Authors: Don Tompkins
Glancing down at a sheet in the folder Barry
continued, “He’s about 6’2” tall and at his exit physical when he
left the service, he weighed about 200 pounds. His first assignment
after graduating from the academy was with the NRO, the National
Reconnaissance Office. Being in a headquarters role apparently
didn’t sit well with Thurmond, because shortly after he was
assigned he called a few people and landed a field assignment with
DIA. His first few missions were designed to test his ability to
act in nebulous situations. He did great and was given increasingly
important roles.
“He went on to establish extremely effective
networks in Lebanon, Russia and Eastern Europe. The Eastern
European and the associated Russia network are the ones we’re
discussing today."
Barry, leaned back in his chair, folded his
hands on the table and continued, “I never knew him, but he clearly
did a good job because the Air Force promoted him each time he was
eligible, up through O6, Colonel. Then about six years ago, the
previous administration decided that human field assets were no
longer needed. They believed we could obtain all the information we
needed through satellites, drones and other electronic means. The
President issued an order shutting down most field units, including
the one Colonel Thurmond ran. Thurmond was offered a desk job at
DIA headquarters. He promptly retired in protest.”
“Where is he now?” the President-elect
asked.
“The information we have says he bought a
hundred acres or so in West Texas, put up a log cabin and has been
living there ever since.” Barry checked the paper again and said,
“Says here he lives alone. He was married for a few years while he
was in the Air Force, but he’s been divorced for some time
now.”
This time it was Mason’s turn to lean back
in his chair. “Okay,” he said, “My gut reaction is that we need to
bring the Colonel out of retirement to solve this thing. Sounds
like he’s the only one with enough information to work on it.
What’s it gonna take?”
“Reactivate Colonel Thurmond? We’d need
presidential authority. But, sir,” Barry said leaning forward, “I’m
not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Mason shot him a penetrating
look.
Barry paused and took a deep breath before
answering, “Well, sir, to be honest, Colonel Thurmond is kind of a
maverick. He’s a field agent who never adjusted to the new
electronic world of intelligence. We believe this should be an
intellectual exercise and that our best chance of finding a
solution is to look at the intelligence we have and think it
through to a logical conclusion. Colonel Thurmond can provide us
valuable background, but because of his age and the amount of time
he’s been out of it, I’m not sure about him going back into the
field.”
“An intellectual exercise?” Mason exclaimed,
clearly frustrated. “Bill, people are dying, I’m targeted for
assassination, and you want an intellectual exercise? Get me the
paperwork to reactivate Colonel Thurmond and I want it within the
hour. I’ll personally take it to the President for signature.”
Barry sighed. “I’ll make it happen, sir,” he
said.
Mason got to his feet. Barry stood also. “By
the way, who was the other name on that list?” Mason asked as he
turned toward the door.
“Colonel Thurmond,” Barry replied.
I minus 58
West Texas
Damn, it was cold. November in west Texas
could really be chilly, especially without central heating. The
cabin was small and the wood stove did a good job, but usually died
out by 3:00 a.m. and Thurmond hated to get up in the middle of the
night to feed the fire. So it went out around three. He could live
with that.
His house was situated on a bluff about a
hundred feet high overlooking the plain below, giving him
unobstructed views of his property. He didn’t necessarily want a
huge ranch. What he really wanted was privacy. And he had it. Hell,
he could sit on his back porch naked and no one would notice.
Probably a good thing too, since he’d put on a couple pounds since
retiring. It wasn’t the slight weight gain that bothered him. It
was that he no longer worked out on a regular basis and he felt
he’d gotten a little soft. He still looked pretty good in front of
a mirror though, especially when he tightened up his gut.
At 6:00 a.m. Thurmond dragged his naked ass
out of bed, grabbed a coffee mug, filled it up with two day old
coffee that he heated for one minute in the microwave and walked
outside. He was standing, as he did every morning, on his front
porch, still naked and covered with goose bumps, sipping his stale,
but hot, coffee.
