He nodded. “I understand the concerns. It will be a balancing act and law enforcement, military or civilian, will need to police their own house to assure civil rights are not trampled in the process.”
“As I said, it hasn’t worked in many countries that we came to call ‘banana republics.’ Their citizens are oppressed, or killed, by those intent on retaining power.”
“Granted,” Pug said. “But we can rise above that.”
“I hope so, Pug. I truly hope so.”
“Thank you for tonight, Rachel. I’m very grateful you accepted my invitation.”
“For me too, Pug,” she said, stepping in close. Without comment, she leaned even closer and lifted her chin, placing her hand behind Pug’s head and pulling him close enough to kiss. He reacted by putting his arms around her, wrapping her in a full embrace. When she withdrew, Rachel leaned back and smiled up at him. “I know we need to face our potholes, Pug, and can’t run away from them, even if they seem dark and dangerous.”
“Are you suggesting that you’re willing to ‘patch’ my pot-holes, Rachel?”
“I’m suggesting that I don’t want to be alone tonight. I’m suggesting that this is not recreational sex, but that it’s an emotional need. I do care for you Pug, and it may not sound romantic, but I need you on duty tonight, General Connor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pug said, pulling her closer once again. “The Marine Corps is honored to be of service.”
Chapter 34
Eisenhower Executive Office Building
Washington D.C.
July
When Pug walked into the EEOB on Friday morning, he was met in the corridor by Carlos Castro. “Seen the morning papers?” Carlos asked.
Pug raised his copy of the Washington Post from under his arm and motioned toward Carlos’s office. Once inside, Pug dropped the paper onto the table top and took a seat in front of Carlos’s desk. The headline read:
Domestic Tranquility Law of the Land
Individual Citizen Rights Restricted
“It gives us carte blanche,” Carlos said, “but it certainly ties the hands of ordinary citizens if they happen to be stopped for trespassing.”
Pug nodded. “Senator Winchester has been quoted on every talk show since last night. He’s today’s hero. Truth is, it will make our job a lot easier, with no restrictions and ten-day retention without charges being filed.”
Carlos exhaled and took a chair behind his desk. “General, America is headed down a path that may be impossible to retrace. I’m trying to see the bright side of this, but as a lawyer, even a non-practicing lawyer, I find this infringement on citizen rights troubling. Don’t you?”
Pug was still standing and retrieved his newspaper from the table, re-reading the headline. “I haven’t decided, Carlos. Anything that helps us catch the Wild Bunch… I just don’t know. We’ll see.”
“What I’m concerned about, General, is that we’ll see the fallacies of this course of action too late to reverse course.”
“I understand that. Well, let’s see what the day brings,” he said, leaving Carlos’s office. As Pug entered his office, his telephone voice mail light was flashing. Three messages were identified and he pressed the play button. The lilt of an Irish accent in the first message took his complete interest and he quickly listened to the next two, neither of which was important and both were deleted. He replayed the first message.
“Good day to yer, General Connor. If you’ve time for a stroll with a friend of the old sod, be at the Washington Memorial, Friday morning at 11:00.”
Pug quickly glanced at his watch, which read 7:45. He had just enough time to finish reading the Domestic Tranquility analysis paper Carlos had prepared and to meet with the Trojan team to discuss the pros and cons of the analysis. He pressed the intercom button.
“Carlos, just got an interesting phone message. Could you join me for a few moments, please?”
“On the way, General,” Castro replied.
As soon as Castro stepped into Pug’s office, Lieutenant Holcomb followed him. Pug smiled as both men entered the room. Holcomb deferred to Carlos at the doorway, a sure sign that the junior officers were accepting a former enlisted man in a senior position.
“Two Marines and a Naval Lieutenant in the same room. What should we make of that, Mr. Deputy Director?” Pug quipped. Holcomb had often been the foil in the service rivalry in the office.
Without the slightest hesitation, Castro puffed his chest and lowered his voice several decibels, replicating the Marine drill instructor’s soft warning that was often delivered just before the in-your-face, spit-flecked tirade. He assumed the third-person personae, so familiar with drill instructors. “General, the Deputy Director, with Marine green blood still flowing in his veins, believes that the Naval officer in question has experienced an epiphany and deeply regrets his choice of military service. It is my opinion, sir, that he has come to request an immediate transfer to the Corps,” Castro replied.
Pug laughed out loud while Lieutenant Holcomb stared silently at Castro. In the first few weeks of operation, each of the officers selected to be part of Trojan had responded well to the presence of a former enlisted man serving as Deputy Director. On several occasions, some of the team had privately shared with General Connor their admiration for the new deputy and his ability to grasp the most abstract concept of their operation.
“Hardly, Mr. Castro,” Holcomb added. “Despite your transition to the civilian world, where your co-workers have tried to teach you the protocol for the use of a knife and fork and more importantly, a napkin, this Naval lieutenant thinks it’s more likely that with two Marines in one location, and in recognition of said Naval lieutenant’s responsibility to the Naval Service, which includes the subordinate service commonly referred to as the Marine Corps, said Naval officer was required to assure protocol was observed and he felt it his duty to prevent any disparaging behavior and protect the image of the Naval service. With all due respect to our Marine commander, of course, General,” he said, a sly smile on his face.
“Okay, “Pug said, “the obligatory inter-service rivalry having been accomplished for today, two petulant Marines having been properly chastened, shall we proceed with the nation’s business? I’ve had a voice mail contact from an old Irish associate. Carlos, it’s your new friend from Dublin, Mr. Donahue. He wants to meet with me at eleven hundred hours near the Washington Memorial. Carlos, can you arrange perimeter security, please, and keep it low-keyed? But I want a shooter within range.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“And Jim, I’ll want you in the van to monitor the conversation. I’ll be wired, although my contact will assume that and likely not speak plainly.”
“Will do, General. Can you tell us what this man wants?”
“I’m not certain. He’s a former brigade commander in the IRA. I’ve known him for about six years, met with him twice, in Ireland and Brussels. I sent Carlos to meet with him in January.”
“Do you know the subject of today’s meeting, sir?” the lieutenant asked.
“No. But this is the man who put us on to Wolff and the domestic shooters. Maybe he’s opened a new link.”
“We’ll be ready, General,” Castro said.
“Right then. Hop to it,” Pug said. “I expect everyone to be up to speed on Domestic Tranquility and Trojan’s analysis by our staff meeting at 9:00. I’ll keep it short, about thirty minutes, so we can get ready for the following meeting with our Irish friend.”
The Washington monument was a central icon in downtown Washington D.C. Thousands of tourists visited the site every day of the year. Ironically, in the nearly three months that random shootings had dominated the American landscape, none had occurred anywhere near D.C.