Senate Cloakroom Cabal (31 page)

We lifted off from Andrews twenty minutes after midnight.

74

D
uring the first leg of our flight, Harley told us about his arrangements with the Carmayans. Their hospital was a nice building, but it was woefully short-staffed and ill-equipped. That was why he had a surgeon, a triage doctor, three nurses, two orderlies, medical supplies, and equipment on board with us. He knew he would eventually need oncologists, surgeons, and cancer nurses once the word got out that Tutoxtamen was being manufactured on the island.

Harley and the president of the five-island country had worked out a plan where the tiny country would reap a royalty from the sales of Tutox. Harley would also financially support the building of an additional hospital specializing in cancer care.

While we waited in a San Juan terminal for the plane to be serviced, Harley heard from Driscoll that the Marine plane, with two helicopters aboard, had landed and that Sherman and one of his seriously wounded security guards had already been choppered to the main island hospital. The Marines were conducting a sweep of the island.

Crawford asked Harley to instruct Driscoll that no one, including the Marines, should touch any equipment belonging to the attackers. They should tape off all areas where the insurgents had been and post guards to ward off scavengers or sightseers. “Our counterterrorism specialists need to see the area as undisturbed as possible,” he added.

We landed a little after dawn and were greeted by a representative of Carmaya's president. He provided us with vans. Two took the medical team and Harley to the hospital, and two drove us to a hotel, where the government had secured our rooms.

We registered, not sure what would be happening next. Three Marines—a major, warrant officer, and master sergeant—briskly entered the hotel. They introduced themselves as Major Joseph DeMarco, Mr. Shaw, and Sergeant Doll.

“Senators,” Major DeMarco said, “Mr. Shaw has procured a meeting room for us just off the lobby. He has also provided light refreshments.”

“Thank you, Major,” Ro said.

The seven of us had slept in varied amounts; it appeared we wouldn't be getting more sleep anytime soon. Led by the three Marines, we made our way to the meeting room. Though sparsely furnished, it would serve our needs. Hot coffee and an impressive spread of food was on a side table.

“Mr. Shaw,” the major spoke to the warrant officer.

“Sir?”

“Would you and Sergeant Doll help the senators and the others with their things and inspect each room?”

“Yes sir.”

That caught the interest of the two counterterrorism experts. “Major, we'd like to accompany your men. We have some equipment to assist in a sweep.”

Major DeMarco grinned. “Absolutely. We don't carry that kind of gear.”

Frances Hartman, who was our accompanying State Department representative, excused herself to go off with the Carmayan president's emissary to handle diplomatic issues.

Ro asked, “Major, my father . . .?”

“Yes ma'am, he's on the island and in good spirits. He refused to leave.”

Once we had settled at our makeshift conference table, Major DeMarco gave us an update on Rufus and the other wounded. As we listened, we ate from the opulent supply of cold cuts, chicken, vegetables, and fruits on the buffet table. The coffee was hot and strong.

When his recap concluded, Ro said, “Your Mr. Shaw seems a very capable man. This array of food is excellent.”

“He is that, ma'am. He's our copter pilot, but had been a supply sergeant earlier on.”

“My father was a World War II ranger, fought in Europe under the command of Harley Rogers,” Ro said matter-of-factly.

The look of surprise on the major's face was priceless. “Both of them? I can see now . . . certainly understand your father's insistence to remain on the island.”

Mr. Shaw returned and gave the major a thumbs-up. “Sergeant Doll and the two agents are still sweeping the rooms, sir.”

“Major, what communications will we have to reach home?” Senator Crawford asked.

“I'll have satellite phones for each of you when we chopper over to the island. The general had them flown down on your plane. They're at the airport.”

I was impressed. The DOD men must have brought them aboard.

“Thank you. You told us about the people on Rogers's island. Can you give us an overview of what happened?” Crawford asked.

“First, C-2's security . . .”

“C-2?” Gavin interrupted.

“Yes sir. We're on Carmaya. The Rogers people refer to where they are as C-2 and here as C-1.” He looked around. There were no additional questions. “C-2's security was a stunner. The attack commenced an hour after dark. Their tight perimeter detection system picked up movement in the cove. They've had ‘visitors' before, but this time their electronic sweeps picked up a group with weapons and considerable equipment.

“C-2's security includes a state-of-the-art control center in an underground bunker with dozens of monitors. They had ground-level, night-vision cameras set up to cover a no-man's area all around the compound. It's generally rocky with some low brush and a few trees. Not too many places to hide.

“The problem was that C-2's sensors were too sensitive. When the insurgents were detected moving in from the bluff toward the compound, the advance system set off warning fire. A speaker system blared first in English and then in Spanish for the intruders to stand down. Instead of compliance, the intruders answered with rocket grenades, which caused most of the damage.

“The compound had six security men. Two were in the bunker operating the communications center and the remote weaponry. The others were out at assigned posts. Their electronically controlled, small machine guns were set to sweep about a thirty-degree area. They would rise up, like in a mini-silo, do a six-second sweep, and then go back down. Then another would go up. It made C-2 security look like a small army. I wouldn't have wanted to be traversing that area.”

“So,” I said, “none of this was planned yesterday.”

The major laughed, friendly-like. “No ma'am. The security chief said their grid had been carefully laid out two years ago for the exact purpose it was used.”

“Harley is truly amazing. He knew the pharmas would come after him.”

“The pharmas, ma'am?” the major asked me.

“We believe the attackers were hired by a very wealthy and powerful group, most likely a lobby organization that represents pharmaceutical companies. Ironically, the attackers did not want a fellow pharmaceutical company, Mr. Rogers's company, to manufacture his product.”

“Yes ma'am, but the insurgents, they're with AMOP. That's an organization DOD uses. Are you telling me the insurgents were privately employed?”

