thought.” Arthur smiled inwardly, knowing that Garret was not the type to appreciate the majesty of nature. He was such a simple, uncomplicated man. Not dumb, just one—
dimensional and focused.
He was easy to predict, which suited Arthur’s needs perfectly. Arthur looked at Garret with his calm and confident face and in his smooth voice said, “Mr. Garret, I think I may be able to help you.”
MCMAHON THOUGHT THAT, AFTER THE MEETING WITH THE
PRESIDENT on Friday night, he would be spending all weekend with a team of agents poring over Special Forces personnel files. The President’s promise of complete cooperation was short-lived. Saturday and Sunday had passed without a single file being reviewed. Someone had managed to change the President’s mind, and McMahon had a good idea who it was.
Late Sunday, McMahon received word through the Joint Chiefs that he was to show up at the Pentagon on Monday morning at 7 A.M. sharp. He was told he could bring two people to assist him in the reviewing of a select group of files. Just how select these files were, McMahon could only wonder. One thing was certain though, his patience was running thin. As McMahon walked down a long, stark hall, located somewhere in the basement of the Pentagon, he wondered if this would be a waste of his time or if they were finally done jerking him around. He had decided to bring Kennedy and Jennings with him, and the three of them obediently followed the Army lieutenant who was
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escorting them to the Pentagon’s offices for the Joint Special Operations Command, or
JSOC, pronounced “jaysock.” The actual field headquarters was located at Pope Air
Force Base in North Carolina. They had already passed through three security checkpoints by the time they reached their destination.
At the door to JSOC they were asked for their identification by a Marine sitting behind bulletproof Plexiglas. After verifying their IDS, the Marine pressed a button and the outer door opened. The Army lieutenant led the three visitors into a comfortable and functional reception area, where he told them to take a seat. Several minutes later a one-star general emerged with a cup of coffee in his left hand.
The man had short, bristly, black hair and was about five ten. The dark green shoulder boards holding his general’s star jutted straight out from his neck. He was a poster board
U.S. Marine, from his square jaw to his perfectly pressed pants and spit-shined shoes.
McMahon couldn’t help but notice that the general’s shoulders were almost twice as broad as his waist. Most of the generals that McMahon knew showed a little more in the area of girth than this one. The general stuck out his right hand. “Special Agent McMahon, General Heaney. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, General.” McMahon winced slightly as the bones in his hand were squeezed tightly together by the pit bull standing before him.
“This must be Dr. Kennedy and Special Agent Jennings.” Jennings and Kennedy shook Heaney’s hand.
McMahon flexed his hand in an effort to shake the sting from the general’s handshake. “Would any of you like some coffee before we get started?” McMahon and
Kennedy said yes, and the general led them down the hall to a small kitchen. He grabbed a pot of coffee and said, “You may want to add some water to this. I make my coffee a little on the thick side.” McMahon took a sip and agreed. “Special Agent Jennings, can I
get you a soda or something?”
“Do you have any diet Coke?”
“I keep a private stash in my office. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
“Sir, please don’t bother. Water will be fine.”
“It’s no bother at all.” The general disappeared down the hallway. A moment later, the general came around the corner with two cans of diet Coke. “I brought an extra one just in case you’re really thirsty.”
Jennings extended her hands. “Thank you, sir. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“No trouble at all.
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Come on, let’s go down the hall. I want to introduce you to someone.”
They all left the room and walked down several doors. The general stopped and ushered them into a state-of- the-art conference room. Each spot at the table was equipped with a phone, a retractable keyboard, and a computer monitor mounted underneath the surface of the conference table. “This is where we’ll be spending most of our time. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back in a minute.” When the general returned several minutes later, he was carrying a stack of files and was accompanied by a senior female naval officer. “Everyone, this is Captain Mcfarland. She is our unit psychologist.”
Dr. Mcfarland introduced herself to everyone while General Heaney arranged the files into three stacks on the table. “We’ve got one more person joining us.” The general pressed the intercom button in front of him and said, “Mike, would you please send Mr.
Delapena in.”
“Yes, sir.” The general looked up from the phone and asked everyone to be seated. A
moment later a man in a blue suit and striped tie entered the conference room and placed a briefcase on the floor next to his chair. The man was of average height and weight, with fair skin and a deeply receding hairline. The general introduced him only as Mr.
Delapena. McMahon stared at him intently, trying to decipher what a nonmilitary person had to do with the Special Forces. “Mr. Delapena, you didn’t say which agency you were affiliated with.”
