Term Limits

chapter Nineteen
Grabbing two beers, he climbed the ladder to the bridge and handed one to Coleman. Coleman smiled and nodded. A second later they passed the no-wake buoys, and Coleman pushed the throttles down, gunning the engines. As the noise increased, Michael whispered, "Are Dan and Kevin here?"

"Yeah, they're below. I told them to stay there until we were out of sight. Did you have any trouble getting here?"

"No, as far as I could tell, no one followed me." Coleman looked at his watch. It was 5:21 P.M. "The sun should be down in another fifteen minutes, and then we have to stop and pick up some equipment .... We should get there around seven P.M." Coleman hugged the coast as they headed south toward Thomas Point.

The Bay was calm. A light breeze was coming in from the east, and the boat traffic was light. Most of the recreational boaters on the Chesapeake were done until next spring. The temperature was around fifty-eight degrees and dropping. He continued past Thomas Point for exactly 1.3 miles and turned due east, cutting across the main shipping channel of the Bay. Stroble and Hackett, in the meantime, had changed out of their clothes and put on wet suits. Michael stood on the flybridge with a pair of binoculars and scanned their path for any ships. When they reached the other side of the channel, Coleman pulled the boat up next to one of the large red buoys that marked the shipping channel and dropped anchor. Stroble and Hackett had their diving gear on and were giving each other one last safety check, going over each other's equipment like pilots doing a preflight instrument check.

Coleman and Michael stayed atop the flybridge and kept a lookout for the Coast Guard while Stroble and Hackett went over the side. About five minutes later, they came back up with a large trunk. Michael and Coleman lifted the heavy container into the boat. It was five by four feet and about three feet high and was made out of dark green fiberglass. Coleman popped the hermetically sealed clasps and opened the trunk. Set in foam cutouts on the top section were six pairs of night-vision goggles.

Coleman grabbed four of them and handed them to Michael. Next, he grabbed two handles and lifted the top section out of the container, revealing a cache of weapons also set in foam cutouts. Coleman snatched three MP-5 submachine guns and a sniper's rifle from the container along with silencers and ammunition clips. After closing the airtight trunk, he and Michael handed it back over the side to Stroble and Hackett. They took the trunk back down to the bottom and covered it with rocks. When Stroble and Hackett were back on board, Coleman raised the anchor and headed back across the Bay on a southwesterly course. Stroble and Hackett checked all of the weapons to make sure they were clean and well oiled and then packed them into waterproof backpacks. When they were finished, Hackett took the helm so Michael and Coleman could get ready.

Everyone was fitted with a waterproof radio and headset that was worn under their wet suits. About a half a mile from Curtis Point, Coleman took back the helm and slowed the boat to about ten knots. He pulled to within about a quarter of a mile from shore and turned south, counting the houses as he went. When they passed the sixth house in from the point, Coleman told Stroble and Hackett to put on their night-vision goggles and scan the ridgeline of the cliff and the docks for people.

The entire shoreline consisted of an elevated cliff that ranged from fifty to eighty feet in height. Arthur's estate sat in the middle of a small swale. The cliff on either side of his estate was about ten feet higher than it was in front of his. Stroble and Hackett announced that no one was in sight. Coleman continued for another four hundred feet and pulled to within thirty feet of shore, cutting the engines and dropping anchor. Before leaving the bridge, he turned off all of the  running lights. It was a good night for reconnaissance. What little moon there was, was sitting low in the night sky and partially obscured by clouds.

Coleman gathered everyone close together for a radio check and quick briefing. He spoke in a low whisper. The acoustics of the water caused sound to travel much farther than people realized. "All right, I'm Zeus, Michael is Apollo, Dan you're Hermes, and Kevin you're Cyclops." Hackett smiled at the code name, which referred to the sight on his sniper's rifle. "Everyone check your watches. I'm reading nineteen zero eight on my mark." Coleman waited for his watch to strike 7:08 P.M. and said, "Mark." Everyone synchronized their watches. "Arthur's estate is loaded with motion sensors, laser trip wires, and tremor plates. There is no way we are going to sneak in there without being noticed. What I want to do tonight is get a better look at the two neighbors' yards and get a general feel for the layout.

Kevin, I want you and Dan to scout out the neighbors to the north. As far as I can tell, their security systems are for their houses only, not the grounds. Make sure you check out the dock and the stairs leading up to the house before you use them. When you reach the top of the cliff, check out the fence that runs between Arthur's yard and the neighbor's. Kevin, as soon as possible I want you to find a spot in one of the big oak trees that run along the property line. If anything goes wrong, I want you to be in a position to give us cover if we need to bug out."

