A Time for War (6 page)

“Except for the part about him risking his life and me sitting at a desk,” she had told her parents when she returned from her interview in Suitland.

“It took people on the ground, in bunkers, to invent the radar that told him where to go,” her father had said.

After a four-month training session at the National Maritime Intelligence Training Center in Virginia Beach, Virginia, Griffith took up residence in the sprawling 4-story, 226-acre complex at the Suitland Federal Complex where she edited the internal publication
Eyes On,
a traditional tabloid-size newspaper that was part news, part social calendar for all of the ONI. Because she was able to reduce complex ideas to a few digestible lines, Griffith was moved to the Current Events Bureau, which wrote the daily briefings for the Secretary of the Navy, the Chief of Naval Intelligence, and the Director of Naval Intelligence. Within a year of arriving she was giving briefings to representatives of foreign intelligence services. It helped that she had minored in Chinese at NYU. She was able to contribute a great deal to the ONI when it came to interpreting communications between Chinese agents and agencies.

The jobs were fun and challenging; having a high-security clearance made her Big News when she went home to Whitefish, Montana, for Christmas; and her dating life was rich: thirty-three percent of the population in Washington was single, and the men were impressed with her position.

Today the ONI was respectfully subdued but abuzz with the news of the SEALs' deaths in Afghanistan the day before. As rescue teams reached the remote region and data began to come in, and a news blackout was lifted—a cautionary move that gave local commanders a chance to see if military movements were being leaked by a mole—the data was circulated among everyone involved with intelligence analysis. The attack was what the intelligence community classified as “all eyes”: everyone with appropriate clearance was asked to study and respond.

Griffith was surprised, then concerned, that the initial reports cited zero communication from the downed Chinook; not even an automated Mayday. That kind of result came from running into a mountainside at high speed, which was not the case according to the first troops on the scene. There were no initial traces of an explosion—no obviously blown-out metal, no blast pattern on the surrounding terrain. The evidence pointed to an instant, catastrophic electrical failure, something that had never happened to this particular helicopter. But there was something that
had
affected it nearly three years earlier, Griffith found in her research.

In 2006, billionaire industrialist Richard Hawke founded a company called CelesTellia that would provide wireless Internet bandwidth using a new broadband technology. Within a few months, the American military discovered that CelesTellia's new technology was interfering with the GPS systems and electronics in some of its aircraft, including Chinooks. Pilots flying fighter jets identified the problem first. They would suddenly find their instruments going haywire, their planes unresponsive: total systems failure. In each case momentum brought the aircraft out of range quickly enough for the systems to recover before the jets threatened to nosedive.

However, CelesTellia had announced plans to make its wireless Internet bandwidth available around the world—remote locations as well as cities. This meant that navigable space, by air, water, or land, would be effectively booby-trapped by the broadband technology. The military objected, publicly and loudly.

Richard Hawke promised to shut down CelesTellia and abandon the broadband technology. The media furor continued for a few weeks, then faded out.

Four months later Hawke founded a company called Squarebeam that used the same broadband technology. However, the company was now offering a new line of separate products: electronic components that would shield electrical systems from the broadband technology. Supposedly a fighter jet with these electronic components installed would not experience electrical failure when flying through the range of a Squarebeam unit.

The military organized an investigation of Squarebeam but it was shut down within hours—reportedly because Hawke had strong ties with the White House.

Griffith could find no further reference to the matter internally. Externally, however, she found a series of investigative reports from fringe journalists—and one mainstream report from an infamous journalist. There was a transcript of an episode of the TV talk show
Truth Tellers
from 2009. On that particular show were José Colon, a scientist from Caltech; Rebecca Walsh, the press officer of Squarebeam; and host Jack Hatfield. Griffith scanned the document to a section that had the gunpowder smell of a smoking gun:

Hatfield: Dr. Colon, you've analyzed the original CelesTellia system and the new Squarebeam system.

Colon: Yes, sir.

Hatfield: What differences did you find?

Colon: There are none.

Walsh: That's simply not true—

Hatfield: I didn't ask about the separate components your company is selling, which shield electrical systems from Squarebeam. Those components are a patch. They don't fix the actual broadband technology itself.

Walsh: They aren't a patch, they are integrated components—

Colon: Which have to be installed separately in all vulnerable electrical systems. That's not my definition of “integrated.”

Hatfield: And that's a lot of fighter jets, battleships, tanks, and a whole army of other vehicles, which will need those components. Is Richard Hawke going to sign all those contracts by hand?

Walsh: The components are only a precaution for those who want it. The technology is safe.

Colon: It is not. Military aircraft passing through your firm's transmissions have had near-catastrophic electrical failures—

Walsh: Absolutely untrue.

Hatfield: These integrated components sound like the protection rackets run by the Mob. If you don't buy my add-on, the source hardware will kill you.

Colon: Exactly.

Walsh: Mr. Hatfield, it is irresponsible and insulting for you to compare our firm with the Mafia.

Hatfield: I'm sorry. You're right. The Mafia doesn't have connections with the President of the United States.

Walsh: Another unfounded allegation—

Hatfield: Ms. Walsh, I have here stock certificates issued to the President when he was still a community organizer. He held over a thousand shares of stock in CelesTellia.

Walsh: Which he sold when he ran for public office, even though that was not required by law.

Hatfield: Yes, and Richard Hawke donated barrels of money to his political campaign for the Senate and then for the White House. And Hawke is still donating. My sources say a quarter million to the President last year and a quarter million to Congress.

Walsh: Mr. Hawke is a private citizen making legal contributions.

