Chain of Command (10 page)

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” answered Gower, needing a drink then more than ever.

“That’s right, I almost forgot you’re a teetotaler. I apologize. Didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

Gower almost cringed at the powerful fumes coming out of Whitworth’s mouth. He wondered how long the billionaire had been at the sauce.

“It’s fine, Mr. Whitworth.” Gower’s bout with alcohol had almost derailed his perfectly crafted career, hitting an apex when he’d solicited a junior officer’s wife in the presence of the Chief of Naval Operations himself. It was one of the few regrets in his life, but he’d abstained ever since, simply utilizing his willpower.

“Please, call me Glen. After all, pretty soon you will be my right hand man.”

Whitworth clapped the admiral on the back and slipped over to the fully stocked bar to get a refill.

Gower couldn’t take the suspense, so he asked, “Did you happen to catch the Commandant’s press conference?”

“I did,” replied Whitworth without looking up from where he was filling an entire water glass with dark brown liquid. “I don’t see why it should concern us.”

Gower wanted to disagree and list off all the reasons he feared the repercussions. But he reminded himself that he was Whitworth’s equal, his soon to be the hand-picked CEO of OrionTech. Whitworth wanted to play more of the lobbyist role and hobnob with politicians and military leaders. He’d said the daily running of the company was something he loathed. Gower was more than happy to slide in and take the helm.

“There could be complications.”

Whitworth took a healthy swallow from his drink and pointed at Gower. “I thought you told me everything was taken care of. I think you said, and I quote, ‘Nothing short of a nuclear holocaust could stop this deal from happening.’ Did I get that right?”

Gower colored. “We made certain assumptions, and based on those assumptions the probability of success was determined be close to one hundred percent.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Admiral. You promised me a deal. If you can’t deliver, I’m sure I can find someone else who can.”

Gower didn’t like being threatened. He was the one who called others to the carpet. “Now Mr. Whitworth, I am a man of my word, and when I say something—”

“When you say something to me, it better be the truth.” The rage in his eyes subsided and his smile returned. “Now, if we’re finished snapping at each other like old women, why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you why the Commandant’s threat is an inconsequential blip on our radar screen.”

Gower nodded and realized he was parched. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of whatever his soon-to-be-boss was having. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and sat down to listen to what Whitworth had to say.

Chapter 18

Washington, D.C.

8:15am, December 8
^th

Congressman Tom Steiner couldn’t remember a time when the committee chambers had been filled to capacity. The Committee on Oversight and Government Reform wasn’t the sexiest of congressional subsets. The committee’s work was often seen more like an Internal Affairs division of a police department than what it really was, a group of politicians dedicated to cutting fraud and waste in the United States government.

But today the committee was making headlines. Crowds loitered outside, each representing their chosen side. There was the Marine contingent. To Steiner they looked like a bunch of worn out has-beens. Camo-wearing Harley riders with chest-length gray beards.

The other side was less represented but equally vocal. They were the crowd that Steiner could relate to. Liberal to a fault. If there was a cause to fight for they were there. Not for the first time, Steiner wondered how so many protesters could drop whatever they were doing and march on the capital. Didn’t they have jobs?

Steiner swept the thought away as he reviewed his notes for the fourth time. He tried to ignore the cameras in the gallery, but his heart beat a little bit faster knowing that he would soon be on the grand stage. The spotlight would be his alone.

There had been the heated exchanges with his colleagues and the endless ringing of phones manned by his understaffed team, but he saw it as necessary payment for the final reward. After all, was it smooth sailing for brave men like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. or Mahatma Gandhi? They’d believed in their quest for justice, a higher calling. Then again, each of their lives had been taken by a bullet.

Steiner shivered and made a mental note to ask for more personal security for the foreseeable future. Who knew what the Marines would do once the death nail slammed home. You could never trust those PTSD crazies.

The committee chairman’s gavel tapped twice. When the talking continued, the gavel pounded in the stout chairman’s hand.

“Order, please,” he said, glaring at the crowd, his eyes finally resting on Tom Steiner. Steiner ignored him. He’d gotten an earful from his colleague the day before. The old coot would be eating his own words soon enough.

“Now, a few ground rules considering today’s showing,” said the chairman. “We will have an orderly hearing. If I have to silence anyone in the gallery more than once, they will be escorted from the premises.”

There were murmurs of assent from the room and everyone settled in for the show.

“Before we begin, I would like to thank General Winfield and his staff for joining us today.” He nodded to the Commandant who sat flanked by his team. Winfield returned the gesture, his gaze unwavering. Steiner wondered what the man was thinking. He’d probably prepared all sorts of lies to cover his own ass. The New Jersey native couldn’t wait to put the jarhead in his place.

Winfield was sworn in and the other committee particulars were checked off before the chairman said, “I’d like to say for the record, that I have personally reviewed Mr. Steiner’s brief, and despite the allegations, I fully support the United States Marine Corps.” There were shouts of approval from the gallery that the chairman chose to ignore.

He allowed the next ranking members to speak briefly. Each said much the same.

Cowards
, thought Steiner. The farce went on for another ten minutes. Through it all Gen. Winfield’s face did not change.

Finally, the chairman said with a sneer, “The chairman recognizes the representative from New Jersey, Mr. Steiner.”

Steiner adjusted his microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman.” He sifted through his thoughts and decided to jump right in, the words of a charismatic opening having slipped from his mind. “General, you’ve been called before our committee this morning to answer our questions. Are you prepared to do so in a manner befitting your rank and station?”

“I already swore an oath, Congressman,” replied Winfield.

“But do you promise to give the whole truth and nothing but?”

“I believe I just answered that question, Mr. Steiner.”

The two men glared at each other. Steiner wanted to break the arrogant soldier. Didn’t he know that he served at the pleasure of the men and women sitting before him?