"What are my rules of engagement?" asked Hackett. "I want to get out of here tonight without anyone knowing we were here."

"What if he steps out for one of his cigars, and I have him dead in my sights?" Coleman pondered the question. "I'm tempted, but the answer is no. I don't want to rush into anything. We are here to gather information and get out." Michael, Hackett, and Stroble nodded. "If something goes wrong and one of his guards opens fire, take him out.

Otherwise let's keep our fingers off the triggers One more thing, the wind is out of the east. Keep that in mind if they start patrolling with the dogs." Everyone nodded. "All right, be careful." Stroble and Hackett sat down on the diving platform and put on their fins and diving masks.

They stuck their snorkels in their mouths and slid into the water, quietly swimming away. Before Michael and Coleman got in, Coleman asked, "Do Recon Marines know how to swim?"

"No." Michael smiled. "I thought you were going to tow me in."

"Good one. Let's go." The two slid into the water and headed for shore.

They sliced through the water using only a leg kick, the large black fins making the task easy. The only thing showing were the thin black snorkels and the top of their masks. When they reached the dock of the neighbor to the south of Arthur, they swam ashore and took their backpacks and diving masks off. Coleman whispered into the tiny microphone hanging in front of his mouth, "This is Zeus, we're ashore, over."

"This is Cyclops, we're almost there, over." Michael and Coleman knelt on the small strip of sand between the water's edge and the cliff.

Craning his neck backward, Michael looked up at the dark wall of rock.

It looked to be about the height of a three-story building. Coleman tapped him on the shoulder. "Get your gear ready. I'm going to take a look at this dock and see if it has any security devices." Coleman pulled the night-vision goggles down and waded out into the water.

Without touching the dock, he looked underneath it to check for wires or cables. When he got out to the end, he swam under the huge yellow-and-white tarp where a thirty-six-foot Chris-Craft was docked.

After checking the entire dock, he swam back to shore and grabbed his backpack. Michael had already put a magazine into Coleman's MP-5 and attached the silencer. He handed the weapon to Coleman, and the former SEAL checked to make sure a round was in the chamber and the safety on.

Coleman looked at Michael with a grin. "Do you remember how to do this?"

"It's coming back to me."

"Good. Let's go." Michael followed as Coleman led the way up the stairs.

The stairs zigzagged up the cliff, changing lateral direction about every twenty steps. Not counting the bottom and top, there were three landings in between. When they neared the top, Coleman held up his fist signaling Michael to wait while he checked things out. He crawled just short of the last step and checked the posts of the railing for a motion sensor. He knew there wasn't a laser trip wire or it would have showed up on his night-vision goggles. Next, he scanned the large house for movement, and after several minutes of checking everything in and around the house, he waved O'Rourke up. They stayed low and scampered along a row of hedges that separated the lawn from the edge of the cliff. At the end of the hedges they reached a small patio and gazebo. Just on the other side of the gazebo was the ten-foot, brick fence that separated Arthur's yard from his neighbors'.

Coleman grabbed one of the patio chairs and brought it around the back side of the gazebo. He and O'Rourke slung their weapons over their backs and climbed onto the roof. They lay on their stomachs and looked over the fence. The view from atop the slightly angled, octagonal roof was perfect. Almost all of Arthur's backyard was visible. Coleman spoke into his mike, keeping his voice barely above a whisper, "Cyclops, this is Zeus, are you in position, over?"

"That's affirmative, Zeus. I found a nice little nest with a bird's-eye view, over."

"Have you seen any guards yet, over?"

"That's affirmative. I count one man and a canine.

They swept the back side of the house about two minutes ago, over."

"Roger. I'd like you to do a check on my position. We are directly south of you just on the other side of the fence, over." O'Rourke and Coleman lay perfectly still for about sixty seconds and then Hackett's voice responded. "I've got you. Just barely though, it took me four passes.

Make sure you keep a low profile. The sky is pretty dark behind you, but your silhouettes will still show, over."

"How high up are you, Cyclops?

Over."

"I'm a good twenty feet up, over."

"Roger, let me know if the dog shows up along my fence line. It's my only blind spot, over."

"Will do, over."

"Hermes, this is Zeus, what's your position, over?" Stroble was standing on the lowest branch of an old oak tree. He hugged the trunk and peered over the fence at the front of Arthur's house. "I've got a good view of the front of the house, over."

"What do you see, over?"

