Edge of Battle

were still major threats—if they attacked, there was very little Richter’s forces could do about it. CID Two might be able to get back to base in time to help, but if he didn’t, or if he was ambushed by another strike team, the losses could be horrendous…

…and if the attackers had nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons, all of which the Consortium had used in the past, the fight would be over in moments.

No! Jason screamed at himself. It wasn’t the Consortium! It was just a bunch of reporters, out to cover a story that obviously the San Diego U.S. Attorney’s office had just planted. Overreacting now could kill Operation Rampart before it got started.

“All units, this is TALON One, stand down, repeat, stand down,” Jason radioed on the command network. “I believe the aircraft and vehicles are here to document this task force looking belligerent and dangerous—let’s not give them a headline. All Rampart units, acknowledge.”

“Rampart One acknowledges,” Gray radioed, then relayed the orders through his squads and got acknowledgments from all of them, keeping them on high alert but having them shoulder and holster their weapons.

“CID Two, I copy all,” Dodd responded. “Resuming my patrol. Negative contacts.”

“Rampart One, I want N-numbers and descriptions of every aircraft that comes within the TFR,” Jason said. “Those aircraft and their pilots’ asses are mine.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Gray responded.

It was almost comical to watch. The first helicopter seemingly “tiptoed” toward the base, turning suddenly as if suddenly realizing it was in restricted airspace; then a second helicopter would move in a few hundred yards closer, then turn away; then a third would come in closer still. Soon the helicopters were hovering almost right overhead, less than five hundred feet above them—one helicopter dipped to less than a hundred feet to get pictures of excited migrant children waving in the exercise yard, women with babies running for cover from the swirling dust the helicopters kicked up, and men coming out of the latrines, tying ropes around their waists to keep their pants up.

“TALON One, you’re on the tube,” Ari radioed a few moments later. “Better go take a look.”

Jason walked over to the mess tent, which had a large flat-panel TV set up with satellite TV access. The TV was already set up to one of the all-news channels—and there, in high-definition color, was an image of Jason walking across the base, taken just moments ago. The camera quickly panned back to the detention area, showing in closeup detail the razor-wire-topped chain-link fences, housing units, latrines, and finally the chain-link dog-pen detention cells.

“Well, so much for keeping a low profile out here,” Jason muttered. He picked up his command net radio: “Ari?”

“He was just called to a meeting in the White House,” Ari said immediately, referring to National Security Adviser Jefferson. “He said to stand by at a secure line in case they want to conference you in.”

“Great. Just great,” Jason said. The command tent was still being repaired, so he’d have to wait in the Humvee. This morning was truly shaping up to be a real headache.

THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE,

WASHINGTON, D.C.

A SHORT TIME LATER

“Is the whole damned world going stark raving crazy?” the President of the United States thundered. Like a high school principal who had just heard explanations from three of his pupils who had just been caught drag-racing in the school parking lot, President Samuel Conrad had Ray Jefferson, Attorney General George Wentworth, Secretary of Homeland Security Jeffrey Lemke, and Brigadier General Ricardo Lopez, commander of Operation Rampart, standing before his desk. He had just received reports from his four advisers on what had just happened in southern California. “Are your people all totally out of control, or just plain stupid?”

“Mr. President, will all due respect to this office, I will not allow what has happened out there today to stand,” Wentworth said angrily. George Wentworth was one of the most experienced and respected elder statesmen in Washington—he was so respected by both major political parties that no one was surprised that he stayed on after the administration’s shakeup following the Consortium terror attacks in the United States, even though the FBI and Justice Departments were roundly criticized for not protecting the nation better. “Three federal agents were physically assaulted by one of Jefferson’s task force members, and several of my people, including a district U.S. Attorney, were put into cages like stray dogs! Richter’s men are totally out of control out there, and they need to be recalled and prosecuted immediately! ”

“I agree, Mr. President,” Secretary of Homeland Security Lemke said. “We don’t know all the details of that encounter, but once the international press gets hold of this story, they’ll murder us.” He motioned to the flat-panel TV in the cabinet to the right of the President’s desk. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Those choppers are not supposed to be overflying that base,” Ray Jefferson said, glancing at the TV screen. “That’s restricted airspace.”

“What do you want to do about it, Jefferson—shoot them down?” Wentworth asked.

“What would you do to any media helicopters that flew within a mile of Air Force One—have the FAA slap their wrists?” Jefferson asked. “The temporary flight restriction zone was set up around that base for a reason…”

“And it appears the reason is to keep the world from witnessing the human rights atrocities that are being performed out there!” Wentworth argued. “That’s what the press is going to say, you can bet on it!”

“All right, that’s enough,” the President said, holding up his hands. “Listen, we all knew we were going to take a lot of bad press about this plan.” He gave Wentworth a glare, then added, “But I don’t want the source of a lot of bad press to be my own cabinet. George, you told the cabinet when we implemented this plan that we were legally authorized to set up those detention facilities; you also said that we could establish that restricted airspace over those bases and around those bird-looking blimp things. Are you just talking about objections to the sight of those facilities, or are you warning us about serious legal challenges to the plan?”

“There are bound to be numerous legal challenges to the plan, Mr. President,” Wentworth replied. “I assume Justice and your counsel’s office will be quite busy in the months ahead. But sir, I was horrified at the sight of those chain-link fences and cages—and I was part of getting this plan put into action! I can’t begin to imagine the international outrage when the world sees those things on American soil!

“I’m also angry because of Major Richter’s treatment of my U.S. attorney and marshals,” he went on. “My God, sir, one of those robots—manned by the same officer who killed that migrant last night—nearly ripped one of the marshal’s arms off, and he used the marshals’ bodies to club down the other! It’s unacceptable behavior…!”

“About the reason why the U.S. Attorney and the marshals were there in the first place…” Jefferson began.

But Wentworth held up a hand. “I know, I know, Cass didn’t say ‘pretty please,’” he said irritably.

“George…”

“There is some confusion about whether Miss Cass properly requested permission to enter the facility, or tried to do so under her own authority,” Wentworth said to the President. “And yes, perhaps she started throwing her weight around when she didn’t have any to throw around. She may be guilty of bad judgment and sloppy paperwork. But that Task Force TALON officer, Falcone, is guilty of three counts of assaulting a federal officer, and Richter is guilty of false imprisonment…”

“George, I respect your wisdom and experience,” the President interjected, “but I’m telling you again: stop making definitive statements that undermine our own programs before we know all the facts. Falcone and Richter are not ‘guilty’ of anything. At a later date, when I give the okay, you can charge them if you want, and we’ll let a