Chain of Command (9 page)

She looked up at him, wishing he’d say something, anything. Again the look that she couldn’t identify. Then she noticed the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying to keep his mouth closed. He pointed to his mouth as if to say, “Can I speak now?”

Diane rolled her eyes and nodded.

He let out a chestful of air along with a chuckle.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“I do. You?”

“Yeah. Look, you know my history, or at least most of it. You know about Jessica…”

Diane had read all about Cal’s murdered fiancé after he’d told her about the brazen attack.

“I’ll admit, I was mad when Top told me about the transcripts you gave him. I’m sorry. It’s who I am. I’m not used to people checking up on me. But Top can be pretty persuasive.”

“What did he say?” Diane asked.

“I think his exact words were, ‘If you give Diane shit about this, I’ll rip your arms off.’”

“He said that?”

Cal nodded. “He must really like you. Maybe you should be dating him.”

Diane slapped Cal playfully on the leg.

“Ouch.”

“Stop crying, Marine. Tell me the rest.”

Cal rubbed his leg like he’d been wounded. “Well, after he told me that, and Daniel told me pretty much the same thing, I took a walk and thought about things.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Life. You. Me. The thing is, Diane, I love what I do. It’s part of who I am. Sure I’ve got my bad days, but I get to go to work and really make a difference. Do you understand what that feels like, why that’s so important?”

Diane nodded.

“So I started thinking about how I could have it all, a life and my passion.” Cal’s voice drifted off with his thoughts.

“And?”

“I made a phone call.”

“To who?”

“My boss.”

“Jonas?”

Diane had spent plenty of time with Jonas Layton, The Jefferson Group’s CEO. She’d been just as impressed with his down-to-earth attitude as she had been with the vast wealth he’d built.

“No.”

Diane’s face scrunched in confusion. “If not Jonas, then who?”

“The president.”

“The president of…?” Diane knew Cal did some work for U.Va, had even given a few guest lectures. Was he talking about the president of the university?

Cal’s eyebrow rose, indicating that she should guess again.

Then it hit her.

“You mean Zimmer?” she blurted. Diane knew Cal was friends with President Brandon Zimmer, but she had assumed that the friendship was based on the fact that Cal’s cousin, Travis Haden, was Zimmer’s chief of staff.

“At least I’m happy that Miss Smarty Pants didn’t figure that one out on her own.”

Diane didn’t immediately reply. She’d known almost from the start that Cal was into something below the radar, possibly working for the CIA, but if he worked directly for the president, what could that mean?

“What did he say?”

“He said that if you’re smart enough to find information that even
we
couldn’t get our hands on, that maybe we should be asking you for help.”

“He really said that?”

“He did.”

“What else did he say?”

Cal scratched his head, and then said, as embarrassed as Diane had ever seen him, “He said that I better pull my head out of my ass and tell you how I feel about you.”

“And how do you—”

“Despite all the crap we’re probably about to go through, despite my baggage and your nosy habits, I love you, Diane Mayer. I love you.”

Chapter 16

Marine Corps War Memorial

Arlington, Virginia

8:30pm, December 7
^th

The wind whipped the illuminated American flag in a steady flap. Murmurs from the gathered reporters died down as On-Air lights blinked to life across the line of mounted television cameras. Luckily the night was unseasonably warm or else it might’ve been unbearable.

No one knew why they’d been summoned. What they did know was that the calls hadn’t just come from Headquarters Marine Corps, but from the White House as well. Strings had been pulled and the live feed would be fed into homes across the nation in this prime time slot.

At precisely the appointed time, the Commandant of the Marine Corps stepped out from the shadows followed by none other than President Zimmer himself. Reporters swiveled in their seats as still cameras clicked and video whirred.

General Winfield was attired in his blues, an impressive array of medals adorning his left breast along with his leather Sam Brown belt. He looked every bit the Marine. Tall. Weathered in a battle-hardened way. Resolute.

