Читать книгу Book I: The Disappearance (The Fallen Race Trilogy) - Colin Patrick Garvey - Страница 10

The Pentagon

General Theodore Parker tries to rub the weariness from his eyes as he sits alone in the same conference room in the Pentagon where the group gathered the previous night. The televisions that occupy one side of the wall are muted now as they no longer depict, ad nauseam, the grisly pictures of death and destruction from the night before. The cameras that pan over the beach now display a serene scene, a surreal calm, with the sun breaking over the beach as Lake Michigan's waves slowly amble up the shore, like delicate ghostly fingers that quietly leave their mark and then are quickly washed away, soon to be replaced. The reporters point and gesture over the long stretch of sand, giving the same, sad eulogy that can never possibly do justice to over a hundred lives lost in what seems to be the breadth of an instant.

Parker slowly opens his eyes and focuses on the televisions, but only for a moment. He seems to stare past them, as if by looking through them he might catch a glance of what happened on that beach and why.

Last night, upon hearing news of the attack, his mind began to race with possible perpetrators, and the group reinforced his initial suspects: Islamic fundamentalists, Muslim radicals, al-Qaeda, a rogue faction of the North Korean military, and on and on. There seemed to be no end to the list of potential enemies the United States has made in the past few years, a fact that several in attendance subtly blamed on the current administration's international policies, which in turn caused more grumbling and finger-pointing. Parker quickly quashed any discussion of the current administration because he does not care if certain policies were the root cause of the attack. He simply wants to find the culprits responsible.

In truth, there were no real answers that materialized at last night's brief bull session. Only more questions.

Theories were posited and dismissed, possible motives tossed back and forth, and ideas both practical and extreme were presented. One person even suggested that maybe the intended target was simply a single individual who was present on the beach, which was greeted by several skeptical guffaws. This seemed too outlandish to even consider, let alone worth time to investigate. For anyone who knows General Parker, however, everything and everyone would be explored to the fullest extent possible, with no theories or ideas off-limits or taboo. No one would be above suspicion, including fellow Americans. At the mention of this thought, the entire room bristled, not caring to dwell on the ramifications such a scenario, if true, would have on the public consciousness.

It was certainly bad enough, many in the room believed, that Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols leveled the Alfred Murray Federal Building in Oklahoma City without the American intelligence agencies so much as catching a whiff that something was amiss. But for Americans to be the primary suspects once again, after 9/11 and all of the alleged security upgrades, the backlash would be fierce. Furthermore, it would show the rest of the world that the United States is unable to even monitor their own people, let alone terrorists around the globe. The whole administration, along with the military and intelligence communities, would be roasted on an open flame by the press. The same question would be posed without mercy:

How could you have let this happen, again?

General Parker, however, is not afraid to ask the tough questions or explore unpopular theories. And he did, all throughout the night. He lambasted his colleagues on everything from suspicious passport identification to how tight the security is on the Canadian border. Nothing was out-of-bounds and he made certain that everyone in the room understands the rules of the playing field, which, essentially, contains only one rule: there are no rules in this game.

After an exhausting night of questions fired back and forth and theories bounced off the walls, the truth is that they have no clearer picture of what happened last night than when they started. Too much speculation and conjecture without a solid link or motive.

Parker dismissed them all a short while ago, disgusted with himself and his colleagues, knowing that their collective fatigue was not doing them any favors. He has no new information to offer the President, no quick leads or prime suspects. Actually, there are several suspects, but these, he would acknowledge, are the most obvious ones.

Now, alone with his thoughts, Parker begins to form an idea out of the void of nothingness that has occupied the room for the last several hours.

Something does not feel right to him. There was no warning and not even the slightest bit of intelligence that suggested an attack on American soil over the holiday weekend. No informers, leaks, anonymous calls or letters. No misinformation or misdirection, absolutely nothing. Obviously, for a terrorist act to be successful, the element of surprise is a crucial component. However, usually some type of data, however cryptic, is gathered, processed, digested every which way, then converted into usable material and disseminated to every federal agency, top military brass, anti-terrorist unit, state police department, sheriff's office, security guard, and rent-a-cop to look out for.

Even with 9/11, there were subtle hints and clues beforehand that may have been critical to preventing the attacks had the various American intelligence agencies been more forthcoming and cooperative with one another. If this information had been compiled as a whole, it is possible that someone could have predicted that there was something looming on the horizon.

Of course, hindsight is always 20/20 and it is easier to assign blame to whichever American agency is convenient. In this case, the FBI, CIA, and NSA were all accused of possessing information that could have prevented the attacks, and they received the brunt of the criticism, justified or not. No one on God's green Earth, however, could have guessed what was to transpire that fateful Tuesday morning, except, of course, the lunatics who concocted such a plan.

Conversely, who could have predicted that the enemy would strike a peaceful, sleepy cottage town in such an audacious manner? Although the scope and destruction was on a vastly smaller scale than 9/11, Parker did not differentiate between the numbers: an attack on American soil is an overt act of aggression and therefore, an act of war.

