Clark allowed a thin smile. “You’re really wicked, General.”
The three men and one woman inching their way down the narrow boarding ladder of the KC-10 were not typical government bureaucrats concerned with doing their job and getting on with their private life. They had a mission and the power of Congress to back them up. Consequently, they expected (and usually received) deferential treatment — which they were not getting. The team chief carefully adjusted his safari jacket while he waited for his companions to join him. He studiously ignored Pontowski and Clark. After conferring briefly with his team, he turned to Pontowski.
“Jason P. Willard,” the team chief said, presenting Pontowski his identification. He didn’t wait for a reply. “Please have our driver take us to our quarters, where we can shower and change. Later we will need to tour the base and interview certain individuals.” He handed Pontowski a list of names. “Please have them available.”
“Certainly, Mr. Willard,” Pontowski replied. “May I present Lieutenant Colonel Janice Clark, the base commander?”
Willard looked at Clark the way someone would examine roadkill. “As Colonel Clark is on the list to be interviewed, any contact at this time is inappropriate.” He turned to Clark’s waiting minivan and driver. “Our transportation, I presume.”
“Of course,” Pontowski said. He escorted the team to the minivan and waited while they climbed in. “May I escort you?” Pontowski offered.
“Does the driver know his way around the base?” Willard asked.
“Of course,” Pontowski replied. “But under the circumstances—”
Willard interrupted him. “General Pontowski, apparently you don’t appreciate why we are here. We must operate independently in order to learn the truth of the matter. Any un-warranted contact at this time would be prejudicial to our investigation.”
Pontowski stepped back and saluted as Clark’s driver jammed the minivan into gear and stomped on the accelerator. “Welcome to Camp Alpha,” he muttered as the van careened around a corner and disappeared.
“Charming people,” Clark said. Together they walked back to the command post.
The Scud hit two hours later.
The first reports flooding into the command post indicated that the missile had hit on the extreme southwest corner of the base, missing the main complex by a thousand meters. Pontowski leaned over the center console as he listened to the damage reports. When the runway was reported as clear and undamaged, he ordered the KC-10 to launch and hold south of the base. “Any casualties?” he asked.
A sergeant answered. “The Rock says two security cops were in a defensive fire position near the point of impact. Doc Ryan is there now.”
“Stay on top of it,” Pontowski ordered. “Colonel Clark, any word on the GAO team?”
“The last I heard they were still at operations interviewing pilots.” She punched at her communications panel and called the hardened shelter. She spoke briefly to Maggot and broke the connection. “They say the GAO’s left and are coming our way,” she told him. “They should be here any moment. Apparently they’re not happy campers.”
The GAO team that ran into the command post had definitely lost some of its self-composure but none of its arrogance. “General Pontowski,” Willard barked, “what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Pontowski was confused. “What am I doing?”
“First this missile attack and now our airplane taking off without us.”
Pontowski handed him a phone. “You really need to speak to the PLA about the missile. As for the KC-10, I ordered it airborne for safety. We can recall it when you’re ready to leave.”
Willard was shouting. “Recall it immediately!”
“Certainly,” Pontowski said. “I take it your investigation is complete.”
“No, it is not!”
“Can I be of any help before you leave?”
Willard took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his face. “Did you order the use of CBU-58s at Kuala Lumpur?”
“Directly order? The answer is no. But I am responsible, as I cleared my pilots to engage. Further, I allow them to use the best tactics to ensure their survival and the weapons best suited for the target. I don’t second-guess them, Mr. Willard.”
“Then you’re also responsible for the attack on the innocent civilians on the bridge at Bahau this morning?”
“If you’re referring to the attack on the ZSU-23 that shot at and hit one of my aircraft, the answer is yes.”
“Have your rules of engagement been approved and published?”
“Approved by whom?”
Willard was not used to being questioned, and he turned a light shade of purple. “The national command authority. Who else would I be talking about?”
“Do you mean by President Turner?”
Willard’s face turned a deeper purple at Pontowski’s intransigence. “I mean by the legal controlling authority of our government!”
“At the risk of forever confusing you, sir, the American Volunteer Group is under the operational command of Southeast Asia Command. Further, I seriously doubt if the ‘legal controlling authority of our government’ has a clue when it comes to the ROE in this theater.”
Janice Clark interrupted him. “General.” She cast a glance at the doorway, where a haggard-looking Doc Ryan was standing with Rockne.
“I couldn’t save them,” Ryan said. He turned and left.
“Your two cops?” Pontowski asked Rockne.
Rockne’s face matched his nickname. “It was a direct hit.” He pulled himself erect, almost at attention. “Sir, when the KC-10 lands, can we hold it long enough to load the body bags? Sergeant Maul can escort them.”
“Absolutely not!” Willard shouted.
Pontowski turned and fixed him with a hard stare. “Mr. Willard, that KC-10 is not taking off without them.”
“We’ll see about that!”
“Please do.”
For a moment the two men stared at each other, locked in a contest of wills. Willard broke and scurried out. “You haven’t heard the last of this!” he shouted, determined to have the last word.
Clark shook her head and muttered an obscenity under her breath. “Why,” she wondered, “do I get the feeling we’re being hung out to dry?”
The muffled beat of the drum coming from Lafayette Park was barely audible in the president’s bedroom. But it was there, pounding at her subconscious with its unrelenting message. Maddy’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up, her heart racing. What was I dreaming about? The luminous hands on the clock announced it was just after four in the morning. She breathed deeply, and soon her heart slowed. She hesitated before turning on the light. She knew that simple signal would send out waves like a huge rock splashing into a placid lake, until the White House was awash in activity, fully alert and tuned to her needs.
She reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. Within seconds there was a discreet knock at the door. It was her maid, ready to be of service. “Coffee, please,” Maddy called, starting the day. She padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. For a few minutes she let the hot water course over her body, savoring the moment. Her maid was there with a warm robe when she stepped out. She ripped off her shower cap and shook her hair. “I’ll wear the dark blue jumpsuit with the presidential logo for now,” she said. The older woman looked at her in a state of mild shock, and Maddy smiled. “Well, if Winston Churchill could wear his ‘siren suit,’ I can, too.” Another thought came to her. “We start at the normal time today,” she said.