Don Pendleton: Thunder Down Under

Oh, no—

Unable to say anything, she watched as Payne added sugar and cream to his cup and blew on it as he continued talking. “As I’m sure you know, Mr. Brognola, Australia contains vast mineral and rare earth resources that are necessary for industrial manufacturing here in the United States. Purchasing them from a friendly nation precludes the issue of trying to purchase them from other, possibly not-so-friendly sources.”

“Oh, come now, I’m sure your buddies in the Kremlin will spot you some of that rare earth you all seem to suddenly like so much,” Brognola replied as Tokaido set a cup of black coffee in front of him. The movement distracted Payne from seeing Price possibly wince. “Just get on your private line to the president—the Russian one, of course—and I bet he’d set you right up.”

Payne fixed Brognola over the rim of his cup with what he no doubt thought was a steely glare of his watery brown eyes. It was like watching a goldfish try to stare down a grizzly bear. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Price would have laughed.

“Mr. Brognola, I don’t know what you think you know, but I can assure you that neither I nor the President appreciate your insinuations.” With that, he raised the cup to his lips and sipped.

The expression that appeared his face would have been priceless under any other circumstances. Kurtzman’s brew was legendary for its ability to resemble something that looked and somewhat smelled like coffee, but that was where the resemblance ended. No one knew what he used to make it, or how he brewed it, but it was safe to say it was some of the vilest liquid on the planet.

For the first time Payne’s face twisted in what could demonstrably be seen as an actual human reaction. His lips pursed and his nose, eyes and forehead scrunched into an unmistakable grimace at the acrid, bitter taste.

“Well, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks state secrets like a duck...” While speaking, Brognola picked up his cup, as well, and took a tentative sip. “But, overall, I wouldn’t know, Mr. Payne,” he said after swallowing, “since the President only saw fit to grace us with his presence for about five minutes since his inauguration. Instead, I just meet with one of his representatives and we keep doing what we’ve been doing for the past few administrations.”

With a strangled gasp that he valiantly tried to disguise as clearing his throat, Payne put the cup back down on the saucer and pushed it away so hard the coffee sloshed over the rim and onto the polished table. Price regarded it for a moment, wondering if this was the batch that would finally eat through the wood.

Payne started to speak, coughed, cleared his throat and then tried again. “As I recall, that is the job of the POTUS regarding your operation, correct? To be instrumental in advising this...facility as to its overall mission and general objectives.”

Brognola raised a bushy eyebrow and even Price was surprised at the bureaucrat’s quotation of the document that delineated, in the broadest terms, the arms-length agreement between the White House and the Farm—an arrangement that had worked very well so far. Payne, as an adviser to the President, had access to very sensitive information at the highest levels of clearance. That didn’t bode well for Stony Man at all.

Lowering his eyebrow, the big Fed placed his cigar in the other side of his mouth. “Indeed. And what—precisely—does the President wish us to do about this situation?”

“Well...that’s the reason I decided to come here personally.” Payne looked around the room, which, while not richly appointed, was comfortable enough for those who used it on a day-to-day basis. “There has been some...disagreement over what it is that you people actually do here.”

“I’m sure you already know about my jacket with Justice, so I won’t bore you with the details. The operatives of Stony Man are professional troubleshooters on a long-term contract with the United States government,” Brognola said in a flat tone.

The answer must have satisfied Payne because he seemed to relax slightly. “That seems to be a fair assessment overall. And that is exactly what we need—a, er, troubleshooter to travel to Melbourne and look into this situation on our behalf. After all, the business of America is business, right?”

“Actually, President Coolidge’s quote is ‘the business of the American people is business,’” Price said. “It’s often misquoted, but it’s a rather important distinction.”

Her correction drew what passed for a glare from Payne. She barely felt it. If this was the best the White House could dredge up, she mused, the government just might be in worse shape than she thought.

“Regardless, we want you to send one of your people down there to reassure Martin and take a look around, try to find out what’s really going on there. Supposedly your people are discreet, which is of importance in handling this matter. All the necessary details are in the report we’ve forwarded to you,” Payne said as he rose from his chair. “And I’ll be checking in with you on the progress of this mission on a regular basis.”

“We look forward to coordinating our resources with, uh, you. I’ll walk you out.”

“No need—I can find the way.” With a brusque nod at both of them, Payne began striding out of the room.

“That’s all right, I’m heading back that way myself.” It was more than professional courtesy Price was extending—she didn’t want him roaming around the farmhouse for a second.

She escorted the President’s adviser to the front entrance where he got into a vehicle and headed to the airstrip and the helicopter that would head to DC.

Price exhaled wearily—even though it wasn’t even noon yet—and walked back to the conference room to join Brognola. He was still sitting in his chair and he raised his head to stare back at her with an expression she had rarely seen on him before.

“Tell me something, Barbara. Have I missed something or have general IQs dropped sharply in the past year or two?”

“I don’t know. Do you mean outside the Farm or that juvenile stunt that Akira and Bear just pulled?” She spread her hands and shrugged. “To be honest, I didn’t think we could sink any lower than these past couple of years, but lately it seems the world is continually trying to surprise me.”

“You and me both.” Brognola glared at the screen, then looked east, toward the general direction of Capitol Hill and the White House. “It’s not like we haven’t weathered our share of incompetents and interfering busybodies before, but this is beyond the pale.”

Price nodded, opting to remain silent on the matter. A certain amount of political turnover and renewal was often the case when the presidency changed hands, but in this most recent case, this new administration had been much more difficult to work with.

“So, give me the rundown on this Martin guy and what’s going on Down Under,” Brognola said. “There’s been no reason to even look at Australia for any real terrorist activity that extends to more than a few people, and certainly no major organized activity. Even that man who ran his car into that crowd in Melbourne last year? The final report was that he was mentally ill and trying to protest the treatment of his fellow Muslims by the government. The biggest actual thing I can remember was when Turkey’s General Consul was assassinated back in 1980. Hell, they even outlawed the majority of their guns a couple decades back, didn’t they?”

Price nodded. “That’s all correct. This situation is a bit more unusual, due to the parties involved.” She pressed a button on her tablet and another picture of the man who had been ranting on the television appeared on the monitor.