA-9021.

  MORE TO FOLLOW.

  STACHIEF LUANDA

  "George, while we wait for the others can you check and see if we got this from somebody else?" Naylor ordered. "I'd like to be sure that it's up and running."

  "Yes, sir," General Potter said and walked out of the office.

  Naylor saw Fremont's look of curiosity.

  "You don't want to know, Larry," Naylor said. "If you knew, you might feel obliged to tell someone in Langley that I think we can get things quicker than they can send them to us, and their feelings might be hurt."

  Fremont raised both hands in a gesture meaning, I didn't ask and, therefore, don't know.

  Naylor smiled at him. Fremont had just proven again he thought of himself as a member of the team.

  Vice-Admiral Louis J. Warley, USN, Central Command's J-2 intelligence officer, came to the office door a moment later. He held two printouts in his hand. Naylor motioned him into the office.

  "I've got the one I think you were referring to," Warley said. "And a second one just came in. Both from DIA."

  He handed them to Naylor, who glanced at them and handed them back.

  "That's what we're going to talk about," Naylor said.

  General Albert McFadden, U.S. Air Force, CentCom's deputy commander, walked into Naylor's office without asking permission.

  "Somebody's grabbed a 727?" he asked.

  "Read all about it," Naylor said and motioned for Admiral Warley to give the printouts to General McFadden.

  McFadden read the printouts and added: "A 727 and the crew, apparently. I wonder what the hell this is all about?"

  No one answered him.

  The last person to arrive was Mr. Brian Willis, of the FBI. He held a printout in his hand.

  "The bureau just sent me this, General," he said. "Actually, while we were in the conference. Is that what you were talking about?"

  Naylor glanced at it. It was Miller's first satburst.

  "That's it, but there's already been a second," Naylor said.

  "Here," General McFadden said, handing it to him.

  Naylor waited until Willis had read it, then said, "Brian, can you get on the horn to the FBI in Philadelphia and see what they have on this Lease-Aire corporation, and the pilot? I think we should have that."

  "So do I," Willis agreed, after a moment's thought, and then appeared to be wondering where he was to sit at Naylor's office conference table.

  "How about doing that now, Brian?" Naylor asked, hoping his voice didn't reveal his annoyance. "While we're waiting for General Potter? Use the phone booth, if you'd like."

  He pointed to the cubicle with the desk, chair, and secure telephone.

  Willis nodded, said, "Oh. Sure. Okay," and walked into the small room.

  He was still on the telephone when General Potter returned.

  "Up and running, boss," he said.

  "Okay. Good." Naylor looked around the room. "Everybody's here, and everybody's read the two satbursts from Angola, right?"

  Everybody nodded.

  "Okay," Naylor went on, "then let's get started."

  He sat down, raised the lid of the laptop, and turned it on.

  "Let's do two things," he began when all but Willis had taken seats. "Let's do worst-case scenario; and, in the military order, junior man first."

  When it came to seniority among the liaison officers, somewhat important for some things, Naylor had used what he thought of as the George Orwell Theory of Seniority. All pigs are equal, but some pigs are more equal than others. All the liaison officers, he had decreed, were to have the assimilated rank of major general, and rank between them was to be determined by how long they had been assigned to CentCom.

  That made Brian Willis of the FBI the junior man. He was the fourth FBI liaison officer. Naylor had sent back the first three as unsuitable. Fremont had had only one predecessor.

  Willis slipped into a chair at the conference table.

  "I talked to the SAC in Philadelphia," he began. "He got the first message from the bureau, but not the second."

  "It'll probably be there in a couple of minutes," Naylor said. "Are they going to find out what they can about the pilot, and the company: what is it, 'Lease-Aire'?"

  "They already knew something about them, General," Willis said, "and-out of school-Jerry Lowell, the SAC, said we'd give five-to-one that Hartford is somehow going to be involved."

  "I'm afraid I don't quite understand that," Naylor said.

  "Insurance, General," Willis said, with a sly smile. "This Lease-Aire outfit has been stumbling along for a long time on the edge of bankruptcy. Their airplane is, quote, stolen, unquote, and they get paid."

  "You did tell him that the CIA guy said there was no indication that the pilot was checking out of his hotel?" Naylor said.

  "That's what they call 'setting the scene,' General," Willis explained patiently. "It looks as if he wasn't planning to leave. We decide he was forced to leave, to fly the plane. He turns up in South Africa, or someplace, and says, 'Yes, that's what's happened.' "

  "From our standpoint," Naylor said, "if the airplane was stolen to collect the insurance:"

  "He puts it on autopilot and aims it out over the ocean," Willis interjected, "and then goes out the back door. By now, that airplane is probably on the bottom of the sea."

  "As I was saying," Naylor said, a little sharply, "from our standpoint that's a best-case scenario. The airplane will not be used in some kind of terrorist activity."

  "I know I'm speaking out of turn, Allan:" General McFadden said.

  Yeah, you are. Shut up and wait your turn. And don't call me by my first name in the presence of our subordinates.

  "You have the floor, General," Naylor said.

  "I had a flash Armageddon worst-case scenario as soon as I came in here," General McFadden said. "I mean, think about it. What's missing is an old airplane without the range to make a nuisance of itself anywhere important. With one exception. Think about this: What these rag-heads are really trying to do is get all the other rag-heads united against us, right? And so far they're not doing so hot, right? So what would really piss off all the world's rag-heads? An American airplane crashing into that black thing-whatever it is-in Mecca:"

  "They call that the ' ka'ba,' General McFadden," General Potter interrupted. "Muslims believe that it was built by Adam, then rebuilt by Ibrahim and his son Isma'il. It's a brick structure, a ten on the Holy Scale, where the Vatican is maybe a five, if you consider that at least the Catholics let others in to worship:"

  ": to which," General McFadden said, resuming the floor, "all the rag-heads make a pilgrimage." He paused to glower at Potter for his interruption.