"I've got two guards by the front door, both are accompanied by a German shepherd, over."

"How are they equipped, over?"

"They're decked out in combat boots, dark jumpsuits, and combat vests.

One of them is carrying a sidearm. check, make that both of them."

Stroble peered through his goggles and then lifted them up onto his forehead and grabbed his field binoculars out of his breast pocket.

The guards were standing under the light of the front door. The detail was much better with the binoculars.

"They are both carrying Uzis, and it looks like they're wearing flak jackets, over."

"How are they set up for communication, over?"

"They are both wearing shoulder mikes, and it . . . looks . . . like their radios are mounted on their upper back, left side, over."

"Is one of them the guard that just finished the sweep of the backyard, over?"

"That's a roger, over." Coleman looked at his watch. "All right, you guys know the routine. Announce any movements and mark the intervals.

We should have one more guard at the front gate and one more in the house.

Let's see how good these guys are, over." For the next hour they watched the two guards and their dogs patrol the grounds. One of them always stayed by the front door while the other roamed the estate.

There was no rhyme or reason to the intervals. A guard would leave for one lap around the house one time, and the next time he would wander around the estate for ten minutes. To the common observer it looked disorganized, and in a way it was, but by design. Set patterns and predictability were liabilities in this business, not assets. These guards were professionals. Stroble was getting tired of standing, so he sat down on the large branch. He was just barely able to see over the top of the fence and into Arthur's yard and could still see the two guards and their dogs at the front door. Both guards reached for their shoulder mikes and said something.

Then they turned and headed in opposite directions toward the sides of the house. The unusual movement caught Stroble's attention, and then without warning bright flood lamps illuminated the tree lines to the north and south of Arthur's estate. Stroble leapt down from the tree and started running as quietly as possible for the water. He whispered into his mike, "I think they may have seen me, over." Coleman and O'Rourke instantly crept backward when the lights came on and were huddling on the other side of the roof. Coleman asked, "Hermes, where are you, over?"

"I'm making my way toward the cliff, over."

"Roger, Hermes, stand by at the cliff and wait for Cyclops, over.

Cyclops, I need some intel.

What's going on, over?"

"I've got both guards and their dogs working their way down the fence line towards the water. They are looking in the trees, but neither of them have their weapons drawn. It appears that they're doing some kind of sweep, over."

"Do you still have good concealment, over?"

"That's affirmative, over."

"All right, you are going to have to give us the play-by-play because we can't see anything, over."

"Don't move or make any noise. The guard and the dog on the south side are coming up on your position. I have him in my sights." Hackett kept his voice below a whisper. "Good. Zeus, they are looking over the edge of the cliff down at the water The guard closest to you just said something into his mike and is heading back to the house."

Without warning, all of the floodlights were extinguished and darkness returned to the landscape. "What in the hell was that all about?" asked Michael.

"I don't know," whispered Coleman. "Everyone sit tight for a couple minutes and see what happens next. Don't talk unless something develops, over." Coleman and Michael crawled back to the crest of the roof and looked over the fence. Less than a minute later Hackett broke the silence. "I think I hear a car pulling up the driveway."

NANCE STEPPED OUT OF THE BACKSEAT OF HIS LIMO AND HELD HIS ARMS straight out.

A guard approached and waved a sensor over his body. After he was done, the guard spoke into his shoulder mike, telling the controller inside the house that Arthur's guest was clean. Nance's bodyguard and driver waited by the car while the national security adviser was escorted into the house. When he entered the study, he found Arthur in his usual spot, waiting by the fireplace. Nance strode across the room and stopped a short distance away. Arthur's lips showed the faintest hint of a smile and he said, "I hope you don't mind standing. I've been sitting all day."

"No, not at all."

"Good. What is of such importance that you needed to come see me in person?"

"You will have to be the judge. I just wanted to keep you abreast of some developments." Nance shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Yesterday morning, Special Agent McMahon of the FBI received a phone call from the terrorists claiming that they had nothing to do with the killing of Olson and Turnquist."

"Really." Arthur pursed his lips. "I expected them to go to the media with the story, not the FBI."

"So did I. Does this worry you?" Arthur slapped the question away with the wave of a hand. "No, not really.

Nothing can be traced back to us. No one other than you, Garret, and myself know who was behind those murders. The people we used were hired very discreetly. They made no contact with anyone. They picked up an envelope that contained Olson's and Turnquist's names and an account number at a very discreet bank in the Caymans. Even if the FBI were to catch the assassins, they wouldn't be able to trace it back to us."

