Dick Couch - Out of the Ashes

“Anything else, Ms. Phillips?”

Blackman’s tone and body language weren’t necessary hostile; they conveyed astonishment more than anything else. Yet they weren’t friendly, either.

“No, Captain.”

“OK, look. Let me tell you just a few things about the geopolitics here, Ms. Phillips,” Blackman continued, his tone almost tutorial. “These folks don’t really like us to begin with. They don’t like our form of democracy and they don’t like us telling them how to run their countries. Now, a long time ago we decided these repressive regimes were a hot bed for Wahhabi radicalism and a breeding ground for terrorism, a lot of it pointed toward us.”

Laurie worked mightily to keep eye contact with Blackman.

“So you see, Ms. Phillips, it’s perfectly logical to think the leadership in Damascus, a leadership who’s clearly taking orders from Tehran, has it in for us. When they stood up to the Assad regime we didn’t give them the same degree of support we provided to the rebels in Libya. They know we don’t like their alliance with Iran and they know we sure as hell don’t like them threatening our friends in Saudi Arabia. But they may be dense enough to think we’ll just stand by and let them have their way. Trouble is, they didn’t reckon with the United States of America or the United States Navy!”

Blackman was now becoming agitated.

“Now, about this video, we do know what the hell we’re looking at and we do know what the hell we are supposed to do with it. I don’t need anyone, and I mean anyone, second-guessing what we’re doing, especially someone who is a guest on my ship. And I want to be clear on this Ms. Phillips; I don’t need anyone trying to foist some cockamamie theory on us in the middle of a war zone.”

Blackman paused to frame his thoughts, but not long enough for Laurie to jump in.

“Look, Ms. Phillips, I give you credit for coming forward. You’re from CNA so I also give you credit for knowing a little bit about the Navy. There are only two ballistic missile defense ships in the strike group, us and Mustin . However, Mustin has a casualty to her SPY radar that might not get fixed for days; the part has to come all the way from the United States.”

Blackman paused again.

“That leaves us aboard Normandy as the only defense against those DF-21Ds should Syria decide to lob just one of them at Truman, or any other Navy ships within range. So right now, Ms. Phillips, I gotta tell you, I’m a little preoccupied with ensuring that Normandy does her job and protects American lives. You get that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Captain, I…,” Laurie stammered.

“Then help me do my job, OK? Just do your job. We’re way past the analysis stage here. We may be in a fight at any moment.”

Blackman’s tone had softened a bit, and Laurie began to get it. It wasn’t that he was a jerk or that he didn’t respect civilian techies or didn’t respect her because she was a woman. It was that what she was suggesting was so far outside the box of his background and experience that he couldn’t fit what she was saying into his worldview.

“Captain, thank you. I think Ms. Phillips gets it. We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

“No bother, Ops O. I thank you both for coming forward, but you know what our orders are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ms. Phillips?”

“Yes, sir, Captain.”

Laurie’s head was spinning as she and the ops officer left the captain’s at-sea cabin. He needed proof. OK. She would get him proof.

Sandee Barron was sitting at her desk going through her e-mail queue when the door to their stateroom flew open and Laurie Phillips stormed in.

“Hey,” Sandee began, but caught herself. Something was wrong.

“Well, that went over like a fart in church.”

“What?”

“Just came from seeing the captain about the Global Hawk Video—”

“Lemme guess,” Sandee interrupted. “He didn’t see it your way?”

It had been Sandee’s idea for Laurie to take this up Normandy ’s chain of command. She felt invested in what Laurie was trying to do. She had evidently given her a bum gouge.

“That’s an understatement! I got ‘schooled’ in how things work around here. He didn’t chew me out or anything, but I gotta think any creds I’ve built up with him just went all to hell. I got patted on the head, dismissed and sent away to be a good girl.”

“Was it that bad, really,” Sandee asked, trying to be a good listener, but also trying to help her roommate work through this. She could tell she was steaming.

“I’m just pissed I didn’t have my shit together. I was stammering and stuttering. I can see why he didn’t buy what I was saying.”

“Look,” Sandee replied, slamming her laptop closed. “Let’s work through this together. Tell me the whole story from the beginning.”

Laurie poured out the details of her encounter. After a heated fifteen minutes, they were of like mind. Sandee said it first.

“You were right the first time, Laurie. You need to reach out to your friend at the National Reconnaissance Office.”

“Boss, you ready for us?”

“Come in, fellas.”

Roger McCord, Brian Dawson, Hector Rodriquez, and Aaron Bleich entered Chase Williams’s office. Williams rose and motioned for them to sit at the small conference table.

“Well, you all have my attention. Let’s hear it.”

“Bottom line up front,” McCord began. “Based on the flow of intelligence we have, we think we need to surge our JSOC team forward. Things were hot enough in the Middle East to begin with and now this Syrian missile thing has everyone going high order.”

“Think this could be the real deal? Is it something where we’ll need to give the president options?” Williams asked.

“It might be, boss. Brian and I have already engaged our logistics director and we want the N4 to start looking into this, and I’ve asked Aaron here to get the Geek Tank to focus their algorithms, anticipatory intelligence systems, and decision support software more intently on the Middle East. However, we wanted to bring this to you before going much further.”

“I appreciate it, boys. Aaron, your folks ready to wet their beaks on this one?

“Yes, sir, we are.”

If there was one person at Op-Center Chase Williams was still working to warm up to, it was McCord’s networks assistant and Geek Tank leader, Aaron Bleich. He was McCord’s “wunderkind” and he wanted to give his intelligence director the autonomy to run his own shop, but Williams had to admit to himself he still found Bleich to be an odd duck. He knew Bleich was McCord’s MVP and de facto number two, but for the love of Mike, this kid was only thirty-two years old. Nevertheless, Williams had to admit that Bleich was just flat, scary brilliant.

Recruited via a gaming company front at San Diego’s annual Comic-Con International Convention, Aaron Bleich grew up as a math and computer science prodigy. He skipped several grades in grammar school, attended the exclusive Francis Parker High School in San Diego, and won a full ride to Stanford. There, he dazzled Nobel Prize — winning professors with his computer and network skills.

On the surface, he was Op-Center’s point man for protecting Op-Center’s networks from external attack or internal compromise and also leader of the Geek Tank. Known only to Williams and McCord, he was also their chief hacker; he could get deep into any foreign or, for that matter, domestic network for information — or do irreparable damage. Bleich’s skills were so prized that McCord was able to convince Williams and Sullivan to hire him on as a contractor and pay him deep into six figures. Williams had to admit that because Bleich was so smart, the kids in the Geek Tank respected his brilliance, and he had somehow molded them into a cohesive team.