Whup
,
whup
,
whup
,
whup
—a
helicopter, backlit by the sun, lifted up over the bluff and landed
in his yard about sixty feet from the porch. Thurmond heard and
felt it before he could see it and knew from the sound that it was
military. Although he didn’t know who they were or why they were
here, he knew it wouldn’t be good news.
Shaking his head, he turned and headed into
the cabin to put on some clothes. By the time he reappeared on the
porch, the rotors had stopped moving and a burly man was exiting
the chopper.
As the man approached the porch, he said
loudly, “Good morning, Colonel.” It was a man Thurmond knew
well—Lieutenant General Randall J. “Buck” Wheeler, his old boss at
DIA. Although Thurmond hadn’t seen him in several years, the
General looked exactly the same. Wheeler was a stocky, gruff man
with a short, military style haircut and even in his mid-fifties
his hair was still dark with only a little gray mixed in. An Air
Force ROTC student at Texas A&M, he’d been in intelligence his
whole career and was now the senior military intelligence officer
in the Army. Thurmond had reported to Wheeler the last two years
before his retirement and admired his leadership style. Wonder if
he’s still with DIA, Thurmond thought.
“Mornin’, General. What brings you this far
west? Care for some coffee? It’s not fresh but the mike makes it
hot.”
Wheeler waved him off. “No thanks, Colonel.
I’ve been up a long time and I’ve had plenty. Mind if I sit down?”
Wheeler said, matching Thurmond’s casual tone. He then sat down in
a comfortable rocker without waiting for Thurmond to respond.
“Not at all, help yourself.” Thurmond
chuckled
They both sat in silence on the porch. If
anyone else had accompanied the General, they stayed out of sight
on board the chopper.
Neither man spoke for a while, just rocked
gently. Thurmond figured Wheeler would get to the point of the
visit in his own time. Finally, after a couple of minutes, the
General started with small talk, “Nice place you have here. After
the hectic pace of Washington, the peace and quiet really feels
good. I can see why you’re out here. If I weren’t here on such an
urgent matter, I’d try to talk you into letting me stay for a few
days. Maybe do some fishing.” Both men continued to stare straight
ahead, looking out over the plains rather than at each other.
Grant final broke the silence. “What’s so
urgent, General?” Grant asked, looking directly at Wheeler for the
first time since they sat down.
Getting right to the point, Wheeler said,
“Colonel, we have a situation we need your help with. It’s highly
classified and it would be better if I explained it to you in
Washington. I need you ready to leave in ten minutes. Bring some
clothes, both civilian and your uniform. Not sure you’ll need it,
but just in case…,” his voice trailed off, not finishing the
sentence.
Thurmond barked out a laugh. “General, with
all due respect, I’m no longer on active duty. There is no one else
around and even though the only sweeping I’ve done was with a
broom, I assure you my porch is not bugged. Let’s talk here. And by
the way, I no longer have a uniform. Are you still with DIA?”
Wheeler chuckled. Thurmond hadn’t changed at
all, he thought. He was still as direct as ever. Wheeler turned
serious and knowing Thurmond wasn’t going anywhere without an
explanation, he said, “Grant, we’ve lost fourteen assets within the
past two weeks. Someone is systematically dismantling the network
you spent over twenty years building and we have no reliable
intelligence on who might be doing it. It could be the Russian
government, could be an informant, or it could be a rogue agent—one
of theirs or even one of ours who’s gone off the reservation. Hell,
we just don’t know.” Wheeler raised his hands in frustration.
“I assume, since I’m not already in chains,
you don’t think it was me, so how can I help?” Thurmond
responded.
“In the hand of one of the dead informants,
we found a torn piece of paper with two names on it. They weren’t
clear, but we’re fairly certain that one was the new
President-elect.”
Thurmond whistled . . . a long low whistle.
“Jesus, General,” he said. “Anything else on the piece of paper?
Any clue who dropped it?”
“Yes, there was a date—January 20th. And no,
no clue who dropped it. We’re assuming it was the killer. No
fingerprints, so he must have been wearing gloves.” The General
shrugged his shoulders, indicating he didn’t know any more than
that.
