Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (30 page)

 
          
“Thank
you, Mr. President, gentlemen,” Martindale began. “As coordinator for the
President’s narcotics control policy I wanted to review the progress of the
ongoing program with you and see if we can come up with a united policy for the
future. Drug abuse is on the rise. The rise of drug shipments into the
United States
indicates a rise in the offensive nature of
drug smugglers, witness the attacks on Coast Guard and Customs Service
interdiction forces.

 
          
“Intercepting
and stopping aircraft and vessels suspected of carrying illegal contraband is a
big problem. Measures
must
be taken.”
Some previously fixed-in-place happy smiles disappeared. Especially those of
the Secretaries of Treasury and Transportation, McDonough and Coultrane.

 
          
“Our
drug-interdiction effort has two major faults: not enough resources—aircraft,
ships, and manpower—to do the job; and most important, not enough coordination
between the federal agencies to do the job—specifically the Coast Guard and the
Customs Service. Recently I have received a lengthy, detailed proposal from a
Coast Guard Admiral on how the drug-interdiction assets of the Coast Guard and
the Customs Service can be combined into one new and different unit that would
take over all drug-interdiction responsibilities from the coastline and borders
out to the
United States
’ legal boundaries, its territorial limits.
I asked for a demonstration to view this organization in operation and talk with
the author of the proposal, Rear Admiral Ian Hardcastle, commander of the Coast
Guard Seventh District in
Miami
. I also had a chance to speak with Inspector Sandra A. Geffar,
commander of the Customs Service Air Branch in
Miami
. Air Force General Bradley Elliott and
Major Patrick McLanahan were also there. In fact, it was Elliott’s organization
that supplied most of the hardware in Admiral Hardcastle's test. You’re all
aware of General Elliott, Major McLanahan and their recent . . . operations.”
There were a few surprised glances around the table—most had heard of General
Elliott and his remarkable mission, knocking out a Soviet laser installation,
the Old Dog, or some such— by rumor only.

 
          
“I’ve
told you my feelings about Admiral Hardcastle’s project and I’ve discussed them
with the President. He agrees that such an organization dedicated exclusively
to drug interdiction and border security operations is necessary and should be
implemented as soon as possible.” .

 
          
In
answer to expected concerns about shooting down civilians and so forth, mostly
masking bureaucratic turf-protection, Martindale went on: ‘Tve
seen
Admiral Hardcastle’s forces in
action,” the Vice President said. “They can read aircraft tail numbers, follow
aircraft by remote control, measure course and altitude with precision. Yes,
mistakes could happen, but I’m very impressed with the technology
and
its application. I really think they
can do it. And it’s not just the hardware, but the restricted airspace plans
he’s devised—simple and straightforward. He wants to corral all air and sea
traffic into specific corridors and past radar and platform-based checkpoints,
like cattle being led through chutes to their pens. If someone goes outside the
corridor without permission they chase the guy down and intercept him.”

 
          
“And
that's when he gets shot down?” the President asked.

 
          
“Only
if the guy refuses or fails to respond to signals given him by the intercepting
aircraft or vessel. Unless they find a reason to believe he’s not a smuggler,
Hardcastle proposes that they will
not
allow
any unidentified aircraft or vessel to cross the borders ...”

 
          
Secretary
of Transportation Coultrane complained that the procedures would be too
difficult to spell out. Defense Secretary Preston said he’d prefer not to become
involved in drug interdiction, the military should not be involved.

 
          
“No
problem,” Samuel Massey, the “drug czar,” said. “It’s time to try an all-out
interdiction program. If the stuff starts getting scarce or expensive, if they
can’t buy it or sell it so easily, maybe our other programs will kick in and
become more effective.”

 
          
The
President cut it off. “I want this program put into action. I’m encouraged by
what’s been reported to me by Mr. Martindale and I think we have the ability
and the resources to do the job.”

           
“Where are we going to get the
money?” Secretary McDonough protested.

 
          
“The
proposal drawn up by Admiral Hardcastle spells out where the money comes from,”
the Vice President said. “And you know it, Mr. McDonough—initial investment of
two hundred million from the Defense Contingency Fund to activate the unit in
the southeast and place three platforms in operation; eight hundred million per
year from Defense to procure the V-22s, drones and radar gear; three hundred
million per year from Treasury, mostly in the form of aircraft, vessels and
manpower from the Customs Service”—McDonough groaned aloud at that—“and seven
hundred million per year from Transportation for aircraft, vessels and
manpower, mostly from the Coast Guard. These funding levels would continue
until all drug interdiction operations are transferred from Treasury,
Transportation and Defense.”

 
          
“Defense
can afford those kinds of assets,” McDonough argued. “Treasury can’t.”

 
          
“After
nearly thirty years trying to stop drug trafficking,” the Vice President said,
“along comes a man who puts together a demonstration of a new organization that
works.
I believe it deserves full
support.”

 
          
“Any
other comments?” the President asked. No replies, only a few empty stares and a
couple of shaking heads. “Very well, I will draft a memo to all departments
outlining the Administration’s plan to put this proposal into action.”

