The Price Of Power Read online

  “I’m afraid not, Admiral,” Lynch continued, changing the subject. “They’ve convened the court, or tried to, but every admiral worth his salt is running for cover. Nobody wants to sit on your court-martial.” He chuckled. “All the admirals that have fleet commands have suddenly found a need to be with their fleets. I don’t know who’s going to be on the court—but the military judge is the one who will hear the bail hearing. In any case, the prosecutor tells me that the orders he has gotten—from the highest possible level I might add—are that bail is not to be granted.”

  “What does that mean?” Billings said. “Who is the ‘highest’ level?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but it sounds like it’s coming from the Joint Chiefs, or perhaps even the President. Probably the same person who insisted you be led off the ship in handcuffs.”

  “Somebody’s taking this personally,” Billings said.

  “I think that’s a fair statement,” Lynch replied. “Anyway, I’m going to keep working on it. I’ll take real good care of you, Admiral.”

  Billings studied his face. After a long awkward pause he spoke. “Is there anything else that we have to deal with in the next thirty minutes?”

  “No, sir,” Lynch replied.

  “Very well then, Commander. Would you please leave me alone with my wife for a while?”

  “Yes, sir, certainly.” Lynch got to his feet and picked up his unopened briefcase. He stopped as he was walking toward the door and turned around. “I’ll come back in thirty minutes with more information. If there is any.” He added a “sir” at the end, realizing he should have done it before. He was not accustomed to defending senior officers. Lynch waited for some word from Billings, but seeing he was not inclined to speak, closed the door behind him.

  As soon as Lynch left the room, Billings turned to Carolyn. “There are a lot of things I want you to do, but those are going to have to wait. Right now I want you to get on the phone and call everybody we know in Hawaii, in Washington, everywhere. I want you to get the best lawyer you can find to defend me.” He glanced at the door and back at her. “I’m in big trouble.”

  President Manchester sat elegantly in his expensive navy blue suit and listened attentively to Marjorie May, national teacher of the year from Sioux City, Iowa. She had received the honor last year and her reward was a private lunch with the President of the United States. She sat in her best suit, her gray hair cut short, and watched the President in rapt attention as he described a trip he had made to the Middle East on Air Force One. Manchester enjoyed the one-on-one attention, something he rarely indulged in.

  There was a gentle knock on the door and a woman entered through a door in the wall behind him. “Excuse me, Mr. President, there’s a phone call.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Our ambassador in Indonesia. He insists on speaking with you right away.”

  Manchester turned to Marjorie May. “Forgive me, Ms. May, I need to take this. I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh, certainly,” she said. He stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind him. He went into the Oval Office and hit the button on the speaker phone. Arlan Van den Bosch stood next to the President’s desk waiting for him.

  “Yes, John,” the President said.

  “Sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, Mr. President. Actually it is my middle of the night, but I wanted to get this to you immediately.”

  “What is it?” Manchester asked.

  “A man on a motor scooter raced by the outside of the embassy compound and tossed a brick over the wall a few minutes ago. There was a note tied to the brick. I wanted you to be aware of it immediately, although it may not be what I think it is—”

  The President interrupted. “What was in the note?”

  “Let me read it to you: ‘To the President of the United States: We have taken the president of South Sea Mining Company and his wife. American gold mine has been stealing gold from the native people for years with help of the Indonesian government, which took Irian Jaya against its will. Release the prisoners that you took from Indonesia. If you do not release them, the president and his wife will be tortured, then murdered. If you do not think we will do this, ask Captain Clay Bonham. They must be released immediately.’ That’s the end of the note.”

  “Who’s it from? Isn’t it signed?”

  “It’s in English, and it’s signed by George Washington.”

  The President closed his eyes momentarily. “Anything else?”

  “No, sir. Do you want me to do anything with this?”

  “No. Send it in the next pouch to the intelligence people. I’m sure they’ll want to analyze it. You say you received it just a few minutes ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have any ideas where they may have taken them?”

  “No one has any idea here, sir.”

  “I take it Indonesia couldn’t track them when they escaped in their speedboats?”

  “No, sir. The Indonesian government heard about it pretty quickly. They sent a couple of frigates that were nearby and actually caught them on the shore, but they got in those fast boats and just pulled away from them over the horizon and disappeared.” He paused, unsure. “I take it the U.S. Navy battle group has not been asked to look yet?”

  The President replied quickly. “Not yet. I’m not sure what I’m going to do in that regard. It didn’t work out so well last time, did it?”

  Dillon and Grazio sat down in Dillon’s office on the fourth floor of the Capitol building and faced each other. “This thing has a life of its own,” Grazio said. “Why couldn’t you just have not found that power in the Constitution…” He shook his head. “None of this would have happened and we wouldn’t have to do all this extra work trying to impeach the stupid President—” Dillon’s phone rang and he reached to answer it.

  It was Molly Vaughan. “Hey,” Dillon said. “What’s up?”

  “We still on for tonight?” she asked.

  Dillon racked his brain for some recollection of what he was supposed to be doing. “Um,” he said, stalling, “what time?”

