Scott Roarke 03 - Executive Command (38 page)

Minutes later, he struggled to his feet, wobbled a little, reached down for the pack, now pounds lighter, and flung it over his shoulder. He faced the cameras, without offering any visible eye contact, and limped back toward the road and eventually his hotel room.

“Idiots. They’re idiots,” Haddad shouted while watching the American president on CNN International. “They look where they’ve been before.” He was speaking to his chief aide, a functionary who believed he would eventually be rewarded in heaven with his virgins for serving his earthly master. Haddad, however, believed his reward was only in the here and now with the planning and execution of his personal
jihad
.

“They’re on a fool’s errand,” Haddad bellowed. “Much to my surprise, we will live to see another day.”

Haddad wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw true disappointment in the religious zealot at his side who thought it better to die.

Ciudad del Este

5 February

During his days, D’Angelo kept to a regular schedule touring Ciudad del Este, eating at the city’s restaurants, and taking cabs to the nearby tourist sites. He also made certain to grab a siesta in the late afternoon and hold off on dinner until 2100 hrs because of his nighttime assignments.

Occasionally he’d interact with other guests at Casa Blanca, chatting casually, turning down offers to play golf or tour together. But he always excused himself, complaining about the schedule his Spanish travel agency had him on.

That didn’t prevent him from creating dossiers on anyone who spoke to him or seemed to take interest in his routine.

There was a group of four forty-something golfers from Buenos Aires who were in Ciudad del Este before he arrived. They seemed more interested in the hookers than hooking their drives. The day he checked in, he bumped into a British college professor on sabbatical, writing about Ciudad del Este politics. The fact that he admitted it showed how ill-informed he was about the danger. Then there was a pair of Mexican “businessmen.” D’Angelo surmised their business was drugs. Also staying at Casa Blanca, a Saudi prince; likely a prince among thieves.

Two days into his stay, he met a husband and wife vacationing from Madrid. D’Angelo definitely wanted to steer clear of them for fear his cover story might not hold. Finally, he met a very private Chinese “investment banker” who was constantly scanning every room he entered. The CIA agent pegged him for a member of Tai Chen, the Cantonese mafia. D’Angelo learned that the man regularly commuted between Taiwan and Ciudad del Este. No doubt they managed the ever-expanding smuggling business. D’Angelo noted that he carried a gun in a shoulder holster. Given the areas of town where he traveled, he probably needed it. D’Angelo hoped that the British professor wouldn’t follow him.

For safety’s sake, D’Angelo sent profiles back to D.C. for analysis and confirmation. So far there were no red flags on the Saudi prince, the Mexicans, or the Argentine golfers looking for a hole in one or another. Nor was there any report on the Brit or the Tai visitors. Experience told him to steer clear of both.

The White House

“I have President Santiago on the line for you now, sir.”

“Thank you, Louise. Put her through.”

This call was going to require deliberate political gamesmanship. Morgan Taylor worked out the staging with Secretary of State Huret. They talked about the president playing her like they were in a high-stakes poker tournament.

“Hide most of what you hold,” Huret reminded Morgan Taylor again. “Reveal your face cards when necessary. Bluff, raise the ante. Let her win the first hand.”

“Got it.”

On the third ring, Morgan Taylor picked up. “Madame President, good afternoon. Thank you for calling me right back.”

“Well, urgent from Morgan Taylor’s secretary is a sure way to move up my list,” replied Lydia Santiago, the fifty-three-year-old former CEO now president of Brazil. “What do you need?”

Need,
not
want?
She’s already interested in what the dealer has,
thought Taylor. He decided to answer head on.

“I applaud your directness,” Taylor replied. “Need is exactly the topic of our conversation. And in the interest of transparency, I have Secretary of State Bob Huret with me.” He failed to mention that his vice president and Homeland Security secretary were also listening in. “Am I correct to assume you are not alone as well.”

“Yes.”

“Good. This may require some consulting.”

“You have my undivided attention, Mr. President,” Santiago replied.

“You know our problem,” he said declaratively rather than as a question. Time to throw out some low cards.

“I do. I only hope that you are able to restore order and make the proper arrests.”

“We have a tentative calm now. The best way to ensure it will last is by finding the perpetrators.” Taylor didn’t use her word—
arrest.

“As for your need, Mr. President?”

