“A foreign country would lose if they invaded us,” Lipton commented sarcastically. “Lose what?” snapped Beau. “They have nothing. They are broke and starving. The only thing they might lose is their life — a little sooner! Remember the Cubans coming over in rafts? They have everything to gain and we have everything to lose. Don’t you see?”
Copeland spoke. “Commander we’re too strong. You’re worrying about nothing. Besides, we have the Aurora Project!”
“But the space station is not finished!”
“There is no way they can organize such a massive invasion before Aurora is complete,” snapped Washington. “Our intelligence gathering is far superior to that of any country in the world. We would know if something like that was about to happen.”
“Cobra was right. He said you wouldn’t believe my story. He understood.” Beau stared long and hard at the five sitting in judgment over him and sighed when he realized they had made their decision before the meeting started.
“You should be making atonement for the death you have dealt to innocent people,” sneered Reverend Newby. “Think of your country and not yourself.”
Beau’s broad shoulders dropped. “My country is the only thing on my mind. The country I loved and went to war for. The country I trusted and believed in that forced me to turn to Israel. And the country I want to save, I have come home for. And now no one will listen.”
“This is foolishness. When we have time, we will check your story,” Lipton said with finality.
A ray of hope showed in Beau’s eyes. “When? Now?”
“Not so fast. You already had us believing it was Christmas Day before you arrived. Are you going to pick another date each time your previous choice passes? We can’t expect to be ready each time you cry wolf,” said Judge Medina.
The words startled Beau as he remembered the Israeli soldier’s comments. “I’d rather be ready for the wolf, and have him not show, than think it will not come and have the wolf eat my flock,” he retorted, the anger in his voice evident.
Again Copeland interjected. “New Year’s is day after tomorrow and the president will attend the Orange Bowl. We can approach him with your story after he returns from the game. Our reconnaissance is excellent. We’ve heard of nothing to indicate an invasion. You can rest assured of that.”
Beau shook his head. “They said the same thing December 7th, 1941. You just don’t see, do you?”
Angered with the talk, Washington interrupted. “Your story holds no water. With hostilities building between Israel and Egypt, I doubt these countries would be capable of planning anything so grand as an invasion of our country.”
“What hostilities?”
“For a man with so much information you don’t seem to be up on current events. This began a few weeks after President Obama was reelected, but we felt it had become critical in the last few weeks and demanded our immediate attention. Already our fleet is being sent to the area and should arrive day after tomorrow. The carriers will handle the situation,” Washington noted.
“The carriers? How many are here in the states?”
The small group conferred, and then Washington addressed the question. “Two nuclear carriers remain here: one in San Diego and the other in New Orleans.”
“That would leave us vulnerable. Could it be?” Beau half asked himself.
The words caught General Waddle’s attention.
“Another wolf!” Lipton laughed, which brought a chuckle from two of the others.
Beau’s mind raced with the new information as he tried to piece together Cobra’s elusive puzzle. Unrest in the Middle East was commonplace, although he thought Israel and Egypt would be a convenient distraction. It was well known Iran’s hatred for Israel and the Jews, and if you added in Libya, Egypt with their Muslim Brotherhood, it was a cauldron boiling over. Cobra’s words returned. And the part about the airlines being of help? The logical direction for the invasion must surely come from the south. Was that the second secret?
“Anything unusual in South America, like aircraft build-ups, or new airport installations?” Beau asked.
“You needn’t worry. Constant satellite surveillance has shown no military installations. Mexico has constructed two new airports, one near Baja and the other near the Gulf of Mexico. They have quite a few commercial airliners but nothing else. Factions against the Mexican government have caused some internal unrest, but nothing our two countries can’t work out. Besides, we were advised it’s under control,” Lipton said.
Airliners! The word started Beau’s mind spinning as he again recalled Cobra’s words. “Are the airports operational?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“With all the airliners at the two airports, why aren’t they open for business?”
For a moment the room was silent. Then Copeland spoke. “This is ridiculous. There are some military aircraft at those installations, but they are old and Mexico is planning a New Year’s celebration with them. We have good working relations with Mexico.”
Beau snickered, “You mean like the Fast and Furious you gave to the Mexican drug cartels? You couldn’t even track those weapons!”
General Waddle could hardly suppress a smile.
“Enough,” Lipton barked as she tried to wave Beau’s words away. “Your statements could hurt NAFTA and ruin decades of work for our business enterprises.”
“Are you sure? Caesar thought he had a good working relationship with Brutus,” said Beau. “Sir, with all due respect, I suggest you take all the satellite photographs and examine them to see if military aircraft are camouflaged.”
General Waddle interrupted. “Excuse me, if you will.” He moved to the end of the civilian review board, picked up his briefcase, placed it on the table, clicked both snaps, and reached inside. “I have recent photographs of those airports here. If you don’t mind, I would like to let Commander Gex take a look. Maybe he can spot something we missed.”
The control in his voice brought a positive response from Sarah Lipton and the others. A few moments later General Waddle found the photographs and handed them to Beau. All watched and waited while he scrutinized the photos. Even the painter at the back of the room stopped. Beau hesitated and glanced around, spying the non-military person who had stopped painting. The worker made him feel uneasy throughout the questioning.
At the far end of the room the Mexican laborer had worked diligently painting the wall during the entire questioning. As all eyes turned on him he started working again. Dressed in old coveralls and leather boots, he painted awkwardly. His brush dripped and his strokes were not smooth and even. The paint ran in spots along the wall.
“What’s he doing here?” asked Beau, pointing to the painter.
“You have a problem with civilian workers?” Lipton asked. “There are no secrets in this meeting.”
Copeland snickered. “That’s why we use a civilian review board. Too many unnecessary secrets with the military. After all, what can a painter do?”
A few of the board members chuckled. So did Judge Medina. He stood. “Hey you, the painter,” he said in clear English. No response came so Medina called again in Spanish.
This time the man turned around and faced the judge. “Si,” he said and nodded his head. He had clean-cut features, a finely trimmed mustache set in a square jaw, and clear skin. The thin nose was offset in the center where it had once been broken. Yet the eyes were those of a man of knowledge and not of a common laborer.
“What is your name? Do you understand English?” asked Judge Medina. No response. The judge repeated the question in Spanish.
“Me llamo Juan. No hablo Ingles,” said the painter with a shrug of his shoulders.
Again the judge spoke in Spanish telling the man to continue his work. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said directly to General Waddle. Confidently he added, “He obviously doesn’t understand English.”