The president took a position just behind the Commandant as Gen. Winfield stepped up to the simple podium. No one in attendance missed the significance of the leader of the free world choosing to stay in the camera shot, ostensibly taking the role of protector and supporter. Journalists nudged their neighbors and scribbled furious notes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I won’t keep you long, I promise.”

Winfield shifted his gaze from those in attendance to the bank of television cameras.

“Since 1775, the United States Marine Corps has served as this nation’s expeditionary force in readiness. We’ve fought in places like Belleau Wood, Iwo Jima, Korea, and Iraq. Like our brethren in our sister services, we’ve shed blood across the globe in order to protect the lives of Americans and uphold the interests of this nation.”

“We have solemnly sworn to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, against all enemies foreign and domestic, and that we will bear true faith and allegiance to the same. And now, as the world steps back from a war-time footing, we find that our allegiance, our very existence, is being questioned.

“In the coming days you will undoubtedly hear reports that will cause shock and dismay. Some may be true, while others may not be. Reports will surface condemning the Marine Corps, attempting to put us down, to strike enough fear in your hearts that you’ll begin to question whether America does indeed require the future service of the United States Marine Corps. What I will promise you now, right here, under the gaze of one of our most sacred monuments, is that the Marine Corps will cooperate in any way we can. Even as I speak, orders are being disseminated to Marine commands around the globe to cooperate with federal investigators, should the need arise. We will not run, and we will not hide. It’s not what we do. We will tackle this challenge like we’ve tackled so many in our rich history, with honor, courage, and commitment to this great nation.

“To the vast majority of Marines, active and retired, I tell you that you have done nothing wrong. For those who have, justice will be swift. As for the rest of you, know that your chain of command has complete faith in your abilities. Together we will see this through.

“To those individuals rallying to Congressmen Thomas Steiner’s cry, who believe that the Marine Corps is just another line item on the federal budget, and that we should be replaced by a leaner, but less mean model, I caution you to reconsider. Ask your constituents. See if the American people still want us on that wall, whether they sleep better at night knowing that Marines are protecting their freedom, keeping the wolves at bay.

“To our sister services, I will say that we have worked together for hundreds of years. If the last decade has taught us anything, it’s that we each have our own unique role in the U.S. military. We’ve become closer through training, joint commands and on the battlefield. To put aside those bonds in the name of fiscal responsibility or inter-service rivalry would be a disservice to our country.”

The Commandant’s eyes went cold as he gripped the top of the podium with his white gloved hands.

“To the forces who may be planning to do harm to my Marines, and who have already been party to the death of the Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Douglas Ellwood, I am here to tell you that I will fight until my last breath to see you pulled from the shadows. If there’s anyone you want, it’s me. If you’re looking for a fight, you’ve got one. If you don’t have the courage to fight in the open, I suggest you stay in your holes. Either way, I am here, waiting. Don’t make me wait too long. Marines aren’t known for their patience.”

+++

Congressman Tony McKnight traced his lower lip with the rocks glass half full of Grey Goose. He’d been at dinner when one of his aides informed him of the press conference. That text was followed shortly by another text from President Zimmer telling him to tune in. Ten minutes later, he was alone in his study watching the brief broadcast.

Bold move, Mr. President
, he thought, sipping his drink.

He’d expected the Marine Corps to keep things quiet. Instead, they’d decided, or rather Gen. Winfield had decided, to confront the threat head-on. McKnight respected the Marine for his bravery, for standing up when waiting for the die to be cast might’ve been easier, but it was too late.

While he appreciated the sacrifice of the Marines, he wasn’t above using them for his own means. And without knowing it, Zimmer and Winfield had played right into his hand. The president didn’t have a clue. He’d just tied himself to a sinking ship on national television. He’d basically said that no matter what surfaced concerning the Marines, he, President Brandon Zimmer, supported them fully.

McKnight laughed. The pieces were already in play. All he had to do now was see how many more ropes he could wrap around the president’s ankles and wrists as he was dragged into the underwater abyss by his proud Marines. McKnight couldn’t wait to see it happen.

