In 1973, because of the changing social environment of the nation, these gentlemen decided that African-Americans who met the criteria for membership should be allowed to join their Bonhomme Richard Club. Although the resolution passed unanimously, only whites were invited when vacancies occurred. Then, in 1995, after a staid old boy went off to his reward in that club room in the sky, the ninety-nine survivors each put forth a name for membership. Of that total, seventy-five of the slips carried the name of an African-American; Carl Joplin, PhD, an Undersecretary of State. That broke the race barrier then and forever.
However, even into the twenty-first century, women were not taken into consideration for membership.
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24 APRIL
2030 HOURS
ONE entered the premises of the Bonhomme Richard Club through a foyer where a counter similar to a hotel's front desk was located. There were cubbyholes on the wall behind where the concierge stood. Each one was assigned by number to a member, and incoming messages and notices were placed there for his benefit. Farther inside the building was a large library/reading room with the latest newspapers and magazines from all over the world available to the members with special interests. Comfortable, plush leather chairs were scattered helter-skelter across the expanse, each with a small table and ashtray next to it. A single waiter served the readers from the bar located in the next room. Behind all this were a swimming pool, steam baths, and a gymnasium. Upstairs were conference rooms with tables and chairs for meetings when members had business that required the utmost in discretion. Above that, on the third floor, were rooms convenient for overnight stays.
Dr. Carl Joplin with his guest, Mr. Saviz Kahnani from the Iranian embassy, stepped from the taxi and walked across the sidewalk to mount the steps to the club. Jacob, the doorman, lifted the fingers of his right hand to the brim of the top hat he wore and opened the glassed-in portals. The African-American was always on duty from five to ten p.m. six evenings a week. Besides the top hat, he wore a bright red, gold-trimmed jacket (overcoat in cold weather) and navy-blue trousers with a wide red stripe down the outside of each leg. This was the traditional garb for the job, and went back more than a century and a half.
Good evening, Dr. Joplin.
Hello, Jacob, Joplin said, allowing Kahnani to precede him.
When they entered the lobby, the desk clerk on duty greeted them politely and informed Dr. Joplin that his reserved conference room on the second floor was waiting for him. Joplin and Kahnani walked side by side up the stairs and down the landing to where a door stood open. When they entered the fourteen-by-fifteen room, they saw a couple of plush leather chairs with a table between them.
Joplin chuckled as they sat down. I have never figured out why they call these cubbyholes 'conference rooms.' There's barely enough room to swing a cat around in here. He pushed a button on the table to summon a waiter.
Forgive my rude curiosity, Carl, Kahnani said, but are the dues high in this club?
A bit stiff, Joplin allowed. But a greater percent of its revenue comes from grants and trusts left behind by deceased members. We're able to make substantial donations to charities.
I like this ambience, the Iranian said, his accent slightly British from having been educated in the UK. I feel as if I've stepped back in time.
When the waiter appeared, they ordered drinks and snacks. During the twenty minutes he was gone, Joplin and Kahnani carried on laid-back small talk about mutual acquaintances and interests. The latter included the new Washington Nationals baseball team that both men rooted for. When the waiter returned, he quickly served them, then withdrew and closed the door.
It was time for business.
Saviz, my friend, Joplin said, sipping his vodka martini, it's been a while.
Indeed, Kahnani said, lighting a cigarette. Are we back to the nuclear situation again? He picked up his glass of pi -PSna colada, made with coconut milk and crushed pineapple but no rum. For if it is, I fear it will be a repeat of our last session.
We're beginning to worry a bit less about the Iranian nuclear project, Joplin said. What concerns us is Tehran's organizational efforts across the Middle East to consolidate all Islamic insurgencies into one army to be under their direct command and control.
I know nothing of such a thing, Kahnani said.
Joplin was sure he was not lying. It would be appreciated if you advised the Iranian ambassador of our concern. I am afraid the United States government would be extremely alarmed if this activity continues.
Kahnani now had no doubt that his friend Carl Joplin was speaking the truth. But he still had to remain in his diplomatic mode. I would hope that an attack on our sovereign territory would not be in the offing, as with our nuclear program.
The President has stated in the past that we have no intention of attacking Iran, Joplin said, also doing his job.
But you would abet Israel in such an action.
We cannot be responsible for Israel, Joplin said.
But they would refrain from a bombing raid if you insisted.
We will not accept any accountability for what the Israelis decide to do, Joplin said. And I cannot stress too much the vital importance of your conveying to your government our concerns about your Special Forces dealing with Arab terrorist groups in the Middle East. If such activities spread to European countries or America, I fear the consequence would be dire enough to cause great harm to Iran.
Your serious warning has been delivered, Kahnani said calmly. I will relay the American concerns directly to the ambassador first thing in the morning.
I appreciate that, Saviz, Joplin said. He drained his martini. Shall we order another round?
An excellent idea, Carl, Kahnani said. Mmm! And perhaps another small tray of the hors d'oeuvres.
Joplin pressed the button again.
Chapter 13
SHELOR AIRFIELD, AFGHANISTAN
25 APRIL
BRANNIGAN'S Brigands were now stood down from Operation Rolling Thunder. Everything had been put on hold since intelligence reports of the Iranians deactivating Chehaar Garrison and pulling away from the Afghan border had softened the situation. The brass upstairs wanted to go into a wait-and-see mode.
Lieutenant Bill Brannigan was not going to let down his guard or allow his Brigands to sit around with their thumbs up their asses. Using the clout the victory over the armored car unit had given him, he turned full pressure on the staff at both Station Bravo in Bahrain and the USS Combs out in the Arabian Sea. He requested, i.e., demanded and received, i.e., was grudgingly given, the following items: a set schedule of regular weekly supply and resupply flights into Shelor; the latest issues of all aerial and satellite photographs of the OA to include the highlands to the north; stockpiles of 5.56-milimeter ammo along with 7.62- and .50-caliber armor-piercing rounds; authorization to draw fuel and lubricants from the Army transportation company stationed at Shelor; two AS-50 .50-caliber sniper rifles; and finally, the exchange of the eighteen HK-416 carbines for the same number of M-16 rifles with six M-203 40-millimeter grenade launchers.
The changeover from the HK-416s was not because of any inferior characteristics of those weapons. This was something Brannigan had to do if he wanted to add the half-dozen grenade launchers to his arsenal.
With those logistical issues dealt with, the Brigands turned to keeping tuned up and ready to respond to any combat situation that might arise in the OA. They performed rigorous PT and ten-kilometer runs every morning before chow. After eating, they headed for the desert to conduct combat drill, while every third night was spent in mock war against each other to sharpen their night-fighting skills. Interspersed with this were live-fire exercises and a friendly competition on a hastily laid-out KD range to see which guys were the best shots. This latter activity was always won hands down by Bruno Puglisi and Joe Miskoski. Both were naturally accurate shooters. And that was the main reason they were issued the sniper rifles with scopes. No one else came close to the accuracy they demonstrated with the weapons. Puglisi shrugged it off, saying, Me and my buddy Joe are natural-born hit men. Guys like us are just blessed with certain talents.