“Fuck him,” Dunn said. “Anybody that turns up at a JTF meeting in a fucking GT with some blonde on his arm is a poser.”
The guy had parked in a “distinguished visitor” parking space, right by the door in other words. So he caught the end of Dunn’s words as he approached, literally with a blonde on his arm.
“I see Orange County’s finest are on the case,” the man said. “Killed any good hostages lately?”
“Fuck you,” Dunn snapped. OC had had a bad run a few years back. In four separate hostage negotiations the hostage had been killed either by the holder or, in one case, by fire from the police surrounding the house. Given that all of them had started off as domestic disputes it was, in Dunn’s eyes, a tragedy and not something to be joked about. “This is a restricted area.”
“Michael Jenkins,” the guy said, sticking out his hand to the Guardsman. “Pleasure to meet you. Now will you ask your trained monkey to move out of the way of the door?”
“You’re expected, Mr. Jenkins,” Street said. “But your… companion…”
“Lieutenant Britney Harder,” the girl said, pulling an ID out from under her shirt. “SOCOM.”
“Oh,” the captain said, starting to straighten then realizing that he outranked her. “Yes, you’re on the list, too.”
“They got a captain doing guard duty?” Jenkins asked, honestly curious.
“Just catching a smoke,” Street said. “The actual guards are through the door. I’ll escort you. We’re going to be starting soon.”
“So what’s a nice girl like you doing with an asshole like him?” the sheriff’s deputy asked as the Kildar and the Guardie headed to the security desk.
“Fucking up terrorists and killing people,” Britney said, pulling off her own glasses and giving him her best thousand mile stare. “What have you been doing today?”
“Right,” Dunn said, frowning.
“Right,” Britney stated. “So far we’ve stopped thirty-two barrels. And all of those on purpose. What’s FDLE’s record? Two on a routine traffic stop? You want to go beat your dick, go beat it somewhere else. I got nothing for you.”
Mike tried not to sleep through the meeting. He felt like it was important to attend at least one. This one had a National Guard colonel chairing it. And the guy was… Mike could feel a fuck-up coming on big-time. He wasn’t one of the NG battalion commanders; he was a guy sent down from Tallahassee to “manage” the situation. From Mike’s perspective, the situation was completely beyond “managing.” If he’d had his way, every damned vehicle heading north from Miami would be stopped and strip searched. Not that it probably mattered. Most of the barrels were on their way to the destination or there already.
“In conclusion,” the colonel said as Mike tried not to yawn, “the commander’s intent is to action the enemy’s action plan by insertion into the decision-making cycle and loop closure. By joint tasking and transformational processes, this situation can be deconflicted in a rapid and decisive manner. I have the positions and taskers of all the associated agencies prepared, however, there is one issue on taskers. Mr. Jenkins,” he concluded, turning to Mike. “What is your task in all of this?”
“I’ve been detailed to put my people into Disney,” Mike said, lying.
“Who gave you that tasker?” the colonel asked pointedly. “The action plan for defense in the Reedy Creek AO is fully tasked.”
“I think there’s a need-to-know issue there,” Mike replied, shrugging. “Why don’t I just make myself useful? We’ll mingle as tourists. Plenty of foreigners in Disney. We’ll need to have Disney security aware of it, though, and I’ll be making some suggestions in that regard. Actually, I’m going to be making demands. And if they’re not followed, the park will be shut down.”
“Excuse me?” Lieutenant Dunn asked, leaning forward. “How, exactly, are you going to get Disney to do that?”
“By presidential order under the War Powers Act,” Mike said, not bothering to look around. “There are, from my perspective, five probable targets in the Orlando area. Disney, specifically the Magic Kingdom, Wet and Wild, Universal, Sea World and possibly EPCOT or Studio Center. The top three I listed are the most probable targets. I put Magic Kingdom as top. I’ve discussed this at the highest level. Disney security is good. There’s going to be National Guard. Your department, Lieutenant, will be in place. And so will the Keldara. And we will be looking for very specific attacks and prepared to engage them with lethal force.”
“You want to carry weapons into Disney World?” the colonel said. “Out of the question.”
“Colonel, I can have you relieved, stripped of rank and stripped of retirement by picking up a phone,” Mike said, turning his head like a turret. “You don’t even begin to tell me what is ‘out of the question.’ You don’t begin to tell me what I can or cannot do to accomplish my mission. Stopping these terrorists with zero loss of life is going to be ‘out of the question.’ But that is our mission and I’m going to do that mission. And your job, Colonel, is to do what the fuck I tell you to do. Is that clear?”
“So you’re assuming command?” the colonel snarled. “Over my dead body.”
Mike shoved back his chair, walked down the conference room and jerked the chickenshit idiot out of his chair.
“You want to tell me it’s over your dead body?” Mike hissed. “I’ll cap you right here and nobody will say boo. Not a fucking person. Now you get this straight, jackass. Terrorists are coming to kill American civilians. And I will do whatever it takes to stop that. And if that includes killing you or everyone in this fucking room then everyone in this room will die. Been there, done that. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear,” the colonel said, gagging.
“Let go of him,” Dunn said, standing up. “I swear to God—”
“Don’t,” Street said, holding up his hand. “What you don’t realize is that he’s serious. I don’t particularly feel like dying. So… don’t.”
Mike shoved the colonel back in the chair and straightened up.
“My meeting is adjourned. We just had it. If you have any useable intel, make sure I get it. All of it. I’ll take it from there.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charles Fisher, head of security for Walt Disney World, wasn’t sure what he was dealing with.
He normally interacted with Orange County sheriff’s department. The entire area around Disney, an area about the size of downtown Los Angeles, was privately owned. Technically, it could have its own police force. But there were problems, legal and image-wise, with corporations having cops. So Orange County handled the police work. But they were careful with Disney; it was the tail that wagged the dog.
Sometimes he worked with National Guard when there was a “credible terrorist threat.” FLARNG was planning on sending a company of infantry with “support units,” meaning, probably antiaircraft teams, to assist. They’d promised to stay low-profile. Disney had had heightened alerts several times and there were places they’d learned they could put the Guardsmen, even including the Slammer trucks, where they didn’t alarm the guests. Disney had a surprising number of out-of-the-way spots.
But this guy was something different. The blonde with him was SOCOM but what he was wasn’t quite clear. CIA? They weren’t supposed to work in-country, but with it being terrorism, who knew?