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Authors: Gordon Kessler
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Coates looked at his watch for the second time in less than a minute.
“He’ll be here, Jimmy,” Mason said, causing the Secretary of State to look up in amazement. He gave the President a slight and knowing smile, seeming to realize Mason had been watching him in the reflection of the window.
Mason had kept them waiting long enough. They could rehash what they needed after Winston arrived — probably wouldn’t have to update the CIA chief on much anyway. Mason turned to face the three men and leaned over his desk. “So, what are the facts? What do we know for sure?”
Chief of Staff Thurman’s voice was even. “Major Jackson’s last communication with us was over an hour ago. It had been bounced from satellite to satellite like his phone call to you earlier. We’ve got our best Com people working on pinpointing his location. So far, no luck. But they’ve assured me they’re narrowing the search and should find Jackson in a matter of hours, perhaps minutes. What we do know is that the so-called ‘Black Lion,’ with his band of mutineers, has proceeded with this rescue mission more in the manner of a blind kitten — against your orders, sir. We think he is now in position, and we should have word of the outcome — success or, more likely, failure — within hours.”
Mason shook his head. “To this point, what’s our best guess on his location?”
Thurman said, “He couldn’t have gone far, Mr. President. He doesn’t have the resources. I believe he’s in the Rockies. Probably still somewhere in Colorado. Wyoming or Montana are possibilities, but somewhat less likely.”
Secretary of Defense Banks raised his brow. “He did have access to some very sophisticated radar jamming and electromagnetic pulse devices, Mr. President. And he did have help. How else could he bounce his communication signals as he did? We believe former Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Bernard Sampson assisted him with logistics and support.”
“Gunny Sampson?” the President asked. “ The Gunny Sampson?”
Secretary of State Coates reached up to pull at a mustache that wasn’t there. “That’s correct, sir.” He brought his hand down and continued. “Sampson retired from the Marines about ten years ago. Good man. I became acquainted with him when I was SecNav. Since he retired, he’s had a number of windfalls, invested wisely, and now owns several airlines including three of the largest, privately held and profitable ones in the world; Canadian Skies, U.S. Wings and Thai Eastern. He’s a billionaire.”
“Okay,” President Mason said. “Why?”
Coates sat forward in his chair. “You’ve already been told of Major Jackson and Daniel McMaster’s acquaintance — well, it runs deeper than that, sir. McMaster saved Jackson and Sampson from certain death during a clandestine mission into Iran a number of years back.”
“Iran?” the President asked, thinking he’d misheard.
“Yes, sir. Black ops,” Coates said. “During the early Clinton years. Jackson was with a pararescue group that went in to rescue McMaster’s four-man recon team in southern Iran. McMaster’s group was mapping an invasion route in the event the U.S. would be called on to help topple Ali Khamenei, the successor to Ayatollah Khomeini. They got cut off from their beach egress. Jackson’s group went in to SPIE rig them out.” He paused, then explained, “On a rope. Jackson’s helo took fire and crashed. He was copilot, a young lieutenant back then. Pilot and the rest of his crew were killed. Jackson suffered severe internal injuries. Sampson was a gunnery sergeant — McMaster’s team leader. Was wounded in the leg and couldn’t walk. The other two men in McMaster’s team were dead. Daniel McMaster, a young sergeant at the time, pulled Jackson from the burning wreckage and, under heavy fire, carried him out of the trees on his shoulders to the beach. He went back for Sampson. A team of SEALs picked them all up. The rest is
Coates looked at his watch for the second time in less than a minute.
“He’ll be here, Jimmy,” Mason said, causing the Secretary of State to look up in amazement. He gave the President a slight and knowing smile, seeming to realize Mason had been watching him in the reflection of the window.
Mason had kept them waiting long enough. They could rehash what they needed after Winston arrived — probably wouldn’t have to update the CIA chief on much anyway. Mason turned to face the three men and leaned over his desk. “So, what are the facts? What do we know for sure?”
Chief of Staff Thurman’s voice was even. “Major Jackson’s last communication with us was over an hour ago. It had been bounced from satellite to satellite like his phone call to you earlier. We’ve got our best Com people working on pinpointing his location. So far, no luck. But they’ve assured me they’re narrowing the search and should find Jackson in a matter of hours, perhaps minutes. What we do know is that the so-called ‘Black Lion,’ with his band of mutineers, has proceeded with this rescue mission more in the manner of a blind kitten — against your orders, sir. We think he is now in position, and we should have word of the outcome — success or, more likely, failure — within hours.”
Mason shook his head. “To this point, what’s our best guess on his location?”
Thurman said, “He couldn’t have gone far, Mr. President. He doesn’t have the resources. I believe he’s in the Rockies. Probably still somewhere in Colorado. Wyoming or Montana are possibilities, but somewhat less likely.”
Secretary of Defense Banks raised his brow. “He did have access to some very sophisticated radar jamming and electromagnetic pulse devices, Mr. President. And he did have help. How else could he bounce his communication signals as he did? We believe former Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Bernard Sampson assisted him with logistics and support.”
“Gunny Sampson?” the President asked. “ The Gunny Sampson?”
Secretary of State Coates reached up to pull at a mustache that wasn’t there. “That’s correct, sir.” He brought his hand down and continued. “Sampson retired from the Marines about ten years ago. Good man. I became acquainted with him when I was SecNav. Since he retired, he’s had a number of windfalls, invested wisely, and now owns several airlines including three of the largest, privately held and profitable ones in the world; Canadian Skies, U.S. Wings and Thai Eastern. He’s a billionaire.”
“Okay,” President Mason said. “Why?”
Coates sat forward in his chair. “You’ve already been told of Major Jackson and Daniel McMaster’s acquaintance — well, it runs deeper than that, sir. McMaster saved Jackson and Sampson from certain death during a clandestine mission into Iran a number of years back.”
“Iran?” the President asked, thinking he’d misheard.
“Yes, sir. Black ops,” Coates said. “During the early Clinton years. Jackson was with a pararescue group that went in to rescue McMaster’s four-man recon team in southern Iran. McMaster’s group was mapping an invasion route in the event the U.S. would be called on to help topple Ali Khamenei, the successor to Ayatollah Khomeini. They got cut off from their beach egress. Jackson’s group went in to SPIE rig them out.” He paused, then explained, “On a rope. Jackson’s helo took fire and crashed. He was copilot, a young lieutenant back then. Pilot and the rest of his crew were killed. Jackson suffered severe internal injuries. Sampson was a gunnery sergeant — McMaster’s team leader. Was wounded in the leg and couldn’t walk. The other two men in McMaster’s team were dead. Daniel McMaster, a young sergeant at the time, pulled Jackson from the burning wreckage and, under heavy fire, carried him out of the trees on his shoulders to the beach. He went back for Sampson. A team of SEALs picked them all up. The rest is
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