"Unless one of us talked." Arthur stared at Nance with sharp eyes.

"We both know that neither you nor I would speak to the FBI, so I would have to assume you are referring to Mr. Garret."

"Yes." Arthur exhaled an even, long breath. "What has he done now?"

"He has a hard time hiding his emotions. During the briefing yesterday, when McMahon played the tape of his conversation with the assassin, Mr. Garret became very nervous and animated."

"I don't see that as being a problem. Nervous and animated fits his normal profile." Nance sighed. It was often tiring trying to convince Arthur of something. "While the taped conversation was being played, he broke out in a sweat and would not stop staring at me. He looked uncharacteristically nervous and afraid."

"Did anyone else notice his behavior?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Thomas Stansfield." Arthur grew more concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Completely."

"How much did he see?"

"Everything. You know how he is, Arthur. The man is a professional.

He takes everything in."

"What exactly did he see?"

"He saw Garret fidget in his chair, his brow break out in a sweat, and his eyes darting back and forth between me and the transcript of the phone conversation. I was watching Stansfield stare at Stu, and then, just like you or I would have done, he followed Stu's eyes across the table to me. He took the whole thing in." Arthur sighed. "Well, I would have preferred for that not to have happened, but I don't think it will affect us. As I said earlier, there is no way they can trace this back to us."

"As long as Mr. Garret keeps his mouth shut."

"He will stay quiet. He has strong survival instincts."

"I know he does. That's what worries me. What if Stansfield puts two and two together and makes a wild guess that you were the one who ordered the hit on Olson? Stansfield knows you hated him." Nance paused to let Arthur think about the scenario and then continued, "Mr. Garret's survival instincts are so strong that he would turn on us in a second if it meant saving himself." Arthur looked at Nance and then into the fire.

He watched the flames flicker while he contemplated his options, looking at every angle, trying to determine if Garret was more of a threat or an asset. He imagined Stansfield pulling Garret aside and catching him off guard, telling him that he knew all about his connection with Arthur and that they were behind the assassinations of Olson and Turnquist.

Stansfield could easily speculate and connect the dots, but that meant nothing as long as Garret kept his mouth shut. The motives for killing a career politician were abundant.

They could prove nothing without one of them talking, and as he and Nance had discussed earlier, the odds of that happening were zero.

Arthur concluded that they would have to head this one off before Stansfield had the chance to act. "I think that we need to be proactive on this and let Mr. Garret know what the consequences would be if he talked." Arthur ran one of his thin fingers over his bottom lip. "Tell Mr. Garret that I have made arrangements to have him dealt with if he ever whispers a word of this to anyone .... Tell him that even in the event of my death, the order will be carried out."

"I think that is a wise decision. I know just how to handle it."

"Good. I'll leave the details up to you." Arthur walked over to the coffee table and grabbed two cigars. "Let's step outside. I have some other things I would like to discuss with you." Nance followed his mentor across the room and out into the cool night air. O'Rourke and Coleman were concentrating on the guard who was standing watch at the edge of the cliff when Hackett came crackling over their earpieces.

"Zeus, this is Cyclops. I just spotted two men in suits that walked out of the house and are standing on the patio. Do you copy, over?"

O'Rourke had his night-vision goggles flipped up and Coleman had his down. Both of them looked toward the house.

Coleman saw them right away, the goggles illuminating them in a clear green-and-black picture. O'Rourke could see the bright red tips of the cigars, but nothing else. It was hard to make out their silhouettes in the dark. Coleman whispered into his mike, "I copy, Cyclops. I see two men .... I think one of them is our boy. I can't tell who the other guy is, over." Coleman flipped his mike up and said to Michael, "It's nice to know Augie was right about this cigar thing." O'Rourke quietly pulled his goggles down and peered toward the house. He adjusted his goggles and brought the two men into focus. Being careful to keep his voice down, he said, "The guy on the right is Arthur, but I can't see who the guy on the left is."

"I can't either," responded Coleman. "Cyclops, we can't see who the other guy is, can you, over?"

"Yes, he looks familiar, but I haven't got a real good look at him, over." O'Rourke Was watching Arthur talk, and then the other man turned his face toward them, exhaling a puff of smoke. O'Rourke squinted and tapped Coleman on the shoulder. "I think that's Mike Nance."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm almost positive." Michael pulled his mike down. "Cyclops, this is Apollo. Is the other man the President's national security adviser, Mike Nance, over?" Cyclops moved his rifle sight from Arthur to the other man. Nance removed the cigar from his mouth and Cyclops got a full shot of his face. "That's a roger, the other man is Mike Nance, over."

