Prost looked every way the intelligence type, average height and build, salt-and-pepper hair and brown eyes, and an easy-to-forget face. And pale, perhaps from spending too much time in basement rooms such as this one.
The DNI tapped his tablet computer. The image on the seventy-inch flat screen on the far wall switched from the CNN feed showing images of body bags lined up on the pier to photos of mangled and charred sections of fuselage.
“Our civilian and military agencies have been collaborating nonstop to find a lead on the aircraft and pilots,” he began. “We were able to pull serial numbers off three pieces of the C-46. Most of the DC-9 vaporized or melted on impact.”
Prost paused to let that sink in, then added, “Using the serial numbers, we were able to trace the plane back to a shell company that had acquired it from a bankrupt air-cargo service. From there, it will just be a matter of time until we uncover the real buyer.
“In addition, our investigation has identified the airfield from which these flights originated: La Aurora Airport in Guatemala. A team of agents will be there within the hour. State already cleared it.” Prost looked at Secretary of State Brad Austin, who gave him a nod.
“That said,” the DNI continued, “the consensus from my colleagues at this table is that the US needs an immediate show of force to deter potential follow-on attacks or copycats.
“We have satellite imagery that has been confirmed by Special Forces on the ground that there is an ISIS training and logistics camp in Yemen that provides a good opportunity. It is isolated enough that the risk of hitting civilian structures is low. The greatest risk is to immediate family who may be living there with the terrorists. However, we have seen no evidence of a school, nor is there an actual mosque in the compound.”
Prost once again paused. He looked around the room, apparently to make sure there was no disagreement.
Macklin motioned him to continue.
“I believe hitting this target serves both locally to destroy a terrorist element and internationally by demonstrating that we will be decisive in our response to attacks upon us. We have a Virginia-class submarine, Missouri, in position and, with your permission, it’ll launch a Tomahawk against it.”
Macklin looked about the room and received nods.
“Fine,” the president finally said. “Get it done. Today. And make sure it happens when we have eyes on the target. I want it on YouTube.”
“Yes, sir.”
Macklin then said to no one in particular in a very calm voice, “It seems like a given that our carriers should be protected at all times. In fact, I’m baffled that there wasn’t any protection in place for Truman.”
Before anyone could answer, Macklin pointed the reading glasses at the ceiling and added, “Hell, I know there are two guys with SAMs up on my damn roof twenty-four seven. But we have nothing standing by to protect our ships while at port?”
Macklin knew that asking such a question would immediately turn the meeting into an old-fashioned exercise in accountability, but he needed to get to the bottom of this mess.
The silence he received prompted him to direct the reading glasses at General “Lucky” Les Chalmers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff — and also one of the best friends of Cadet “Cordy” Macklin back at the Air Force Academy.
“Les, if I understand the scenario correctly, a portable, shoulder-fired surface-to-air missile could have saved Truman.”
Chalmers was built like a heavyweight boxer and had the prizefighter face to go along with it, hard and chiseled, even a slightly crooked nose. Many wondered how in the world this bear of a man actually fit inside one of those cramped fighter jet cockpits. The truth was he didn’t. Chalmers flew KC-135 refueling tankers for most of his career, but he had a gift for combat strategy that eventually had landed him a Pentagon assignment.
The general looked the part of a four-star officer in his starched uniform and ribbons crowned by a full head of close-cropped gray hair and a stoic face that reflected the sentiment in the room. He shifted in his black leather swivel chair as his narrowed eyes briefly looked away from Macklin’s armor-piercing gaze.
Chalmers stared into the distance, apparently considering his response, and when he finally spoke, he did so in a cautious tone but in his typical baritone voice.
“Theoretically, Mr. President, that’s true.”
The chief did indeed look uncomfortable and very much “unlucky,” but then again, Macklin couldn’t remember the last time the good general had been on the receiving end of an ass-chewing.
“In my opinion,” Chalmers added, “we would have had a better than fifty-fifty chance of bringing the plane down. But the bigger problem is firing authority. Even if we had shoulder-launched SAMs in place, there wasn’t enough time to identify the problem, go through the proper chain of command, and give the order to shoot it down, especially when it looked like a Mid-Atlantic airliner.”
“Les, I hear you, but on the other hand, you must agree that it was a good thing that Bush’s XO decided not to follow the chain of command.”
Chalmers nodded. “This time, yes, Mr. President, but it could also have gone very bad had that gun system locked on, say, a passing helo or patrol boat or commercial jet on final approach to Norfolk International. There are very valid reasons why we keep those weapon systems disabled at port.”
The general paused, and Macklin decided to give him the space to choose his next words carefully.
“Mr. President,” he finally added after several seconds of uncomfortable silence. “We do train our officers to make split-second decisions when facing life-or-death situations, and in the case of Commander Weathers, his decision to break protocol prevented a second disaster. But as you know, our military operates based on rules; it has to, or people die. Obviously, those rules failed us in the case of Truman, so we are reviewing them. But to your earlier point, until we develop a better system for defending our ships at port, we are placing crews armed with SAMs on all of them. We will not make the same mistake twice.”
Macklin nodded, deciding to stop the inquisition for now. Down the road, no doubt there would be congressional hearings on this disaster. And those hearings would likely result in some bloodletting — meaning the early retirement of some of those present here. But the president needed this team today, working the problem of today, without worrying about tomorrow. And to that end, he turned his attention to Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Denny Blevins, who sat next to the general.
“Denny, how long will Truman be out of commission, realistically?”
Leaning forward in his chair and resting his forearms on the table, fingers crossed, Blevins said, “I honestly won’t have a firm answer until we complete the damage assessment. But from what I’ve seen and heard so far, I’d guess around nine months, possibly a year. Obliterating the island is tantamount to destroying the ship’s brain, taking out most of Truman’s command structure as well as its radar capabilities. Having said that, however, the island is a stand-alone structure that can be swapped, but we’re concerned about damage to the carrier structure belowdecks. I’ll have something more concrete for you in a week.”