"From what we know, they live inconspicuously. Canadian law enforcement officers recently apprehended two Islamic extremists outside the Sunnah al-Nabawiah Mosque in Montreal."
"The ones with the explosives?" Jackie asked.
"That's right. One of them, Ahmed Abun-Nasr, was a member of Egypt's Vanguards of Conquest. Abun-Nasr has assassinated three Egyptian politicians who were outspokenly pro-American. Shayhidi is one of his supporters.
"At any rate," Hartwell continued, "these two thugs had counterfeit U. S. visas, fake birth certificates, and phony Social Security numbers. They also had a station wagon filled with enough high explosives to bring down the Empire State Building, and—"
"What about the Border Patrol agents?" Scott interrupted. "Have we added more officers to that area?"
"About eighty as of yesterday, including three dozen more FBI agents disguised as vacationers or locals. But the border is still so poorly staffed that terrorists and explosives are slipping through on a daily basis. In the area were most concerned about, there are close to sixty smuggling corridors, heavily used day and night, that have had their electronic motion and heat sensors destroyed."
Scott shook his head. "That's amazing, just amazing, after the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. We have over nine thousand agents patrolling the two-thousand-mile Mexican border and what— three hundred, maybe four hundred agents for the Canadian border, almost three times as long?"
"Close to four hundred agents," Hartwell said. "There are some places that aren't even patrolled. Many crossings in sparsely populated areas are closed at ten P. M. and left unattended until the next morning."
Scott looked at him and shrugged. "Terrific. Put out the orange cones and head to the tavern."
"That's about it. Some of the sectors don't have jail space for illegal aliens, so they're released to await trial."
"You're joking." Jackie's eyes were wide in disbelief.
"I wish I could joke about it," Hartwell said. "The agents call the process their catch and release' program."
"While America sleeps," Scott said, with a touch of sarcasm.
"The president is working on the problem as we speak. As you know, our relationship with the Canadian government since the war in Iraq hasn't been exactly cozy. President Macklin and the homeland commander-in-chief are dealing directly with the Immigration and Naturalization Service and senior Canadian authorities. We're going to use forces from marine, army, and National Guard units to help patrol the Canadian border until we can train more agents."
He hesitated. "At the other end of the spectrum, heavily armed Mexican soldiers and Mexican police are increasingly crossing our border to provide cover for illegal immigrants and drug smugglers. Violence is spiraling out of control. As this is happening, Border Patrol agents are resigning in droves.
"The drug problem is especially prevalent along a hundred-mile stretch of desert between the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument and the Coronado National Forest. Mexican drug smugglers account for eighty percent of the cocaine and fifty percent of the heroin that reaches the streets of America. During the past three weeks, heavily armed Mexican soldiers, inside our border in Humvees, have fired on Border Patrol air units near Copper Canyon, California, and Vamori, Arizona."
"And we re not doing anything?" Jackie asked.
"As of tomorrow afternoon or evening, depending on how long our meeting with the Mexican ambassador lasts, National Guard troops will be assisting Border Patrol agents along critical areas of the Mexican border. Mostly crossing points."
Scotts curiosity was aroused. "What about the Posse Comitatus Act?"
"It's a genuine concern," Hartwell admitted. "Under the circumstances, many people on Capitol Hill are calling for a congressional review of the act. Involving the military in domestic policing is going to offend a lot of people, but the president has to do what's best for all the citizens.
"On top of everything else," Hartwell went on, "we have a serious problem brewing in our own backyard, our southern flank, Central and South America. Latin American countries are teetering on the brink of financial collapse and total chaos. Crisis seems endemic to that region, and it's getting worse by the day.
"The biggest threat to the region is terrorism orchestrated by the pro-Castro, pro-Iraq radical regime in Venezuela. Terrorism and terrorist training camps are spreading like wildfire throughout Central and South America. The instability is moving many struggling countries into an anti-American, anti-free-market direction.
"Elements of Hamas and the Iranian-backed Hezbollah have established terrorist operations in the tri-border area of Paraguay, Argentina, and Brazil. The region has become a haven for Islamic extremists, who have bombed Jewish and Israeli compounds in Buenos Aires."
He seemed tense. "In addition to that breeding ground, Hezbollah and al-Qaeda are extremely active in training terrorists in the tri-border area of Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru. We have clear evidence that many common-border terrorists from both regions are making their way by seagoing freighters to Vancouver, British Columbia, and then coming across our border in eastern Washington State."
Hartwell's expression hardened. "This terrorism problem is the reason I wanted to visit with you in person. President Macklin and I want to keep this information quiet until we1 re ready to make our move."
He cast his gaze across the wooded hills. "Homeland security is a priority at the White House and at the Pentagon. We don't want to create any undue public anxiety. The Twin Towers and Pentagon catastrophes are still on peoples minds."
"They're certainly on mine," Jackie said.
Hartwell puffed on his cigar and continued. "As a supplement to our undercover FBI agents on the ground, we would like the two of you, using a civilian helicopter, to concentrate on tracking these illegal infiltrators from the time they leave Canada until they reach their destination — or destinations. See if you can figure out where they're gathering and, most important, what their plans are."
Jackie and Scott shared a concerned look.
"What do you think?" he asked, sensing their lack of enthusiasm. "You seem concerned."
"We'll do the best we can," Scott said with a frown. "As you know, they slip in and out of the shadows like ghosts. Don't know how effective we'll be at tracking them."
"Just do your best. See what develops." Hartwell tapped ashes from his cigar. "We're using a great number of other assets, but we know there is no substitute for on-site human intelligence. President Macklin and I appreciate your situation reports, the direct unfiltered truth. Your sit-reps are a real contrast to the watered-down assessments we receive through various bureaucracies."
Scott and Jackie made momentary eye contact, but neither said anything. Both suspected not all the cards were on the table.
Their host exhaled a long stream of cigar smoke. "As usual, well provide anything you need: weapons, equipment, intelligence information, et cetera: just say the word."
Scott was already thinking about some of the base weapons of a SEAL platoons firepower. "We like the H and K P9S, the Smith and Wesson 357, and the H and K MP-five submachine gun."
"Just make a list," Hartwell said evenly. "One other thing. If you locate any terrorist cells, we prefer you not act unilaterally, unless your lives are in danger. We want to have plenty of backup before we take them on."
"Understood," Scott said, and then hesitated. "How closely is the president working with the INS?"