“Our nations,” Taylor continued, “have had a long and friendly history. We have been economic and political partners. We have served in Pan American associations together, looked out for each another’s mutual interests and the interests of our hemispheric neighbors.”

“Perhaps, but recent promises…” She left the thought hanging.

Santiago was raising the stakes.
Taylor knew exactly where she was going, but first he had to keep her on track. His track.

“You asked about our need. I will tell you.”

Now to show a higher card.

“I
need
clear airspace; unobstructed; unfettered. I
need
…” he continued with more emphasis, “two airports in support of an exercise.”

“An exercise?” she interrupted. “An exercise in exactly what?”

“An exercise, Lydia,” he replied directly. “The United States, as we discussed, is under attack. Accordingly, we are deploying forces to strategic areas around the world as we gather credible intelligence. Just as we are talking today, I have calls out to the heads of state in seven,” a made-up number, “nations.”

“Unobstructed and unfettered? That’s much more than I could grant under normal circumstances.”

Moran Taylor smiled at Vice President Johnson and Secretary Grigoryan. She was totally engaged.

“We are not living under normal circumstances, Lydia. As a member of numerous western hemisphere defense coalitions, I appeal to you in the same manner that I will be privately appealing to our NATO and ANZUS partners.” NATO referring to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization and ANZUS, the Australia, New Zealand, U.S. Security Treaty. Again a bluff, for now beyond her confirmation.

“Such approval is not mine to grant. Our alliance notwithstanding, we have laws regarding our sovereignty and regulations governing our airspace, Morgan.”

“I am not asking you to violate Brazil’s law. I am, however, asking for your permission. With your approval there is no violation.”

“But there is political risk,” she said, doubling down on where she was taking the conversation.

“And political gain,” Taylor countered, laying down a stack of chips.

The two-term Brazilian president, a cunning player herself as former head of Citibank South America, wanted to see what else Morgan Taylor held.

“Oh?”

Now J3 gave President Taylor a thumbs-up.

“Madame President, you’ve been waiting for quite some time for the receipt of the F-35As.” Taylor thought she would actually come through the telephone with the mention of this long dormant promise.

“Twenty-four,” she quickly replied. “For six years!”

“You’ll have them in thirty days, with technicians, trainers, and spare parts.”

She remained silent, as if to ask for more.

“And the Ford plant, delayed in our trade rigmarole. Congress will approve it.”

“Your Speaker of the House has not been in favor of it.”

“He will approve it now,” Taylor said without any equivocation. Then he stopped.

“Unobstructed and unfettered?” Santiago asked again.

Taylor remained silent, wondering if she would bargain for more. For fifteen seconds no one spoke. He reasoned she was getting advice or cues from her chiefs of staff. There was a great deal on the table. Brazil had waited years for the F-35As, and the automotive plant had been so tied up in committee, no one believed it would ever see the light of day. Now both were within reach. Taylor’s face cards. He had put down the equivalent of ten, jack, queen, and king, all of the same suit.

“When do you require such access, Morgan?” she finally said.

Taylor made a triumphant fist and thrust it in the air.

“Beginning at 0400 your time tomorrow, Lydia.”

He heard an audible gasp. “Mr. President…”

“Tens of thousands of America’s men, women, and children are victims of a vicious attack. And, in case you weren’t aware, nineteen were Brazilian citizens.” That was his ace. A Royal Flush.

“I didn’t know,” President Santiago humbly responded.

“Lydia, we are doing what we have to.”

“Two questions, Mr. President.”

“Yes.”

“Are there really other countries you’re talking with? And will you take action with or without my approval?”

“Lydia, I am asking for your permission to flyover, land, and stage an exercise unobstructed; unfettered
with
your cooperation. There will be no offensive action within your borders or airspace.”

Taylor would not go any further, and she knew it.

“So where do you want to do this, Mr. President? I’ll make the arrangements.”

The president had the SOCOM mission plan on his desk. Santiago remained stone cold when he identified the second airport. Surely she recognized the proximity of Florianópolis, Brazil, to the crime capital of the western hemisphere.

Ciudad del Este, Paraguay

They were called
snakebots
and they were nothing short of phenomenal in the field. They blended in, moved stealthily, and put focused eyes on the target that were seen thousands of miles away.

