“Yes, Mr. President,” Kinsly said. As Kinsly picked up the phone to call his staff, his computer terminal beeped again. “A flash message from the embassy in Mexico City, Mr. President: President Maravilloso has assumed full responsibility for the accidental downing of the American aircraft, and sincerely apologizes to the people and government of the United States.” He turned, a satisfied expression on his face. “There we have it. She’s coming clean.”
“No mention of Zakharov or the captured CID unit, though,” Jefferson pointed out.
“We have no evidence that these incidents were connected,” Kinsly said. To the President, he said, “I think we may want to make a statement or gesture to show that we acknowledge Maravilloso’s effort to reveal those involved in this incident, sir. Perhaps removing a few more military units away from the border?”
“I was thinking the same thing, Tom,” the President said. To Ray Jefferson, he ordered, “Tell General Lopez to pull a few Guard units back, stop the deployment of any more Guard units to the border, and accelerate the removal of those antitank weapons.” He shook his head. “Hell, if worse comes to worse, the states might need their Guard units to keep the peace on the streets if citizens start targeting Mexicans.”
“I request permission for Task Force TALON to deploy wherever necessary to follow any leads on the whereabouts of Major Richter and the stolen CID unit,” Jefferson said.
“We don’t want TALON in Mexico before the FBI,” Kinsly said immediately. “Maravilloso gave us excellent access and we shouldn’t screw up this opportunity. Those robots have killed Mexican citizens…”
“One of our men is missing and a CID unit might be in the hands of the world’s most notorious terrorist,” Jefferson said. “We need to move quickly or we’ll lose the trail…”
“Disapproved…for now,” the President said. “I want the staff and the FBI briefed on CID’s capabilities and potential threats to American targets, and the possibility of Zakharov being able to figure out how to utilize that thing. But no TALON units go outside the U.S. for now.”
Jefferson’s eyes blazed, but he held himself in check—barely. “Yes, sir,” he growled, glaring at Kinsly. He knew the Chief of Staff wasn’t completely to blame: the President looked and sounded exhausted, and he was clinging to any possible relief.
“George, I’d like twice-daily briefings on the investigation into the incident near El Centro,” the President said. “Russ, let Tom know when the memorials will be for the pilots killed out there. I want to be there.” Both advisers, obviously anxious to move on as well, responded immediately and affirmatively. The President shook his head wearily. “I really want things to start returning to normal, folks,” he said. “No more surprises.”
“Sir, any comment on the Homeland Security Advisory threat level?” Jefferson reminded the President.
“Yes—ask them to reconsider leaving it at orange,” the President replied. “I’ll defer to their judgment, but if at all possible, I’d like to keep it where it is right now.”
“In light of the loss of the CID unit, sir, perhaps we should consider…”
“I’d like to keep that quiet for now, Sergeant Major,” the President said. “I realize how powerful those things are, but I don’t think just one poses a serious threat to this country. Work with the FBI to find that thing right away.”
“Sir, I strongly suggest…”
“That’s all for now, Sergeant Major,” the President insisted. “If you have any more concrete evidence that Zakharov has the robot and that it poses a significant threat, advise me immediately. Otherwise, I want the border situation to calm the hell down before anyone else gets killed—‘accidentally’ or otherwise.” He stood, and everyone else got to their feet. “Thanks, everyone,” he said brusquely as he strode out of the Situation Room, followed closely by the Chief of Staff. The rest of the National Security Staff departed right behind them.
Alone in the Situation Room, Ray Jefferson sat and thought about the meeting for a few minutes, then picked up a secure phone and dialed a number. “Yes, Sergeant Major?” Brigadier General Lopez responded a few moments later.
“Any news on your end since the incident in El Centro this morning, sir?”
“No, Sergeant Major, everything is quiet for the time being. My units have made a few dozen illegal immigrant intercepts over the past forty-eight hours, down slightly from normal. No trouble. We have a few volunteer border watch groups out east of Rampart One on private land, maybe three camps with a couple dozen folks, mostly elderly local ranchers. We’re keeping an eye on them.”
“The president of Mexico has assumed responsibility for the El Centro attack, sir,” Jefferson said. “She claims she authorized the aircraft to fly across the border but denies giving any orders for the jets to attack American aircraft.”
“You buy that, Sergeant Major?”
“No, sir, but the President does, and he wants to drop Maravilloso a kudo. He wants to remove the TOW missiles from the border immediately, stop all further Guard deployments, and pull some Guard units off the border.”
“No problem. The guys don’t like being out there, I can tell you.”
“Sir?”
“No official reports from any units out there, Sergeant Major, just the buzz I’m picking up—it may sound like typical soldier bellyaching, but I’m picking up a definite read on these guys out there, and it’s not favorable,” Lopez said uneasily. “They’re staying pretty busy despite the tension and the presence of troops on both sides. Weather conditions are uncomfortable, very much like Iraq…”
“I would’ve thought the southwestern Guard guys are used to working in the heat.”
“Again, Sergeant Major, I categorize a lot of this as typical soldier moaning and groaning,” Lopez said, “but there is an undercurrent of uneasiness. Hours and hours sweating away in the heat or freezing at night, and all they come up with is a handful of thirsty, starving, desperate Mexicans who just want to go to work. The units that find dead migrants are especially hard-hit—dying of thirst is a tough way to go, and a lot of the guys aren’t accustomed to seeing death like that. They’ve found…I believe over sixty-five dead migrants during their patrols, including children. It hits them hard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s tough on them, that’s all,” Lopez said. Jefferson detected a hint of frustration in the general’s voice, as if he expected a bit more empathy from the National Security Adviser and was disappointed he didn’t get it. “Which units do you want gone, specifically, Sergeant Major?” he asked perturbedly.
“Choose TOW missile units, units in high-visibility locations with lots of press around, and units that have been in the field the longest, in that order, sir,” Jefferson said. “I want it to look like a reduction but I don’t want it to be an open invitation for smugglers to resume travel through those areas. Limit the reductions to around ten percent until we get further guidance. I’ll send a written copy of the order to your headquarters.”
“Okay, Sergeant Major.”
“Thank you, sir. Jefferson out.” His next phone call was to Ariadna Vega and FBI Director Kelsey DeLaine, teleconferenced in together. “Have you been briefed, Miss Director?” he asked.
“Dr. Vega briefed me moments ago,” Kelsey replied, “and the Attorney General just called and scheduled a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“What’s the word, Sergeant Major?” Ariadna asked impatiently. “Are we going into Mexico with the FBI, or is TALON going in by itself? We’re standing by.”
“Neither, Doctor,” Jefferson replied.
“What? And let Zakharov get away? Are they crazy?”