Thurmond thought for a second. “Anything
significant with that date?” he asked.
“Well, Yeah,” Wheeler paused a moment. “It’s
Inauguration day. We believe they’re targeting the
President-elect’s swearing-in ceremony. That means we only have
fifty-eight days to solve this and we need you to lead the effort .
. . starting today. I need you to come back to Washington with me.
You’re the only one who knows this network intimately. We’re
calling this ‘Operation I Minus 72’. One other thing: you have to
understand that the date may not be the actual date of the attempt.
It may be a ‘not later than’ date. It's possible that the
President-elect is vulnerable even today.”
Thurmond frowned. “You say we only have
fifty-eight days but the operation is called I minus 72? How long
have we known about this?” Grant was dreading the answer.
“We found out and briefed both the President
and the President-elect a little over two weeks ago. However, the
DNI believes this should only be an analysis of data we already
have and won’t require any field work. An intellectual exercise, he
calls it.” The General looked down and wagged his head from side to
side. He looked back up and continued, “And the President agrees
with him. You know how he feels about human operations. Fortunately
the President-elect wants you back leading the effort, doing
whatever it takes to solve this. After all, it’s his neck on the
line so why wouldn’t he? But, even though we know the threat is
aimed directly at the President-elect, it’s still taken a great
deal of urging from him to get the President to agree to sign the
order reactivating you.”
Thurmond looked hard at the General, “So
what have we been doing for the past two weeks, sitting on our
thumbs?”
Wheeler turned in his chair to face Thurmond
directly. He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. “Look
Grant.” He said, “We’ve been doing all we can without going into
the field. We’ve had a group of analysts pouring through everything
we have that might be relevant, but so far we’re no closer to
finding out who’s doing this. Also, since then, we’ve lost two more
assets. Guess that’s why the President was finally convinced to
sign the order.” Wheeler took a deep breath. “As you can tell, I’m
really frustrated it’s taken this long to get you involved, and,
you should know, the President-elect shares that frustration.”
“And we haven’t found anything that might
help?” Thurmond asked.
“Nothing.” The General pressed his lips
tightly together.
Grant paused a moment. “General, you said
there were two names on that scrap of paper. What was the other
name?”
Wheeler let out a sigh. “Thurmond,” he
said.
Standing up, Thurmond paused only a second before he
said, “Then we’re way behind. Give me five to grab some clothes.”
Thurmond went inside to pack a bag and as he packed, he threw in
his old .380 semi-automatic pistol he’d carried for over twenty
years. He knew it to be accurate and reliable, at least at short
distances. It didn’t have a lot of stopping power, but it was
small, light and easily concealable, no matter what he was wearing.
And most likely he was going to need some fire power on this
operation.
I minus 57
Sam
After arriving in Washington, they settled
him in temporary officer’s quarters at Ft. Myer, the nearest
military facility. The old Army post was adjacent to Arlington
National Cemetery and, conveniently, just across from the Pentagon.
They gave him an office in the DIA spaces deep inside the Pentagon,
where he was now sitting at his desk, engrossed in the intelligence
background report that had previously been supplied to the
President. The small, internal, windowless office was nearly
barren, having only a, beat-up gray metal desk, an empty gray metal
bookcase, an armless gray desk chair on wheels and a black phone.
The floor was gray linoleum tile. The walls were also painted light
gray. Gray was still the military’s favorite color.
“Good morning, Colonel,” a woman’s voice
called out from the doorway. Before she spoke she’d spent a few
minutes standing at the doorway checking out the man sitting at the
ugly desk. Not bad. Tall, athletic looking, broad shoulders. He
looked like the kind of guy who could take care of himself in just
about any situation. He had a full head of short, cropped grayish
hair and a strong jaw line, too. No, not bad at all.
The Colonel looked up
through penetrating blue eyes. He saw that the woman who spoke wore
an Army enlisted uniform. Her rank insignias showed her to be a
Sergeant First Class. He couldn’t help noticing how young she
looked to be an E7. “Who are
you
?” he said without
preamble.