“Yes, ma’am,” Jill replied. “Vermullen is also married with three children.” She keyed her remote and a picture of a pretty blonde Parisienne with three beautiful children flashed on the screen. It was followed by a photo of Vermullen marching at the head of the 2nd Foreign Parachute Regiment based in Corsica. “He is brave and unflinching in combat and has been wounded three times. He is the most highly decorated officer on active duty in the French Army. His men revere him and say they would follow him into hell. The French government appears to have given him wide discretionary powers to use force that far exceeds anything the UN will allow. Given his record and disposition, we expect him to use those powers regardless of what the UN Mission tells him.”
Fitzgerald’s fingers beat a tattoo on the table. He had to make a phone call and find out what the French were up to. Fortunately, he still had a channel to the Ministry of Defense in Paris. “Thank you, Major,” he said, dismissing the intelligence officer. Richards caught Jill’s attention and glanced at the door, signifying she wanted to talk after the briefing. Jill placed the remote control on the podium and went outside to wait in the hall.
“General Fitzgerald,” Richards said as she stood. “My office received a complaint from the United Nations Relief and Peacekeeping Mission Southern Sudan in regards to an unauthorized landing made by Lieutenant Colonel Allston on” — she checked her notes — “Thursday, January 7. He landed at Abyei, a village in the disputed border area, and in violation of the Mission’s standing directives.” She paused for effect.
“That’s the village where we lost a C-130,” Fitzgerald said. “And?”
“Our personnel cannot flout the UN’s established procedures, and my office will have to respond.”
“Respond to what?”
Richards’ mental warnings were in full alarm. She had pushed the wrong button, and while Fitzgerald had never fired a flag ranked officer before, at least six had found themselves looking at career-ending assignments when their tour at the Pentagon ended. She quickly consulted her notes and went into a recovery mode. “It happened on the day he arrived at Malakal and was on a local area checkout flight. The aircraft experienced an unsafe door warning light and he landed to check it out.”
“It’s too bad your UN compatriots have no clue as to what constitutes flight safety,” Fitzgerald replied.
“However,” Richards said, “he just happened to have the accident investigation team on board, which had not received permission from the UN to examine the crash site. Once on the ground, Colonel Allston arranged for the team to survey the crash site, again, without clearance from the UN.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Fitzgerald asked. In his world, the information gained was critical to continuing operations and Allston was protecting his aircrews.
“In itself, no,” she answered. “However, the incident may prove to be counterproductive in the long run to our mission in the Sudan.”
“Do you think so?” Fitzgerald replied.
“Of course, that remains to be seen,” she said, conceding the argument.
Fitzgerald wasn’t finished. “In your response, remind your UN counterparts that we lost five personnel and one aircraft supporting their mission, and that flying safety must remain paramount if we are to continue operations.”
“Yes, sir.” She sat down, careful to conceal her anger and frustration. Seven minutes later, the meeting was over and she hurried out of the conference room. Jill was waiting for her. “Walk with me, Major,” Richards said. “You did very well in there today. Unfortunately, I didn’t. But I think I made my point. Your prediction about the discovery of oil was brilliant, but I would appreciate a heads up in the future.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will if I can.” They walked in silence for a few moments.
“I hope you will forgive me,” Richards said, “but there is, ah, a personal matter we need to discuss. A few of my counterparts in there are, well, lecherous old bastards. They couldn’t take their eyes off your breasts.”
Jill blushed. She was very sensitive about her breast size. “Sorry, ma’am. This is what Mother Nature gave me.”
Richards nodded in sympathy. “I do understand. But career-wise, you may want to think about a breast reduction.” Richards stopped outside her office. “Jill, you are a most unique and gifted officer with a future. I’d like to help, but it may require that you step out of your traditional role.”
Jill carefully masked her reactions and gave Richards the serious and concerned look she had practiced and refined over the years. “Thank you, ma’am. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”
Fitzgerald hit the intercom button to his secretary. “Mary, if there’s nothing pressing on my schedule, can you clear an hour?” She told him there was nothing that couldn’t be slipped. He gave her a number to call. “Call me when you get through,” he added, wondering how he could do the job without her. He kicked back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. His eyes never closed as he processed Jill’s briefing and what Richards had said about Allston’s unauthorized landing at Abyei being counterproductive to their mission in the Sudan. In Fitzgerald’s world, Allston’s job was to carry out the mission, and Fitzgerald’s job was to provide the support Allston needed to do it. He typed a brief message into his computer, but hesitated before hitting the send button. He humphed, the decision made, and hit the button. Exactly eight minutes later, Mary buzzed him. The spook he had summoned was waiting outside. “Please show him in,” Fitzgerald said. The civilian who came through the door moved with an easy motion that belied his bulk. He was a ‘gray man,’ perfect for his profession and nondescript to the point of invisibility. “How are things in the basement these days?” Fitzgerald asked.
“Holding tight.” The spook headed The Boys in the Basement, the elite band of covert intelligence operators who hid in the Pentagon’s basement. On paper, they were part of the military and escaped the scrutiny of the congressional committees on intelligence oversight. More importantly, they escaped the constant leaks that bedevil all congressional committees. In the world of heads-on head intelligence, hard experience had taught the Boys that no secret was safe with a politician. As long as the Boys were ‘holding tight’ they were safe from politicians and could do their job. But they could never drop their guard.
Fitzgerald came right to the point. “The 4440th is operating in the blind in the Sudan and I suspect the UN is hanging them out to dry. We’ve got the big picture and know what the Sudanese are up to, but we need to fill in the details on the ground or the 4440th will be blindsided before I can get them out. In short, we need better operational intelligence, which we don’t have at this time.”
The spook had worked with Fitzgerald before and trusted him to follow the unique rules of his trade. Everything was highly compartmentalized and access to the product, and how it was gathered, was based on a strict need-to-know. “We’ve got a few gremlins who speak the lingo.”
“Yours or mine?” Fitzgerald knew that the Boys recruited and used Air Force personnel, but the spook would never reveal their identity.
The spook laughed and didn’t answer the question. “Fitz, you haven’t changed. Always worried about your folks.” He thought for a moment, calculating how much he could reveal. Part of his job was to give Fitzgerald credible deniability, but at the same time, the general had to be told enough to keep him in the loop. “We have a few sources in Addis Ababa we can exploit. The bad news is that the best source in the Sudan, Dr. Tobias Person at Mission Awana, won’t talk to us. He can’t risk compromising his neutrality.” He gave Fitzgerald his good old boy grin. “But we can always backdoor that one.”