“Sure.”
“I didn’t introduce you. I apologize for that. His name is Hussein Gamal. He called me this morning.”
“What about?”
“He is one of the most influential men in the United States. He is from Lebanon originally, and now runs a large construction company. Biggest in Washington. He called me — just this morning — and said he was impressed by you.”
Sami knew how much it meant to his father to impress rich people. “Great.”
“And he said he wanted me to ask you if you would ever be willing to consider leaving your government job to come work for him. On his personal staff. Can you believe it? He said he didn’t want an answer now, he just wanted to tell you that he expected your salary would be at least double what you make now. At least. Could be more. What should I tell him?”
Sami actually allowed the thought to rest in his mind for a short time. It was not altogether unpleasant to consider being able to afford a new car, and maybe even a new house in the expensive Washington area. “That’s nice of him, but he doesn’t even know me.”
“He knew you enough to be impressed.”
“Tell him thank you, and someday in the future maybe I’ll consider it.”
“Excellent. I will tell him. I will call him back today and tell him that. I am proud of you, son.”
“Thanks,” Sami said.
“He also told me to remind you of your promise.”
“I figured.”
“Don’t take it lightly, Sami. Don’t disregard what your friends say.”
“I don’t, and I didn’t. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Dinner on the Washington had passed unremarkably, but the aircrew were growing restless. Bark called an AOM in the ready room for 1900. They were all there early for the first time in anyone’s memory. Bark’s expression spoke to them of pending action.
At exactly 1900 Bark got up from his chair. He glanced toward the back. “Petty Officer Griffin, would you please hang the sign on the rear door?”
Griffin crossed to the door and hung the do not disturb — meeting in progress sign on the outside.
Bark nodded, ready to begin. Woods noticed that Bark was wearing his “lucky” flight suit. It was the one he had been issued as a flight student in Pensacola. He had worn it in every airplane he flew and every squadron he had been in. It was getting frayed and faded, but that didn’t deter Bark. He knew a good thing when he saw it.
Bark’s voice was loud. “We’re going in. We’ve got the targets.”
Excitement was visible on the faces of the Jolly Rogers.
“Strike Ops is deciding what strike package to take right now. I’ve been lobbying for the only medium attack capability in the Navy. That would be us. I want them to have us as the go-to strike, and use the F-18s as bomb trucks directed by us. We’ll see. I think we’ll be on the first strike, but it’s not settled yet. The important thing to know is that we expect to go tonight.
“The Admiral tells us that additional forces are inbound to this area from all over the world. The Army will be sending an airborne division to Italy, the Air Force is sending several squadrons of fighters and light attack to Aviano, but we still don’t know if Italy will sign off on attacks from her territory. This isn’t a NATO deal, so I have my doubts. Plus some of the countries like Syria, and maybe Iraq, will whisper in Italy’s ear and tell them how unwise it would be for her to support this misguided war of America’s. So we’ll wait to see. So far though, Italy hasn’t tried to tell us what we can do from our own carriers.” Bark smiled. “The first stage of this war will be Navy strikes, and we’re it. We’ll be going after the fortress in Lebanon.”
“They expecting any opposition?” Lieutenant Commander Paulson asked.
Bark shook his head. “No way of knowing. But when Israel went north into Lebanon to go after this guy, who came to his defense? Syrian Air—”
“Bring them on—”
“That’s why the initial strikes — 2200 tonight — will be Tomahawk launches. First airplanes will launch immediately thereafter. The Tomahawk missiles are destined for certain structures, and certain SAM sites in the area—”
Big interrupted. “We’re going to attack Syrian and Lebanese SAM sights? They’re not in this fight, are they?”
“That’s one of the problems. Seems wise to assume that any SAM site in the area is going to be trained on our fighters. It’d be foolish in the extreme to fly over a hot SAM site and just figure they’re not going to shoot at us.”
“But won’t Syria and Lebanon say we’ve attacked them if we attack their SAM sites?”
“That’s been the decision. I am both surprised and pleased. I was afraid we’d head into these strikes and just hope they didn’t shoot at us. Now they almost certainly will, but we hope they won’t have much capability left to do it. Anyway, we can discuss the politics of it another time. The initial strike will be by Tomahawks against their Air Defense Command and Control, and some fixed SAM sites, then we’ll go in. That’s the plan, and that’s what I’m here to talk about.
“A lot of things can go wrong with this operation. Let’s concentrate on what we need to do. I’ve asked Pritch to get the latest intelligence photos of the targets.”
On cue she stood up and moved to the front of the room. Pritch’s briefings were well regarded and listened to carefully. It was obvious to everyone she took her job very seriously. She spent her off hours researching things she didn’t understand very well and deepening her knowledge of those things she did understand. It made her briefs much more reliable.
She nodded to Petty Officer Griffin, who turned down the lights. “We’re going to spend some time getting familiar with the target. I say ‘target’ because it is likely we will be participating on strikes on only one target. For the whole Air Wing.”
30
Sami stood before the clerk. He outranked her in terms of who had a higher GS number, but she had what he wanted and would give it to him only if she was satisfied he was entitled to it.
“It’s an old file,” he pleaded.
“It doesn’t matter, sir. It is still classified, and you’re not on the access list.”
Sami had to get the file. He couldn’t steal it — that would be impossible — and he could end up in prison just for trying. “What is the code word of the program?”
“Sir,” she said, in the prim tones of an old-fashioned schoolteacher, “you know I can’t tell you that.”
It suddenly struck him. “You’re aware of the Gaza Task Force?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“I’m on it,” he replied.
“Okay.”
“Have you seen the order?”
“Yes, sir, I have it right here.”
“Read it,” he demanded.
“I don’t need to. I’ve already read it.”
His face glowed. “Then you’ll recall that it gives the members blanket clearance for all research and investigation files dealing with the Middle East, with a few exceptions that are in specific categories. Right?”
“Yes,” she said, not following.
“Well, this file deals with the Middle East. And it’s not in the category of excluded matters.”
“I don’t know that it deals with the Middle East—”
“Well, look at it!” he said, exasperated. It had better deal with the Middle East, he thought. He turned his back on her so she could examine the first page of the file.
“You’re right, sir,” she said. She slid the file across the counter to him. “Sign this,” she said, handing him a checkout card.
He signed the card quickly and gave it back to her. She studied it and smiled at him. “Have a nice day,” she said.