Issue In Doubt - By David Sherman Page 0,3
coffee table. “Thank you, sir.” De Castro inserted the crystal. He angled the display so the Secretary could read the report without leaning to the side.
After a moment, Hobson sat back. “How firm is this?”
“We haven’t had time to verify, sir,” de Castro said. “This only came in about fifteen minutes ago.”
“What about images?”
Welborn told him that the garbled images were being worked on, but he expected to have something shortly. De Castro nodded agreement.
“We have to tell the President instantly,” Hobson said. “And get State in on it.” He pressed another button on the side of his chair, and a Navy lieutenant commander appeared inside the door.
“Tom,” Hobson addressed him, “kindly contact your counterparts at the President’s office and SecState, and inform them that I request a meeting at the earliest possible moment. Emphasize that it’s of the gravest importance.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The lieutenant commander about-faced and exited.
“Tom Irving,” Hobson told Welborn and de Castro, “good man.” He looked directly at Welborn. “When his tour with me is over, he deserves to have three full stripes, and be given a command.”
Welborn nodded. “Sir, with a recommendation like that, I think a promotion and command assignment will be expedited.”
“Do you think we should send a reconnaissance mission to Troy?” Hobson asked Welborn, getting back to the topic at hand.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“I hoped you’d say that. Who do you recommend?”
“Marine Force Recon.”
“Oh?” Hobson cocked his head. “Not SEALs or Rangers?”
“No, sir. Force Recon. While both SEALs and Rangers are adept at intelligence gathering, they spend as much time training in commando strikes. Force Recon spends almost all of its time and energy ‘snooping and pooping,’ as they call it, gathering intelligence. They fight only in extremis, and believe their mission has failed if they have to fight. I don’t want anybody fighting until we know who—or what—we’re up against.”
“Very good. How soon can Force Recon deploy a sufficient number of teams?”
“Within three days after an operation order is drawn up, sir. Possibly sooner. Probably sooner.”
“Very good. Get started on the op order as soon as you can. I’ll authorize deploying the Marines as soon as the President gives his permission.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the Chairman said.
De Castro jerked; his comm had vibrated. He looked at it. “Excuse me, sirs, I think I should take this.”
Hobson gestured for him to rise and take the call. De Castro stepped away a few feet before answering his comm. He listened for a moment, said something, listened again, gave an order, broke the connection, and resumed his seat.
“Sirs, three more drones from Troy have been brought in. They all have the same message as the one you’ve seen. One of them had a few usable images. They are being sent to all three of us.”
“Good!” Hobson rubbed his hands briskly and looked at the comp. In seconds, it signaled incoming traffic from J2. “I’ll put them up on the big screen.” He pressed another button on his chair, and a two-by-three-meter display screen rose on the wall behind the grouping where they sat. After a few touches on his comp controls, a slide show began on the display.
The three men watched in stunned silence as little more than half a dozen images, some stills and some vids, rotated through. None of the pictures were fully in focus, and some had scrambled—or completely missing—portions. But they all showed the attackers, and the slaughter they wrought.
The third time through, Hobson cleared his throat and said softly, “We always suspected they were still out there.” He pressed the button that summoned his aide.
“Tom, have you heard back from the President or State yet?” he asked.
“Sir,” Irving said, “they’re coordinating a time, and will let us know instantly.”
Hobson stood, Welborn and de Castro jumped to their feet as well.
“Instantly isn’t fast enough. Get my car, and tell the President’s office and State that we’re on our way to the Prairie Palace.”
“Aren’t you meeting with Marshal Ludwig today?” Hobson asked Welborn as the three headed for the Secretary’s vehicle.
“Yes, sir. I broke off my meeting with him to bring this to you. I’m having dinner with him at the Flag Club later.”
“Whatever you do, unless the President orders otherwise, don’t let him know about this until I tell you to.”
“Ludwig’s sharp, sir. He’ll know there’s something important I’m not telling him.” Welborn flexed his shoulders. “But I’m sharp, too. I’ll manage to avoid offending him.”
The Prairie Palace, Omaha, Douglas County, Federal Zone, NAU
When the United States of America, Canada, and