"What in the hell is Mike Nance doing here?" asked O'Rourke. "I have no idea," said Coleman as he peered back toward the cliff to see what the guard and dog were doing. "Are you sure it's him?"

"Yes." O'Rourke continued to stare at the two men standing on the veranda. "Augie told me that Stansfield ordered Arthur to cease all dealings with his contacts from the intelligence community."

"Well, he's obviously ignoring the order."

Coleman pulled his mike back down in front of his mouth. "All right, everybody, this is Zeus, listen up. We are going to wait until these two finish their cigars, and then, hopefully, they'll go back inside and the guard by the cliff will head back up to the main house. Then we will finish our recon and head back to the boat. Until then, we sit tight. I don't want them to have any idea we were here, over." Irene Kennedy was having a difficult time staying awake. The human body needs more than two hours of sleep in a day. Kennedy had only slept two hours in the last three days, and her body was about to shut down.

She was sitting in the midst of stacks of green personnel dossiers.

Ninety-four to be exact. Kennedy was methodically picking through each file, reading every boring line of black print. Military personnel dossiers were not intriguing reading. Kennedy had already read fifty-two of the files and was coming to the realization that she would not finish tonight. It was almost 11 P.M and her ability to analyze the tedious information was diminishing. She decided to read two more files and call it a night, leaving herself an even forty to finish in  the morning. She was impressed with the job that Naval Intelligence had done in keeping tabs on their former SEALS. Even the CIA was interested. Kennedy had found five SEALS who were now on the CIA payroll. The files didn't say they worked for the CIA. Kennedy recognized their employers as companies that were either fronts for the Agency or companies that did a lot of work for the Agency. Kennedy opened the next file and looked down at a picture of Scott Coleman.

Beneath the photo was his date of discharge. A little over a year ago.

She continued reading the file, noticing nothing unusual. Any one of the ninety-four files alone would be impressive, but after reading fifty of them they all kind of blended together, and the superhuman feats these men performed started to seem normal. Kennedy noticed that Coleman's IQ was near the genius level. Flipping to the last several pages, Kennedy read a list of covert missions that Coleman had participated in. It was long and impressive, starting in the early eighties and finishing about a year and a half ago. The missions were all listed by code names. Because of Kennedy's security clearance and her background in terrorism, she recognized almost half of the missions.

She got to the last mission Coleman had participated in, and an empty feeling crept into her stomach. The code name for the mission was Operation Snatch Back. Snatch Back was something few people knew about, and something that no one wanted to talk about. The only thing listed after Operation Snatch Back was Coleman's date of discharge.

Next to the date, in parenthesis, was the comment "Early discharge granted."

"I haven't seen one of those yet," Kennedy commented to herself. As her curiosity grew, Kennedy felt less tired. She flipped to the last page and found that Coleman was living in Adams Morgan and had started a company called SEAL Demolition and Salvage Corporation. Kennedy immediately wondered who the other employees of the SEAL Demolition and Salvage Corporation might be. Grabbing the file, Kennedy stood and walked briskly down the hall toward General Heaney's office. A young ensign was the only person left in the main office area. "Is the general still in?" asked Kennedy. "Dr. Kennedy, he said good-bye to you almost three hours ago .... Remember, he said he'd be back at zero six hundred." Kennedy frowned. "Damn it."

"Ma'am, if you don't mind me saying, you look like you could use some sleep." Kennedy shook her head and looked down at the file. She stood there for a moment trying to figure out what to do next. "Is there anything I could help you with, ma'am?" Kennedy looked at the young officer and was about to ask him what his security clearance was and then thought better. At his age and rank there was no way he was cleared to discuss this information. "No... thank you for offering though." The paper-thin Kennedy turned to walk away and then stopped.

"Ensign, how unusual is it to get an early discharge when you're in the Special Forces?"

"It's not that unusual. We have guys blowing out knees every other week.

We get at least one broken back a year, and a whole lot of other injuries. A lot of these knee injuries take a year to rehab, so if a guy is due to get out in a year and he blows his knee, we let him go early."

Kennedy accepted the explanation and said, "Thank you." Again, she turned to walk away and again stopped. Turning back to the ensign, she said, "If that was the case, wouldn't their file say medical discharge?"

"Yes, that is correct." Kennedy opened Coleman's file and found the page where it said early discharge granted. She pointed at the last line and showed it to the ensign. "This is different than a medical discharge, is it not?"