 
          
The
President turned to the Senate Republican leader from
Texas
. “Senator Edwards, Justice is drafting a
bill to amend Title 53 and create the Department of Border Security. Senator
Blumfeld has already pledged his support for the measure and as the senior
senator from
Florida
, will sponsor it in the Senate. But I would appreciate your
co-sponsorship.”

 
          
Edwards
nodded, but his face was impassive.

 
          
“I
still have reservations, Mr. President,” McDonough said. “Give me and my staff
some time to draft a counterproposal, one that would be far less disruptive of
the existing system—”

 
          
“Floyd,
let’s get on with this, all right?” the President said, rubbing his eyes. “I
like this proposal. It sends a very clear message to the smugglers that we mean
business. It does away with a lot of the bureaucratic crap floating around
everything we try to do, especially in drug interdiction. Legal says it can
fly. The Senate minority leader is willing to back it on the floor, and I think
a lot of the majority will too if they know what’s good for them. I know it
takes something away from your people but last I heard we’re all on the same damn
team. I need a united showing on this one.”

 
          
“I
urge the Vice President to reconsider the proposal, re-evaluate it,” McDonough
said quickly, ignoring the look of anger on the President’s face, “and resubmit
it at the earliest possible time. If this is not done I wish to go on record
opposing the proposal in its present form.

 
          
“Thank
you very much for your candid opinion, Mr. McDonough,” the President said,
snapping off each word like an alligator chewing a mackerel. “Any other
comments?” He didn’t wait long for a reply. “This meeting is adjourned. Thank
you all very much.”

 
          
The
President got to his feet and took a step toward McDonough. “You signed on with
me in the good times—I expect loyalty at
all
times. I heard your opinions, I considered them. I made my decision based
on
all
the recommendations from my
advisors. Now, 1 expect you to do your job. All clear, Floyd?”

 
          
“I’m
sorry, sir. I can’t support this proposal. My resignation will be on your desk
within the hour.” He turned, squeezed past the other Cabinet members and the
Senator minority leader, and strode out of the Oval Office.

 
          
Good,
the President thought, now I don’t have to fire tht son-of-a- bitch.

 
          
Hammerhead
One Staging Platform

 
          
Two Days Later

 
          
A
light, warm rain was falling as Customs Agent Rushell Masters maneuvered his
Black Hawk helicopters over the north landing pad on the huge Hammerhead One
platform. A good breeze was blowing from the southwest but Masters had been
landing on oil platforms, small helipads, jungle clearings and rooftops for
twenty years.

 
          
To
mask its presence, except for required anchor and anti-collision lights,
Hammerhead One had been dark until Masters approached the platform. When he was
three miles out, following the platform’s navigational radio beacon, the lights
were suddenly turned on.

 
          
“Mother
of God,” Masters exclaimed over his interphone. “That’s the biggest damned oil
platform I’ve ever seen.”

 
          
Geffar
said, “The company that built Hammerhead One has a bigger one called King, and
the Saudis have an even bigger one in the
Persian Gulf
.”

 
          
Nevertheless,
the sight was remarkable, as if
Times Square
in
New
York
or
Fremont
Street
in
Las
Vegas
had been transplanted out into the
Straits of Florida
. The platform’s four landing pads were illuminated, and bright
red-and-white warning strobes indicated the location of Hammerhead One's radar,
radio, satellite and data-link antennae cluster. The six-story engineering,
maintenance, and living spaces beneath the roof were clearly visible now. The
designated landing pad was rimmed with a bright strobe, blue circumference
lights and a triangle-shaped illuminated azimuth and drift indicator that was
plainly visible even from several hundred feet in the air.

 
          
Masters
brought the chopper gently in for a touchdown, the chopper was secured by Coast
Guard plane captains with quick-release cables, and Masters began shutting down
the big helicopter. The huge searchlights were extinguished just as Masters,
Geffar and their crew began exiting from the helicopter; only half-height
“ballpark” lights were used to illuminate the Black Hawk’s landing pad for the
benefit of the chopper’s crew chiefs servicing the machine. Masters, Geffar,
two Customs Service agents and two Bahamian constables were led to the
elevators to be taken below by Admiral Hardcastle wearing a bright yellow
raincoat and yellow baseball cap with a strange emblem on it.

 
          
“I
can’t get over this facility, Admiral,” Masters remarked as he took off his
Customs Service baseball cap and shook the rain from it. It wasn’t until then
that Hardcastle noticed the burn scars that creased almost the entire right
side of Master’s face, neck and shoulders—the remnants of the attack at
Mahogany Hammock. Masters noticed Hardcastle’s expression. “To coin a phrase,
sir, it only hurts when I laugh.”

 
          
Hardcastle
nodded. “I’m glad you’re up and around. You handled that Black Hawk as if
you’ve been landing out here for years.”

 
          
They
exited the elevator, hung up wet raingear on hooks in the corridor and headed
toward the converted conference room.

 
          
“Well,
we’ve had our first casualties by the Hammerheads,” Geffar said to Hardcastle
as they were led through an office where coffee and sandwiches were ready.