The
snakebots
were robots designed to look like snakes, camouflaged in a green and white dotted pattern. Fully extended, they were six feet long. But working their way up a tree and across a branch, their smart bodies wrapped around into whatever form would be necessary to corkscrew upward.

D’Angelo controlled them as they slithered across the tropical floor. He then wiggled the robots high up into the canopy created by Lauraceae, Myrtaceae, and Leguminosae trees.

The fantastic inventions, created by a team at the Biorobotics and Biomechanics Lab at the Technion-Israeli Institute of Technology, were born of polymer, electric motors, and artificial intelligence. They were developed by studying actual snake locomotion, which employs many internal degrees of independent freedom that drives a wave of motion. Reimagining and engineering the movement into practical models, scientists transferred the intelligence into the robots which looked and acted like snakes.

Their onboard 360-degree field-of-view cameras scanned the surroundings, determining distance and maneuverability and generating a “print cloud” of readings which mapped the terrain in a 3-D model. Four directional microphones enabled the
snakebots
to detect the movement of approaching humans. By comparing the time that incoming sounds took to reach the microphone, the robots could process and access a threat’s proximity, direction, and speed. That data triggers defense programs that constantly allowed the s
nakebots
time to blend in and hide. All real; all instantaneous.

At the same time, the
snakebots
transmitted streaming video to Vinnie D’Angelo in his room, the ST-6 command team in Virginia Beach, Virginia, CIA headquarters in Langley, and the White House.

“Describe the scene for me,” Vice President Johnson said over the squawk box from the Situation Room.

Vice Admiral Seymour Gunning, who actually preferred being called “Sy,” watched the three incoming video feeds along with Commander B.D. Coons and Scott Roarke. Jack Evans participated online from the CIA, while National Security Advisor Grigoryan joined J3 in the White House.

“Remote cameras on the objective, Mr. Vice President,” Gunning replied.

“They seem to have some focus issues and a lot of movement.”

“It’s because they’re moving into position, sir. Climbing trees, inching across branches.”

“Climbing trees, I thought they were remotely operated.”

The vice admiral described how D’Angelo was zooming in on Casa del Zuma from his closet in the Casa Blanca Hotel.

“Zooming. Zuma. I like it. I want to see full specs on this s
nakebot
thing after our call,” J3 barked.

“Yes, sir.” Gunning made a note that he quickly passed along to his aide.

Soon a second camera, positioned some thirty feet to the right, focused on Haddad’s villa. Finally, the third camera steadied. Its shot was fifteen yards closer and off to the left. The three positions gave an amazingly clear view of the fortified mansion.

As the head of each
snakebot
panned, a computer at the CIA mapped the layout, determining range, size of the windows, live bodies that passed by inside, location of power lines, sentries, and obstacles. A complete schematic would be in Gunning’s hands within the hour.

“What about down-looking?”

“We’ll have them online shortly, J3,” Evans offered. The KH-11, launched from our Delta 352 will give us high-rez electro-optical reconnaissance. Hell, we can drill all the way down to two centimeters if we need to. With optical and digital enhancement, close enough to read the brand off a cigarette pack. We’ll see what kind of weapons we’ll be up against on the deck and who’s asleep on the job.”

“Amazing,” Grigoryan commented. “Absolutely amazing stuff. It never fails to astound me.”

“We’re plotting shift changes with the video,” B.D. Coons added. “Looking for weaknesses in the line, pee schedule, cell phone users and the smokers. I want to know who’s lighting up and how often. When they’re not paying attention. We need it all. In fact, Director Evans, can your brainiacs calculate the density of the walls?”

“Yes,” Evans replied.

“Roof construction?”

“Yes.”

“Evidence of any missiles?”

“Harder until they’re fired up, but we know what size containment to look for. If they’re there, we’ll find them, and you’ll have the locations.”

“Mines in the courtyards?”

“We have to expect that. We’re plotting where the Tangos walk. And our birds will not set down on the deck.”

“Good, because I want my men to know exactly what’s off limits.”

All of the detail would be incorporated into the mock-up of Haddad’s complex at Naval Air Station Ocean. It would be everyone’s job to memorize the layout.

Roarke realized he had extra studying to do. It’s a good thing Katie didn’t know what kind of danger he was about to jump into.

“Here come the sat images,” Evans said. “Log into our secure site.”