  Molly sighed. He could imagine her face. “Jim, the reception? At the French embassy? How could you forget?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “What’s it for?”

  “It’s the anniversary of…” she hesitated, “something. I don’t remember exactly what, but it’s a reception. You said you were going to take me. Remember? Great chance to talk?”

  “Sure. What time?”

  “We’re still on then?”

  “Sure,” he said. “What time should I pick you up?”

  “About eight. Remember, Jim, it’s black tie. You do know where your tux is, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I know where it is. I keep it balled up on the floor in the corner of my closet. But I have a cedar block there so the moths don’t get it.”

  “Good, you should look just fine then,” she said. “See you later.”

  “See you.” He hung up.

  “What was that about?”

  “Stupid reception I told her I would take her to.”

  “What about it?”

  “Calling to confirm.”

  “She doesn’t know we’re going to be involved in the impeachment preparation, does she?”

  “I’ll have to tell her.”

  “She’ll take your head off! She thinks all this is over.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You don’t understand women like I do,” Grazio said wisely. “The one button, guaranteed to get you in trouble, is if you lie to ’em.”

  “I haven’t lied to her at all,” Dillon said, offended.

  “Hiding the ball is the same thing to them. Lack of full disclosure.”

  “It is not the same thing.”

  “It is the same thing,” Grazio said. “And you can’t mention it anyway, because the Speaker hasn’t gone public with it. So when she does hear about it, she’ll think you hid it from her. She’s still the Preside
nt’s attorney, Jimbo! You’re hosed!”

  * * *

  Lieutenant Hughes ran in front of the rest of the platoon as the men rounded the corner on the beach road. The sun was just up but blocked from view by the haze on the horizon. He checked the surf and noted that it was virtually flat. The Pacific was a dark gray that matched the foggy morning sky. Hughes glanced back over his shoulder and saw the platoon in good form doing well as they neared the end of their usual morning five-mile run. “Step it up!” Hughes yelled as they increased the pace of the run for the last eight hundred yards. The men strung out as they ran faster. Hughes ran by the fire hydrant first, as he did every morning, and then gradually slowed to a walk. The others crossed the invisible finish line and also began walking toward the SEAL Team building. Hughes’s watch showed they’d made good time.

  They entered the large locker room and sat on the benches. Hughes spoke loudly. “It’s 0700. I want everybody showered and in the op room by 0730. There’s some message traffic we’ve got to talk about.” Most of the men voiced agreement and began taking their clothes off to shower.

  At 0730, Hughes stood in front of the platoon in his camouflage uniform, his pants tucked into the tops of his boots. He wore his dark hair very short, just long enough on the top to comb it slightly forward. Average in height and weight, he didn’t have the bulk of a weightlifter; he was more sculpted, like a decathlete. He was certainly not the most impressive physical specimen in the group, but he was clearly the most intense. As he waited for quiet, Hughes’s eyes took in the op room, the area where they kept their charts—some of which were posted on the wall—dry erase boards to make notes, and various publications, reference manuals, equipment manuals, and projection screen. This was where they did their planning and briefing. “Seats!” Chief Smith said.

  The men sat in gray Navy chairs facing the projection screen and the dry erase board. Some drank coffee, others drank water or juice.

  “We’ve got a lot of things to talk about this morning,” Hughes said. “But there’s one that I’m starting to get a feeling about.”

  Some of the men’s eyes widened. Hughes didn’t usually get “feelings” unless they were about to do something.

  “ ’Member when I read you that message about that Indonesian terrorist that may not have been killed in the attack? Remember?” Nods.

  “Well, we got some more data.” As he paced in front of them, the door opened and Lieutenant Commander Whip Sawyer came into the room. “Sorry,” Sawyer said. “Had to talk to the CO.”

  “No problem.” Hughes addressed the platoon. “Lieutenant Commander Sawyer will be giving us an intel update.” He looked at Chief Smith. “Security set?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Pass out the disclosure forms. Everybody’s got to be read into this one.”

  Sawyer was the SEAL Team One intelligence officer. He was wicked smart. He placed an acetate copy of a message on the overhead projector. “This George Washington character looks like he might be alive and well and moving again. Take a look at this message,” he said. They read the message together, noting in particular the areas that had been underlined by Sawyer.

  “See that?” he said.

  The men’s faces showed their anger. “An American corporate president and his wife abducted from their bed at night in a gold mine in Irian Jaya.” He moved the message so they could see the bottom of the page. “Everybody remember where Irian Jaya is?”

  “Good, just for review—” He took the message off and slid a color map of Indonesia onto the overhead, circling Irian Jaya with a grease pencil. “Western half of New Guinea. Looks like a squatting bird. Very remote. Lots of jungle. A few cities, lots of tribes, very out of the way.... They were taken to the coast and put into Cigarette boats. The Indonesian Navy—what do we know about the Indonesian Navy?”

  Most of the SEALs focused on the screen so they would not make eye contact with Lieutenant Commander Sawyer. A couple suddenly found a need to examine their coffee cups or bagels. “Ensign Graves?” Sawyer asked.

  Graves was an ensign with the Special Boat Unit. His tired face looked perturbed. “Yes, sir?”