“Very well. I assume you have had time to review my brief?”

“We only received it last night, but yes.”

“And what is your opinion of its contents?”

“Mr. Steiner, this is your show. If there’s a question you’d like to ask me, I’m happy to answer it.”

Steiner gripped the underside of the desk.

“For the sake of those in the gallery and at home, this brief,” he held up the stack of papers, “contains allegations and evidence that the Marine Corps, its officers and its enlisted men, have not only besmirched their once proud name, but they have also tarnished the very visage of these United States of America.”

There was more than one groan from the audience and possibly from one of his fellow committee members. He ignored it and went on.

“I will now quote from this committee’s mission statement.
We exist to secure two fundamental principles. First, Americans have a right to know that the money Washington takes from them is well-spent. And second, Americans deserve an efficient, effective government that works for them. Our duty on the Oversight and Government Reform Committee is to protect these rights. Our solemn responsibility is to hold the government accountable to taxpayers, because taxpayers have a right to know what they get from their government. We will work tirelessly, in partnership with citizen-watchdogs, to deliver the facts to the American people and bring genuine reform to the federal bureaucracy. This is the mission of the Oversight and Government Reform Committee.”

He paused, looked around the hushed room, and then began again.

“I believe that the American taxpayer has the right to know what the Marine Corps has done to break the trust with the citizens of this fine land. Fraud. Waste. Bribery. Lack of combat effectiveness…to name a few. Is this what America deserves? Is this what we’re paying for? In my humble opinion, the investment of the American people would best be served by another.”

The shouts began before he finished his last sentence. House security staff looked to the chairman, who glared at Steiner with cold fury. Steiner’s gaze swept over the gallery, coming to rest on Winfield. If the Marine general was overwhelmed with any of the emotion exhibited by the rest of the room he didn’t show it. He sat as still as a statue.

Finally another gavel smacked against the wood podium. It wasn’t the chairman but one of the newest members of the committee, one of the few Republicans who hadn’t said a thing in the beginning, Congressman Tony McKnight.

The room quieted as McKnight spoke. “I’m sure America appreciates your theatrics, Mr. Steiner, but General Winfield came here to answer your questions, not to be chastised like a child. And may I just say for the record, that myself and several of my colleagues tried to dissuade the general from coming. It is my opinion that the contents of this brief, if you can even call it that, are nothing but a litany of lies concocted by individuals and organizations seeking their own betterment. You mention certain high level officials, but never once do you call them by name. Why is that, Mr. Steiner?”

Steiner had expected the question and answered truthfully. “Many of the sources listed are currently on active duty and were solicited for their opinion in exchange for their anonymity. They saw it as their patriotic duty to cooperate and contribute to the study.”

“I’m sure they did,” replied McKnight.

“I resent the tone of your—”

“And I resent the fact that you can sit here and point the finger at a decorated war hero, a man who has done more for this country than you could ever do, Mr. Steiner. General Winfield and his Marines are a band of brothers entrusted with our safe-keeping. They live by the tenets of honor, courage and commitment. Now, if you could please tell me and the American people why in God’s name we should continue to watch this show of yours?”

Steiner smiled. He looked out over the crowd that seemed like it wanted to jump over the barriers and pound him into the ground. Their hate only fueled him. He imagined the magazine covers and countless interviews. That would make up for the hate.

He swiveled his eyes back to the video camera he knew was now broadcasting around the world.

“I’ll tell the American people why I called today’s hearing. Beyond the fraud and waste, beyond the disobedience and straight up bending of laws, I have one overriding reason for calling today’s gathering.” The room sucked in a collective breath. Steiner’s eyes narrowed and shifted to meet the unwavering glare of the Marine Commandant. “You are no longer needed, General. Your Marine Corps has become obsolete.”

Chapter 19

Ouskirts of Khost, Afghanistan

Along The Border with Pakistan

4:02pm AFT, December 8
^th

Lance Corporal Reece Hock, USMC, wished that every day in the Corps was like this one. As the new guy, he usually got the dog watch. Night time in the Stan still freaked him out. It reminded him of nights in the Arizona desert with his brothers. They used to sneak out of the house and go coyote hunting. It was a stupid thing to do when he was only twelve, but he wanted to be with his older siblings. They were always doing crazy things. Their dad, a former Army soldier with the 101st, just told them to use muzzle awareness and keep each other safe.

In Arizona, it was the sound of coyotes that kept him from sleeping. In Afghanistan it was everything else. Tracers. Mortar rounds. Random shrieks in the darkness. Even though the official war had ended, there was still plenty of fighting going on. His friends at home hadn’t believed him when he’d told them.

Hock rolled up his sleeves so he could soak in a bit of the welcome sunshine. That was another thing that had surprised him, the cold. Winter was still winter, another reason taking the late watch sucked a big green weenie. At least during the day you might get some extra temp with the sun.

He heard footsteps behind him and saw one of the civilians who had recently been attached to his Air Naval Gunfire Liaison Company (ANGLICO) team walking up the small rise to the sandbagged lookout post. The guy was fully native, his beard cascading down his chest. He’d introduced himself as Dan. No last name. Even though the guy looked like a tribal elder, Hock’s gunny said that the guy was probably either CIA or some former Delta finishing his career with a civilian mercenary company.

They’d first kept him at arm’s length, but Dan had proved he not only understood their mission and could call in close air support like the gunny, but he knew the area like he’d lived there for years. He even volunteered to stand watch with the Marines, something he was just showing up to do, if a little late.

Dan took a seat next to Lcpl Hock and extended a can of Skoal. Hock nodded his thanks and grabbed the can, pinching out a bit and sticking it behind his lower lip.

“Seen any good movies lately?” Dan asked, slipping the Skoal back under his muddy robes.