Hatfield: Mr. Hawke is making a lot of wheels very greasy. Those of you watching at home or listening on the radio:
Truth Tellers
will continue to investigate the dangers posed by the Squarebeam technology and its spin-offs—

Walsh: There are no dangers—

Hatfield:—and will tell you what we discover in a future follow-up segment.

There was no future segment. After inciting international fury over comments about Muslims, Jack Hatfield was off the airwaves. Griffith had read about that in a journalism blog.

She reread the
Truth Tellers
transcript. There was no question that Hatfield wasn't being impartial, but considering what was at risk and the weight of the corporation he was fighting, Griffith couldn't begrudge him his approach. In the end, the last public word on Squarebeam technology was still an open-ended one.

She turned to a quick search of the records on Richard Hawke. Hawke, already a communications mogul, had founded CelesTellia mostly on his own dime but with some funds from a small group of investors. He acquired the broadband technology when he merged with a small phone service company. CelesTellia's version of that technology was created and tested. Then CelesTellia ran into trouble with the military and Hawke shut it down. He reopened it as Squarebeam and—reportedly—used his relationship with the President to protect the new company and secure military contracts.

“When Hawke had Squarebeam ready to go, he got his old friend the President to drop the Top Secret curtain,” Griffith muttered. “Behind the curtain he sold the military his technology, and then he sold them patches to protect them from that technology.” She grimaced. “Hatfield was right. It's exactly like the Mob.”

San Francisco, California

As Jack walked away from Spumante's, he thought about how much he loved San Francisco. The geography, the wind that blended the air of sea and land into something special, the bloodshot-setting sun, the streets, the sounds, the population, the melting pot that drove Bruno into a fury—they were an integral part of who Jack Hatfield was. The
Sea Wrighter,
the small apartment he kept on Union Street where he hid out and repaired watches and clocks as a kind of therapy, his close friends, even the anger he felt whenever he saw the GNT cable news network offices where he used to tape his talk show—they were all here. Their quirks, pricks, familiarity, challenges, disappointments, and comforts were part of the emotional gauntlet that kept Jack Hatfield alert and engaged. He didn't know who he would be, what he would be, how he would function without all of that. That's what is known as “home.”

He looked at his watch. It was nearly two o'clock. He was on Clay Street now, the site of the first cable-pulled streetcars. Pedestrian traffic was normal, an equal mix of shuffling locals and stop-and-start tourists. Yu Market was located in the middle of the street with other storefronts and Asian restaurants around it. The buildings were mostly two and three stories tall with signs in Chinese and English. Jack saw a customer enter the grocery; the police were long gone and there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary.

Jack felt a flash of nostalgia. He had first come to the grocery when he still had his talk show. Jack was old enough to remember the turf wars that had always been at a low simmer down here. They led to the founding of the SFPD's Asian Gang Task Force, which stopped most of the street violence. However, that did not end the lawless activities of the youth gangs. They went back underground and continued recruiting from high schools and pool halls, rewarding members with cash, women, drugs, and a sense of empowerment. Unlike the majority of the Asians, the gangs were scrupulously devoted to the idea of non-assimilation. Their idea of community did not extend beyond the boundaries of the gang. Chinese who did not support them were against them.

The struggle for control of the drug trade, gambling, the sale of knock-off designer goods, cockfights, and fight clubs kept the gangs bickering among one another, unable to expand. Jack had once described it on air as “a local version of Iran and Iraq under Saddam, when they were so busy warring with one another they couldn't do much damage to anyone else.”

The one area that did not apply was human trafficking. For years the Long Zai gang had transported young Chinese, Malaysian, and Thai women in cargo containers to Vancouver. Then they drove the women by van down to San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego, ostensibly to work in restaurants. All the girls were forced into prostitution. Maggie Yu heard one of the gang members talking about his “ladies” at the martial arts school, where some gang members went for martial arts training. Maggie told her father, who was sickened by the thought that girls—some no older than his fourteen-year-old daughter—were being forced to sell their bodies. Johnny got in touch with Jack, who arranged for him to wear a wire while he watched his daughter train. Johnny picked up conversations that helped police break the Long Zai traffickers. Johnny continued to help Jack as an unidentified source in follow-up segments, and he was one of the few people who called Jack in support when he was fired from
Truth Tellers
.

The doorbell jangled on its steel ribbon as Jack walked into Yu Market. Johnny was behind the counter. He came around to greet Jack, his leathery face unfolding in a big smile that made him look twenty years younger.

“My friend,” Johnny said, embracing the much taller man.

Jack noticed Maggie as she helped an elderly customer get something from a top shelf. When she was finished, the young woman hurried over. She gave Jack a warm, lingering hug as well.

“It's so good to see you again,” she said.

“And you,” Jack told her. “I hear you got to practice your mantra today: a martial artist must be gentle in life—”

“—and ferocious in combat,” Maggie replied. “You didn't forget.”

“When it comes to mottos and morals, my brain is like Velcro.”

She broke the embrace and smiled up at him. “I remember when you arranged a studio tour for my college class, you and some of your friends were trading verses from the Bible,” she said. “Do you still do that?”

“As often as possible,” Jack told her. “Wisdom doesn't go out of style, even if it's in increasingly short supply.” He stepped back and looked at her. “So. Are you sure you're all right?”

She nodded once. But there was uncertainty in her eyes, in the way she fingered a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist. Her business with the intruder had come to a hard stop. That didn't mean it was over.

“Is it all right to talk here?” Jack asked.

“Yes, yes,” Johnny said. He indicated the customers in the aisles. “We know all of these people.”

“Tell me what happened,” Jack said to Maggie.

Maggie told him. Her voice was calm as she described the man, their exchange, and his flight from the store when he saw Johnny and the mourners. Occasionally she pointed to show him where events had taken place. Johnny put his arm around his daughter as she talked.