  “What do you know about the Indonesian Navy?”

  “I don’t really know much. They have some capability … frigates, and perhaps submarines…”

  “Increasing or decreasing in size over the last five years?”

  “Decreasing.”

  “Nope. Doubled in size. Do you know how?”

  “By getting more ships,” Graves said, feeling stupid.

  “Very funny. Don’t know?”

  “No, sir.”

  “They bought the entire East German Navy,” Sawyer said. “Thirty-nine East German ships. Don’t get excited. Most of the ships are amphibs, and all of ’em are pieces of shit. Two of them were the ones that fired on the Cigarette boats.” He stared at Graves. “Did they hit them?” He waited a few minutes and then answered his own question. “Caught ’em anchored and still couldn’t hit them. The United States of course heard about this well after the Indonesians dicked it up and lost sight of the Cigarette boats. They had two frigates, but did they have a helicopter? No. Jets? No. Just frigates. Twelve-knot frigates to stop sixty-knot Cigarette boats. I can do that math.”

  He adjusted the map on the overhead so that all of Indonesia was on the screen at once. “So now, do you remember where the bad guys took the missionary that they kidnapped last time off Irian Jaya?”

  “Yeah, to the place they had the big showdown.”

  “Name?” Sawyer asked.

  “Borneo,” one of the SEALs blurted out.

  Sawyer hung his head and let the grease pencil drop from his hands to the floor.

  “It was Bunaya,” Hughes reminded them.

  “Anybody recall where Bunaya is?” Sawyer asked.

  “Just south of Singapore,” Chief Smith said quickly.

  “And how far is it from Irian Jaya to Bunaya?”

  “Don’t know, sir,” Smith said, since Hughes was looking at him.

  “Close or far?”

  “Far.”

  “Closer than San Diego is to Virginia Beach?”

  “Don’t know, sir.”

  “Nope. Farther.”

  “Wow,” Smith said.

  “Remember how they got there? Remember the debrief from the missionary?”

  “Airplane.”

  “Exactly. We did this review for two reasons, one, to make sure your brains are working this morning after your invigorating run, and two, to remind you of who we’re dealing with. I’m not prepared to say it’s the same group, but it sure is starting to look like it. First we get the message indicating that the head guy may not have died, second, we hear of this new kidnapping, and third, we hear it’s conducted by a covert Cigarette boat landing. Same pattern. May not be the same guys, I’m betting it is.”

  “Any other messages we need to know about?” Hughes asked Sawyer.

  “No. This is it for now.”

  Hughes turned his attention to Lieutenant Michaels: “Get all the satellite photos of the islands near there and any charts that might help.” Then to the rest of the room: “If we have to go right now, how much more information are you going to get?”

  “Zip, sir.”

  “Correct. Zip.”

  Chapter Five

  When Admiral Billings next saw Carolyn, after his first night in the brig, he had been stripped of his impressive white uniform and insignia for reasons that were not explained. Lieutenant Commander Lynch said he was looking into it. He thought it was outrageous. Billings was not comforted. Now he was just another brig rat. An incarcerated Navy person. He wore the standard issue Navy brig jumpsuit, which resembled an old submarine uniform. Probably was. Carolyn was more comfortably dressed today—in cotton shorts and a sleeveless blouse. Full of energy, she described all the people she had called and all the things that she had done since seeing him. He could tell from her tone of voice that much of the effort had been to kee
p from being hysterical. He waited for her to finish, nodding at appropriate times. He finally responded, “So did you get ahold of this guy?”

  “I called his office,” she said, “and spoke with him this morning.”

  “Excellent,” he said, encouraged. “What did he say?”

  “He said he was flattered, asked how I had gotten his name. I told him I called everybody I knew in Honolulu and his name came up almost every time. He said he would be happy to speak with us. He had a meeting until ten, then he would come over.”

  “He’s coming here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent,” Billings said, his eyes on the wall clock. “How did he sound?”

  Carolyn hesitated. “Well, I’ve never spoken with attorneys, other than in casual conversation. I don’t know, professional, straightforward.”

  “What did you hear about him before you called?”

  “Well, let’s see,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Appointed as the U.S. Attorney for Hawaii by President Bush. After President Clinton took office, he left and went back to private practice. Apparently had a three-or four-year stint in the Marine Corps as a JAG officer, so he knows the military system, and went to, I think, the University of Hawaii.”

  “Where did he go to law school?”

  Carolyn hesitated. “I don’t remember. I think I asked him that, but I don’t remember what he said.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll ask him. Were you impressed by him?”

  “Yes, I think so. They said he was with the best private law firm in Honolulu.”

  “I guess we’ll see. Anybody call?”

  “Phone didn’t stop ringing all day when I got home. I stopped answering it after about three calls. I unplugged it from the wall all night, and plugged it back in this morning. It started ringing as soon as I stuck the clip in the wall. It was the press, some reporter from the Washington Post, then a TV reporter from a news show, a local TV reporter, and the San Diego Union-Tribune. After that, I quit answering the phone again. I didn’t talk to any of them; I said I wasn’t prepared to talk about anything yet.”

  Billings smiled at his wife.