  Potter, undaunted, smiled at him.

  "Would the rag-heads believe another rag-head had done that? Hell no, they wouldn't," McFadden went on. "Especially when the plane was traceable to us and the body of an American pilot was found in the wreckage."

  "George?" Naylor asked.

  "It's a little far-fetched, sir," General Potter said. "But it could be done, and I have to agree with General McFadden that it would indeed cause our Muslim brothers to think even less of us than they do now."

  "All of them, Potter," McFadden said. "Every goddamned one of them!"

  Out of the corner of his eye, Naylor saw activity on the laptop screen and dropped his eyes to it.

  THIS JUST CAME BACK CHANNEL FOR GEN POTTER-SGTMAJ SUGGINS

  SECRET

  SATBURST 03 LUANDA 23 MAY 2005

  FOR REGDIR SWAFRICA

  SOURCES AT POLICIA NACIONAL LUANDA CONFIRM THAT SERGEI NOSTROFF

  (RUSSIAN NATIONAL AND KNOWN ASSOCIATE OF VASILY RESPIN, ALLEGED ARMS

  DEALER) AND PAOLO WALLI (ANGOLAN NATIONAL SUSPECTED OF VARIOUS

  CRIMINAL ACTIVITIES) ARE KNOWN TO HAVE BEEN IN LUANDA IN PAST WEEK.

  PRESENT WHEREABOUTS OF EITHER ARE UNKNOWN.

  UNDERSIGNED SUGGESTS POSSIBILITY THAT BOTH MAY BE INVOLVED WITH

  DISAPPEARANCE OF LA-9021. RESPIN REPORTED TO OWN AT LEAST THREE BOEING

  727 AIRCRAFT. LA-9021 MAY BE FLOWN ELSEWHERE, POSSIBLY TO SHARJAH,

  UNITED ARAB EMIRATES, WHERE RESPIN CONTROLS THREE OR MORE AIRLINES

  EITHER FOR USE WITH FALSE IDENTITY NUMBERS OR TO BE STRIPPED OF USABLE

  PARTS FOR OTHER AIRCRAFT.

  STRONGLY RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE AND WIDESPREAD USE OF SATELLITE,

  AWACS, OTHER SURVEILLANCE ASSETS, AND HUMINTEL ON ALL POSSIBLE ROUTES

  BETWEEN LUANDA AND SHARJAH, AND OTHER POINTS IN MIDDLE EAST.

  MORE TO FOLLOW.

  STACHIEF LUANDA

  Naylor read it twice. It sounded slightly less far-fetched than General McFadden's worst-case scenario.

  And anything is possible. Let's hope this is all it is. Jesus. I hope McFadden's not even close to being right! Naylor laid his hands on the laptop and typed:

  COPIES FOR EVERYBODY. NOW.

  Naylor became aware that everyone but McFadden-who was enthusiastically buttressing his "Crash It into the Ka'ba" theory-was looking at him.

  "Another theory has come in," he said. "The sergeant major is making everybody copies. While we're waiting for that, would you go on, please, General McFadden?"

  [FIVE]

  Office of the National Security Advisor

  The White House

  Pennsylvania Avenue NW

  Washington, D.C.

  2005 23 May 2005

  "Natalie Cohen," the national security advisor said into her telephone. She was a small, light-skinned woman who wore her hair in a pageboy.

  "It's me, Natalie," her caller said, the thick Carolina accent unmistakable.

  "Yes, Mr. President?"

  "I just finished reading the seven o'clock summary."

  "Yes, Mr. President?"

  "Natalie, as the last item, or the next-to-last item, there's an airplane missing in Angola. What's that all about?"

  "We don't know much, Mr. President, but I checked with the Air Force and they don't seem to think it poses a threat to the U.S., at least so far as making it a flying bomb is concerned. It's too small and doesn't have enough range to fly here. There was some concern that it might be used to crash into our embassy there, or in South Africa, but the time for that-if it was to be immediately done after it was taken-has passed. Right now, we just don't know what happened to it."

  "Don't you mean, Natalie, ' they just don't know'?"

  "Sir?"

  "Our enormous and enormously expensive intelligence community," the president said. " We, you and me, Natalie, are supposed to get the intelligence. They are supposed to come up with it, and then give it to you and me. Right?"

  "Yes, Mr. President, that's the way it's supposed to work."

  "And they haven't been doing that very well, lately, have they?"

  "Mr. President:"

  "They haven't and we both know it," the president said.

  She didn't reply.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to unload on you," the president said.

  "I didn't think you did, Mr. President. I understand your frustration. I'm often frustrated myself."

  "I wish I could think of some way to shake them up," the president said. "Any ideas?"

  "I'm afraid not, Mr. President."

  "Matt Hall and his wife are coming to supper. You interested?"

  "I'm at your call, Mr. President, but I really have made plans."

  "Well, I'll see what Matt has to say, and then you can tell me tomorrow morning what you think."

  "What's the buzzword? Buzz-phrase? 'Thinking out of the box'?"

  "Dr. Cohen, you are absolutely right. As soon as Matt walks in, I'm going to hand him a stiff drink and tell him to start thinking out of the box."

  She chuckled.

  "See you in the morning, Natalie. Have a nice night."

  "Thank you, Mr. President."

  "And when you come in in the morning, I hope you'll be able to tell me we have found this missing airplane."

  "I hope so, too, Mr. President."

  "I just realized, Natalie, that I'm not kidding. Maybe Matt will have some ideas."

  "I'm sure he will, Mr. President."

  "Good night, Natalie."

  "Good night, Mr. President."