“We don’t want TALON in Mexico before the FBI,” Kinsly said immediately. “Maravilloso gave us excellent access and we shouldn’t screw up this opportunity. Those robots have killed Mexican citizens…”
“One of our men is missing and a CID unit might be in the hands of the world’s most notorious terrorist,” Jefferson said. “We need to move quickly or we’ll lose the trail…”
“Disapproved…for now,” the President said. “I want the staff and the FBI briefed on CID’s capabilities and potential threats to American targets, and the possibility of Zakharov being able to figure out how to utilize that thing. But no TALON units go outside the U.S. for now.”
Jefferson’s eyes blazed, but he held himself in check—barely. “Yes, sir,” he growled, glaring at Kinsly. He knew the Chief of Staff wasn’t completely to blame: the President looked and sounded exhausted, and he was clinging to any possible relief.
“George, I’d like twice-daily briefings on the investigation into the incident near El Centro,” the President said. “Russ, let Tom know when the memorials will be for the pilots killed out there. I want to be there.” Both advisers, obviously anxious to move on as well, responded immediately and affirmatively. The President shook his head wearily. “I really want things to start returning to normal, folks,” he said. “No more surprises.”
“Sir, any comment on the Homeland Security Advisory threat level?” Jefferson reminded the President.
“Yes—ask them to reconsider leaving it at orange,” the President replied. “I’ll defer to their judgment, but if at all possible, I’d like to keep it where it is right now.”
“In light of the loss of the CID unit, sir, perhaps we should consider…”
“I’d like to keep that quiet for now, Sergeant Major,” the President said. “I realize how powerful those things are, but I don’t think just one poses a serious threat to this country. Work with the FBI to find that thing right away.”
“Sir, I strongly suggest…”
“That’s all for now, Sergeant Major,” the President insisted. “If you have any more concrete evidence that Zakharov has the robot and that it poses a significant threat, advise me immediately. Otherwise, I want the border situation to calm the hell down before anyone else gets killed—‘accidentally’ or otherwise.” He stood, and everyone else got to their feet. “Thanks, everyone,” he said brusquely as he strode out of the Situation Room, followed closely by the Chief of Staff. The rest of the National Security Staff departed right behind them.
Alone in the Situation Room, Ray Jefferson sat and thought about the meeting for a few minutes, then picked up a secure phone and dialed a number. “Yes, Sergeant Major?” Brigadier General Lopez responded a few moments later.
“Any news on your end since the incident in El Centro this morning, sir?”
“No, Sergeant Major, everything is quiet for the time being. My units have made a few dozen illegal immigrant intercepts over the past forty-eight hours, down slightly from normal. No trouble. We have a few volunteer border watch groups out east of Rampart One on private land, maybe three camps with a couple dozen folks, mostly elderly local ranchers. We’re keeping an eye on them.”
“The president of Mexico has assumed responsibility for the El Centro attack, sir,” Jefferson said. “She claims she authorized the aircraft to fly across the border but denies giving any orders for the jets to attack American aircraft.”
“You buy that, Sergeant Major?”
“No, sir, but the President does, and he wants to drop Maravilloso a kudo. He wants to remove the TOW missiles from the border immediately, stop all further Guard deployments, and pull some Guard units off the border.”
“No problem. The guys don’t like being out there, I can tell you.”
“Sir?”
“No official reports from any units out there, Sergeant Major, just the buzz I’m picking up—it may sound like typical soldier bellyaching, but I’m picking up a definite read on these guys out there, and it’s not favorable,” Lopez said uneasily. “They’re staying pretty busy despite the tension and the presence of troops on both sides. Weather conditions are uncomfortable, very much like Iraq…”
“I would’ve thought the southwestern Guard guys are used to working in the heat.”
“Again, Sergeant Major, I categorize a lot of this as typical soldier moaning and groaning,” Lopez said, “but there is an undercurrent of uneasiness. Hours and hours sweating away in the heat or freezing at night, and all they come up with is a handful of thirsty, starving, desperate Mexicans who just want to go to work. The units that find dead migrants are especially hard-hit—dying of thirst is a tough way to go, and a lot of the guys aren’t accustomed to seeing death like that. They’ve found…I believe over sixty-five dead migrants during their patrols, including children. It hits them hard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s tough on them, that’s all,” Lopez said. Jefferson detected a hint of frustration in the general’s voice, as if he expected a bit more empathy from the National Security Adviser and was disappointed he didn’t get it. “Which units do you want gone, specifically, Sergeant Major?” he asked perturbedly.
“Choose TOW missile units, units in high-visibility locations with lots of press around, and units that have been in the field the longest, in that order, sir,” Jefferson said. “I want it to look like a reduction but I don’t want it to be an open invitation for smugglers to resume travel through those areas. Limit the reductions to around ten percent until we get further guidance. I’ll send a written copy of the order to your headquarters.”
“Okay, Sergeant Major.”
“Thank you, sir. Jefferson out.” His next phone call was to Ariadna Vega and FBI Director Kelsey DeLaine, teleconferenced in together. “Have you been briefed, Miss Director?” he asked.
“Dr. Vega briefed me moments ago,” Kelsey replied, “and the Attorney General just called and scheduled a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“What’s the word, Sergeant Major?” Ariadna asked impatiently. “Are we going into Mexico with the FBI, or is TALON going in by itself? We’re standing by.”
“Neither, Doctor,” Jefferson replied.
“
“The President wants you to stand down until we see what shakes out in Mexico.”
“We’re not even going to ask Mexico to apprehend whoever was in those helicopters so we can question them?” DeLaine asked.
“Your job is to make contact with the Mexican government and demand anything and everything you can think of to do this investigation, Miss Director,” Jefferson said. He paused for a moment; then: “ I’ll brief the Attorney General and get some warrants issued, but I want to operate under the assumption that the FBI will learn information as to the major’s or Zakharov’s whereabouts, but the Mexican government will balk rather than give us carte blanche to go in and get them. Ariadna, I want a plan drawn up to go into Mexico to get the major, the CID unit, and Zakharov, and I want you guys standing by.”
“You got it, Sergeant Major.”
“Work closely with Director DeLaine and get ready to act on whatever intelligence information you receive,” Jefferson said. “I want a plan from you to covertly send TALON to Mexico if we don’t get cooperation, but TALON stays out of the country until I give the word. Miss Director, who is your contact person for TALON now?”
“I’m assigning my deputy assistant director for counterterrorism, Bruno Watts, to head up TALON,” Kelsey replied. “Bruno’s an ex–Navy SEAL, and he’s been pestering me for more info on TALON and to let him go back out into the field, so I just dumped all the TALON files on his desk and now he’s as happy as a pig in shit. His staff has been drawing up some plans if we need to go in on short notice to hunt for Zakharov, and I’ll shoot them over to you after I’ve gotten the briefing. What assets can we count on?”
“For now, anything in the Mexican MOU that we don’t need permission to bring into the country.”
“That’s not much, Sergeant Major,” DeLaine said. “Standard law enforcement equipment, vehicles, and aircraft—no weapons, no armored vehicles, no attack or covert ops aircraft, no unmanned aircraft, no surveillance equipment beyond ordinary cameras and voice recorders. Anything beyond that requires permission, and that takes time and a lot more political juice than I will ever possess.”
“Unless Maravilloso and the Internal Affairs Ministry suddenly has a complete personality makeover, I definitely wouldn’t count on any special consideration here at all,” Jefferson concluded. He paused for a few moments, then: “I believe I read somewhere that the 58th Special Operations Wing at Kirtland Air Force Base near
