Some chuckles showed appreciation for his mimicry, and a wag in the back of the room spoke to the Canadian journalist, also out to hassle the guy, "You Canucks better start being more careful about all them foreign hosers getting visas to come to your snow pile, hey? There's probably more terrorists in Toronto than Baghdad, hey?"
"Now, now," Peckham said, "let's not make light of our neighbors to the north."
But he couldn't suppress a grin at that one; Mackenzie was a royal pain in the ass. "And to change the subject, all the misspent money on hurricane relief has been identified and the people responsible for this mismanagement face penalties for these oversights and mismanagement. I'm sorry, but I have no names to give you right at this time." He paused and surveyed the crowd. "Now I'm ready for more of your questions."
A short, pudgy man quickly got to his feet, quickly identifying himself. "Dirk Wallenger, Global News Broadcasting."
Peckham flinched inwardly in spite of the friendly smile he showed to Wallenger. "How are you, Dirk?"
"Fine, thank you, Owen," Wallenger said. "I am wondering if you have any comment or news regarding the wounded Arab prisoner who was summarily executed by an American Special Forces group in western Afghanistan on the seventeenth of June."
"I know nothing of the incident," Peckham stated, truly puzzled. "May I inquire as to your sources?"
"I'm afraid not," Wallenger said. "But I can ensure you that they are impeccable and accurate."
"I'll have to investigate the incident and get back to you on that," Peckham said. "But I can tell you now that the White House has not received word from the Pentagon about any prisoners being executed."
"Maybe not," Wallenger said, "but would the people in the Department of Defense inform the President of such an incident?"
"Of course they would," Peckham said.
"Does that mean you deny it?"
"Dirk, I can neither deny nor confirm it until inquiries have been made." He pointed to another journalist, knowing that the opening rounds in a new slant of the antiwar campaign had just been introduced.
.
OVAL OFFICE WHITE HOUSE
1400 HOURS
"I just wish I knew where that tubby little son of a bitch gets his news tips."
The President's voice was edged in anger as he sat at his desk looking across at Owen Peckham, Arlene Entienne, and Colonel John Turnbull of SOLS.
"If he's been given the correct location it has to come from somewhere within the Persian Empire caper," Arlene said.
"That's what I was afraid of," the President said. "Evidently something critical has occurred in one of our most sensitive areas." He glanced at Turnbull. "Isn't that where we're having a standoff with an Iranian Special Forces team?"
Turnbull nodded. "Yes, Mr. President. It's been dubbed Operation Battleline." He shifted in his chair. "Maybe this Wallenger punk is blowing smoke. The screeching leftists haven't had a chance to raise hell for a few months now."
"He's a radical, alright," Peckham said, "but he would never make a statement at a White House press briefing unless he knew it to be true." He quickly added, "Or had some evidence that made it seem to be true."
The President had to admit that Peckham was right. "I believe Carl Joplin and Edgar Watson are in the vicinity of Persian Empire, are they not?"
"Yes, sir," Arlene said. "They're the other half of the Lamp Committee." She was referring to a small group including her, Colonel Turnbull, Joplin, and Watson, that had been set up to deal with the mysterious intelligence informant who had been code-named Aladdin. "We thought it best to have them handy in case this situation with Aladdin broke wide open."
"It's hard to believe that such a thing could happen," Turnbull said. "I've become extremely familiar with that SEAL officer Brannigan over the past year. His men are considered wild and almost unpredictable, but I doubt if they would kill a wounded EPW in cold blood. If such a thing happened, they must have had a reason." He paused for a moment. "But it could have happened in the heat of battle or if something awry threw a desperate situation further out of kilter."
"God!" the President said. "I hope not.
But we have to make a thorough investigation of this thing. Arlene, send word to Carl and Edgar to look into this and get a report back to me ASAP."
"Yes, Mr. President."
.
GNB STUDIOS
WASHINGTON, D. C.
15 JULY 2258 HOURS
THE broadcast area was quiet as Dirk Wallenger settled down at the desk on the set. His notes were arranged in front of him, and the teleprompter was keyed up and ready to go. He was eager for the night's program to begin, and everyone in the studio realized the importance of the news about to be broadcast. Even the network president, Don Allen, stood behind the cameras to witness the event. The credits began rolling at 11 P. M., announcing the Wallenger Report with Dirk Wallenger. At exactly the right moment the floor director looked at the commentator and counted, "Five, four, three, two, one, go!"
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Wallenger said the instant the red light glowed on the camera to his direct front. "This is Dirk Wallenger with breaking news from the war in the Middle East. And do not expect to see anything of this story for a few days on other broadcasts. This information came to me through my network of concerned informers. My expose of the incident will force the other TV news organizations to acknowledge it happened and they will have to report it to the public in spite of government censorship." He paused for effect. "I regret to say that there has been yet another heinous crime committed by members of the American armed forces in the Middle East. This sad event occurred in the west of Afghanistan, up in the Gharawdara Highlands, where a group of Special Forces Green Berets sneaked up on an international aid group from several Arab countries and attacked them. The result of this armed assault was the massacre of all with the exception of three who managed to surrender and save their lives despite the hail of gunfire directed at them.
"Did I say 'saved their lives'? Well, two of them did; the third, who had been badly wounded, was not destined to receive mercy from his war-mad captors. You see, ladies and gentlemen, this unfortunate man who had come to offer succor and aid to suffering Afghanistan people who are being smashed under the boot heels of the American occupiers turned out to be a burden to the murderers. Imagine! They would have to actually carry him--or have his unhurt companions do the job--but it was an inconvenience either way because it slowed them down. And what was their solution to this bother? I imagine many of you have already guessed the answer to that question. For those of you who are in suspense, I shall tell you what these brave Green Berets did. They shot him in cold blood. Yes! As he lay there in agony, unable to defend himself, they fired a bullet into his head." He paused again to let his words be contemplated by the viewers. "And when I return, I will provide more grisly details of this wanton criminal act."
The floor director signaled that the commercials were running. Don Allen gave Wallenger a thumbs-up. "That's the way, Dirk! Give 'em hell!"
Wallenger winked back at him, arranging his notes for the continuance of the program.
.
USS COMBS
PERSIAN GULF
16 JULY 0830 HOURS
THE MH-60G chopper came down onto the helipad on the aft end of the ship, landing softly. Lieutenant Bill Brannigan stepped out and was met by Commanders Tom Carey and Ernest Berringer. There were no vocal greetings because of the noise of the aircraft's engine, only an exchange of salutes. Brannigan, carrying his M-16 and a bandolier of ammo, followed the other two officers off the landing area into the ship's superstructure.