Still, it does not make sense to Parker or his colleagues. They had mulled the motives that seemed inherent to every terrorist act, but in this case, they could not produce one that seemed logical considering the chosen target and location.

Was it simply to show the American people that no one is safe? That everyone must choose a side? And that no one, not even children, can stand on the sidelines? Was it purely a symbolic act? Was the objective to target innocent Americans on their proudest day as a people and as a nation?

If that was the message, it had been heard. And, as Parker thinks with utter contempt, it would be answered in full.

Parker hears a sharp knock on the door that snaps him from his reverie. The man pauses for a moment to be certain that Parker is finished with his solitary brainstorm, and then he quickly walks into the room, a slight bounce to his step.

This is the man who acts as Parker's aide-de-camp, his right-hand man, only without the right hand: Lieutenant Colonel August “Augie” Hermann. Augie served under Parker in the Vietnam War and was one of the toughest and bravest soldiers Parker ever commanded. What Parker soon learned as well is Augie's uncanny knack for the espionage and intelligence trade. His ability to gather information and analyze it with equal swiftness is unparalleled to any other individual that Parker has worked with. Augie seems to maintain his own network of spies and informants, and he has a singular ability to care for and groom each one to his liking. He was, and still is, the ultimate Gepetto.

In addition to his abilities in the realm of intelligence, Augie also has a special talent for interrogation techniques, focusing primarily on the psychological aspect of an interrogation rather than the physical, coercive style preferred by some. It is truly a scene to bear witness to, and Parker takes a kind of gleeful satisfaction in watching Augie “do his thing,” so to speak.

Augie proudly trumpets the theory that pain is a mental state of being. In other words, if you think something is going to hurt and expect it to hurt, it is going to hurt. If you can detach the pain from your mind, if you can, in essence, mentally detach your nerve endings, then there is no pain because it simply does not exist for your brain to comprehend. It is a difficult concept to grasp, and many dismiss it as existential garbage, but Parker quickly became a proponent after watching Augie “work” in Vietnam.

On more than one occasion, Parker watched as Augie was able to pry crucial pieces of intelligence from high-ranking officers in the Vietcong without, remarkably, resorting to violence or torture. In one particular instance, Augie politely informed a Vietcong officer that if he did not receive the information he sought, he would be forced by his superiors to sear the skin on the man's back. If the answers were still not forthcoming, Augie gently explained, the torture would continue. He intended to work his way down the prisoner's back and around, cutting a path that would eventually arrive at the man's now extremely shy genitals.

Augie lit a welder's torch and placed the flame within inches of the officer's face for the purpose of searing, so to speak, the image of the red-hot flame in the man's mind.

Several seconds later, when Augie had not yet received an answer to his question, he slowly walked around behind the officer and placed it into the man's back. The officer started screaming as he smelled burning flesh and instantly coughed up the intelligence they needed.

The officer did not know at the time, although he would sheepishly learn later, Augie employed a chunk of ice in the small of the man's back to represent the torch, while he lit a piece of bovine meat to produce the aroma of burning flesh. For added measure, and with a touch of irony, Augie instructed a medic in Vietnamese to put ice on the prisoner's wound.

To the utter amazement of observers at these interrogations, Augie's theory was proven correct: it is not the pain itself, but the idea of pain, the thought of harm being inflicted to the physical body that sets the mind racing. It is the mind, ultimately, that tricks the body into believing that severe harm and pain is being wrought despite the benign sensations the body feels. Augie is certainly not averse to more aggressive forms of interrogation, but in many cases, he simply knows which subjects will crack with the mere threat of physical harm.

Unfortunately, more aggressive forms of interrogation were used on Augie when the second prong of his theory was proven correct, if only to himself. Given a choice in the matter, Augie would have preferred to not be the subject this time around.

He was captured behind enemy lines on a mission near the Laotian border, and he remained in a P.O.W. camp for several weeks before he and several others managed to escape. The entire duration he was there, he did not issue a single scream when he was mercilessly tortured for information. Hardly a grunt either when they took his right hand.

When Augie was found, he was near death from a staph infection and blood loss. The wound had been shabbily covered with dirty bandages, and the doctors thought the infection was so severe, he might lose the whole arm. Augie kept the arm, however, and he survived.

He also knew the exact coordinates of the camp where he was held and when he was fully recovered, he and Parker returned to retrieve his hand and let his captors know that he was doing just fine.

Parker places his hand over his eyes and looks down. Muffled, he says, “Tell me something good, Augie.”

Augie holds a manila file folder in his prosthetic right hand and states, “Nothing very concrete, sir, but it is pretty interesting.”

Parker's head shoots up as he gives Augie a curious look, “Yeah?”

“The forensic team has been combing the beach all night and are still looking, but they found something and sent it on right away,” the excitement in Augie's voice not initially registering with Parker.