+++

Charlottesville, Virginia

Cal answered the call before the first ring finished.

“Stokes here, sir.”

“Did you watch?” asked the Commandant.

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you think?”

Cal hesitated. Like the rest of America, he’d only found out about the press conference minutes before it began. Dread crept up his back as he’d listened to Winfield’s words, especially when he’d mentioned Gen. Ellwood. The Commandant had chucked their plan without even consulting him.

“I’m not sure it was the best move, sir.”

“Oh?”

“We may have lost the element of surprise. They know that we know.”

Winfield chuckled. Cal bit back his annoyance.

“Sir, is there something I should know?”

“I would’ve thought it was obvious, Cal. I just did you a favor.”

“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

“First, I’m done hiding. I’m going to tackle this thing head on. I owe that to Doug Ellwood and to my Marines. Second, the favor I just did you was to paint a big fat target on myself. I’m sure the rats will start coming out of the woodwork with a vengeance now.”

“Where does that leave us, General? We had some good leads, but now…”

“While these bastards get busy tearing me apart, I want you to sneak into the shadows and find the sons-of-bitches.”

A diversion. Cal smiled at the thought. Winfield was right. Overt masking covert. The Commandant’s admission of fault would be seen as an act of preservation, the final defense. But Cal knew as well as Winfield that sometimes the best defense was a strong, yet silent, offense. Sappers slipping out of the barbed wire line to infiltrate the enemy CP even while the enemy was on the attack. A perfect mission for Cal’s team. He smiled.

“We’ll take care of it, sir.”

Chapter 17

Sandals Grand Riviera Resort

Ocho Rios, Jamaica

9:49pm, December 7
^th

Rear Admiral Joseph Gower stepped out of the butler driven golf cart on shaky legs. He nodded absently to the driver who wasted no time in speeding off into the night.

Gower took a moment to calm his breathing. It had nothing to do with the ride up from the beachfront side of the all-inclusive resort, where he’d left Nancy at the Promenade Bar on the far side of the wooden pier. It had everything to do with the news conference he’d happened to see as they made their way downstairs for sushi at
Soy
restaurant.

He’d tried to appear nonchalant as he told his date to go ahead and get them a table, but he walked stiffly to the television mounted near the lobby bar. The Commandant’s speech was halfway through by the time he could get the damn bartender to turn up the volume, but he got the gist.

After doing everything he could to expedite their dinner, including inhaling the food he had absolutely no appetite for, he excused himself and went back up to their fifth floor room. There he’d watched and re-watched the press conference on his laptop.

Media outlets were already batting the warning shot back and forth, trying to get further information out of the White House and the Marine Corps.

He hadn’t expected the brash move from the Marines. Gower had spent decades under the ocean, fighting the silent war with the Russians and the Chinese. It was a chess match of epic proportion, and he’d found as a young skipper that he had a knack for it.

But now the Marines were calling him out. He should have known. Gower tried to call his friend Gen. Mason, but all he got was his voicemail.

So as he shook out his arms and took another breath, he started up the lit trail that wove between butler villas under the tropical foliage. He wondered what his host would be thinking.

Gower knocked on the appropriate door and waited. The walk had given him a chance to regain his footing and piece together a plan.

A moment later, a pudgy man with a disheveled comb-over and a mussed button down answered the door.

“Admiral! How are you? Come on in. Can I get you a drink? Whiskey? Champagne?”

Glen Whitworth was a fourth generation industrialist whose family’s international conglomerate started out building barges during the First World War, but now built everything from fighter jets to submarines. He’d inherited the company two years before when his father had died of a massive stroke in a company board meeting. While Gower couldn’t really relate to the younger Whitworth’s brash style, he could respect the man for what he’d done since his father’s death. He was ambitious in a way that reminded Gower of Teddy Roosevelt. A bull in a china shop. Nothing would stop Glen Whitworth, and he had the bragging rights to prove it.