Covert Warriors

“All right,” she said. “This is the problem.”

X ONE

Andrews Air Force Base Prince George’s County, Maryland 1125 20 April 2007

General Allan B. Naylor was walking from the VIP waiting room in the Base Operations building towards his C-37A-the military designation for the Gulfstream V-when Colonel J. D. Brewer, his senior aide-de-camp, who was walking beside him, took his Signal Corps Brick from his tunic pocket.

He glanced at it to see who was calling, and then handed it to Naylor.

“Secretary Beiderman, General,” he announced.

Naylor stopped walking and put the device to his ear.

“General Naylor, Mr. Secretary.”

“Where are you, Allan?”

“At Andrews, about to get on my plane.”

“Brussels and NATO are going to have to wait,” Beiderman said. “Mulligan called me just now, and said the President wants to see you and me right away.”

“Okay,” Naylor said.

“He also wanted to know when McNab will be back from Afghanistan. I told him I’d have to ask you.”

“As I recall, we told McNab to get out of Dodge and stay there until the President got his temper under control. Does this mean that hasn’t happened?”

“I don’t know,” Beiderman confessed.

“Well, if the President has ordered him back. . Do you want me to handle that?”

“I already have. He’ll be leaving over there as soon as he can get on a plane.”

“You realize, I hope, that he was dead serious when he said if he is relieved over that nonsense at Arlington, he’ll demand a court-martial?”

“Can he do that? Demand a court-martial? He’s not going to be punished, reduced in rank, or anything like that; just relieved.”

“I don’t know. It would depend on the circumstances. What he could do-what he probably will do-is go to Roscoe Danton and argue his case in the court of public opinion. In other words, on the front page of The Washington Times-Post and the television sets tuned to Wolf News. And the President will lose that battle; Danton loathes the President and thinks McNab walks on water.”

The secretary of Defense grunted, and then said, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could say, ‘Screw him. Let him make an ass of himself like that!’”

“But we can’t, can we? We’re in the uncomfortable position of having to defend the presidency against the luna-”

Naylor heard what he was about to say and stopped midword.

“You can say it, Allan,” Beiderman said. “We have to defend the presidency against the lunacy of the President.”

“Have you got any good ideas on how we can do that?”

“No. But I’ll try to think of some on my way over there.”

“There? Where’s there? The White House?”

“Andrews. I’ll pick you up in ten, fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What I don’t want to do is walk into the Oval Office all by myself.”

“Are you going to have room for my people? Colonel Brewer and-”

“Mulligan said the President wants to see you and me only,” Beiderman said.

“I’ve got a car. Why don’t I just meet you at the White House?”

Beiderman considered that, then said, “Okay. But if I get there before you, I’ll wait. Come now.”

“Done,” Naylor said, and broke the connection.

TWO

The President’s Study The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1225 20 April 2007

When Secret Service Agent Mark Douglas showed Beiderman and Naylor into the room, Supervisory Special Agent Robert J. Mulligan, Press Secretary Clemens McCarthy, and the President were standing before a map board. It held a map of Mexico.

“What the hell is McNab doing in Afghanistan?” the President greeted them less than warmly. “I need him here now.”

“As you know, Mr. President,” Naylor responded, “a substantial portion of General McNab’s command is in Afghanistan. He spends a good deal of his time there.”

“What about this other Special Forces guy, McCool? Is he any good?”

“If you are referring to General McNab’s deputy, General O’Toole, Mr. President-”

“Okay. O’Toole. Is this O’Toole any good?”

“General O’Toole is a fine officer, Mr. President,” Naylor said.

The President looked between Beiderman and Naylor, and said, “I’d rather have McNab, but you go with what you’ve got, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Naylor and Beiderman said almost simultaneously.

“I had Clemens call O’Toole and tell him to drop everything and get up here,” Clendennen said. “When’s he due, Clemens?”

“He should already have landed at Andrews, Mr. President,” McCarthy said.

“Well, while we’re waiting for him, let me bring you up to speed on what’s going on around here and how I’m going to deal with it,” the President said.

The sound of helicopter rotors penetrated the sound-insulated walls of the White House.

“That has to be him,” the President decided out loud. “We’ll wait. I hate to explain things over and over.”

Major General Terrence O’Toole was shown into the President’s study. He was wearing a somewhat mussed camouflage-pattern battle-dress uniform.

He saluted and said, “Pardon my appearance, sir.”

“You look, General,” the President said, “as if you’re ready to go to work. No apologies are necessary.”

“So that’s the plan, gentlemen,” the President said. “What do you think?”

“Mr. President, I think it’s brilliant,” Clemens McCarthy promptly said.

“What you think, McCarthy,” the President immediately shot him down, “is irrelevant. You’re a press agent. What is it they say? ‘You might want to write that down.’”

“Mr. President,” General Naylor said, “with all possible respect, sir, I have a few questions. Possibly because I missed some things as you laid out your plan.”

“I expected you and McCool here to have questions, General. I’m the Commander in Chief, but I’m not a soldier. What didn’t you understand?”

“As I understand the situation, Mr. President, there are two sites for the exchange of this fellow Abrego for