“No. That is only something we assume,” Crawford said, “but they were sent by somebody.”

Major DeMarco nodded. “I understand sir, but it has always been my understanding that AMOP was a private contractor that only worked for DOD.”

“That bothers me, doesn't it you?” I asked the major. “I mean, if they're friendly, what are they doing attacking the same American citizens you were sent to rescue?”

Before the major could answer, the Marine sergeant and the two counterterrorism agents came into the room and headed for the coffee and refreshments.

“Ma'am,” the major said to me, “we were told the compound was friendly, occupied by American citizens, and our mission was to rescue them,” Major DeMarco said, a little put off, “and to put down the attackers, no matter who they were.”

“Laura makes a good point, though,” Crawford said, jumping in. “You came on the island, secured it, and then discovered that the attackers may have come from DOD—what about that?”

“That's something I've already asked my general, sir,” he responded, straight out. “He's looking into that as we speak.”

“Mr. Maloney have you had experience with AMOP?” Crawford asked one of the two counterterrorism agents.

“Not deployed, sir,” he said, as he joined us at the table. “But we've been in training where they've been represented.”

We all stopped eating, as though on cue.

“I hope you are not saying that these people could have been under DOD orders?” Ro asked angrily.

“Ma'am, DOD didn't do this. Why would they?” the major asked flatly.

Crawford responded. “That is the number one question, Major.”

“Yes sir. We were deployed code red under direct orders from General Towers. He didn't wait for it to go through the chain of command. Why would we have been shipped out so fast?” Major DeMarco asked firmly.

“There are a lot of elements to DOD,” Crawford said. “What do you know about Black Ops? Ever had any dealings with them?”

“No sir. CIA a couple of times in Afghanistan, where we all worked as a team. I have no first-hand experience with Black Ops, or AMOP for that matter.”

“The root of this has got to be Tom Kelly,” I said. “Who else? Who could be so powerful . . . so willful?”

“Stanley Horowitz,” Crawford offered.

“Someone well-placed and with millions that might buy him assassins, but not DOD. Who could possibly act this covertly and unilaterally?” I asked, my voice now rising.

Major DeMarco looked questioningly at me, but before I could explain further, Ro did.

“The people we believe who are behind this attack are with an organization that has a lot to lose if Tutoxtamen goes worldwide.”

“Tutoxtamen, ma'am? Excuse me, but what am I missing here?”

“Tutoxtamen is the reason why we are here,” Ro said, as always keeping her poised demeanor. “It is a miracle-cure cancer drug produced by Rogers Pharmaceuticals. Unfortunately, there are very powerful people who do not want Harley Rogers to produce it. They went so far as to coerce the FDA to turn down his application to manufacture it. However, Harley was a step ahead of them. That drug is being manufactured on the island you call C-2 and successfully being used in Germany to cure people of their cancer at this very moment.”

“The people that turned down the drug are Americans?” Mr. Shaw asked in disbelief.

I answered. “I'm afraid so. This invasion of theirs shows how far they will go.”

These sudden revelations quieted the room. I panned the group and saw a tight-jawed look on the major's face. I was going to let it pass, but then I caught a glazed look in his eyes. Tears? I nudged Ro lightly, indicating with my eyes to look at Major DeMarco sitting across from us.

He became aware of us looking at him and tightened his jaw even more, fighting back what I was sure were tears.

“You said,” the major asked precisely, obviously fighting his emotions, “this drug cures all cancers?”

I felt Ro's hand press against my side. She would take this.

“Yes, Major. The facility on C-2 is the only place in the world this wonderful drug is produced, and Germany is the only place it is being distributed.”

“This is the cancer drug that was in the news recently?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ro replied softly.

“I heard about it at Gitmo. I need to call my mother's doctor,” his voice cracked, “I need to know if I could fly her there.”

Now understanding the source of the major's grief, Ro rose from her seat saying, “She won't have to, Major.” As she reached him, he stood. “Please write out your mother's and her doctor's names and contact information.”

I had just experienced an awesome moment.

“Let's take a break,” Gavin said, standing.

“Come, Major,” Ro said. “I'd like to talk with you. May we take a little walk?”

He nodded, and they slowly went out of the room.

I looked at Michael. “He may be a tough fighting man, but he's a son first.”

75

A
fter our meal and meeting, we agreed to a thirty-minute break for whatever we wanted to do. I chose to go to my room for a fast shower and a change of clothes. I had brought khaki cargo pants, a light top, and running shoes. I met up with the rest of our party in the lobby, and we left for the airport.

Major DeMarco greeted us at the airport and, as promised, gave each of us a satellite phone. Mr. Shaw and Sergeant Doll issued us small knapsacks that contained bottles of water and rations. The kitchen in the compound had been destroyed. The major told us Harley Rogers would be staying at the hospital; Sherman was not doing well.

The seven of us were on board and barely strapped in when Mr. Shaw announced we were about to lift off. He also told us to put on our headsets: to save our ears and because it would be the only way we could communicate with each other while in flight.

A big roar went up from the props and we lifted off, tilting slightly left, and then turning in that direction, while also gaining altitude. In moments, we were out over crystal clear water. This was my first time in any kind of chopper, and it was a little disquieting at first . . . no wings.

Mr. Shaw announced we would ascend to six hundred feet, would pass over the island, and then do a U-turn and set down in the compound. That gave us an opportunity to see most of the island. From our side of the chopper, we didn't see the destruction until we turned around. We also saw a scattering of Marines and civilians.

“I see Johnny and Dad. Dad's arm's in a sling,” Ro said excitedly, pointing.

Sure enough, the large man was standing right alongside Rufus and supporting him. “They look great,” I said.

“They look beautiful,” she said a little choked up.

I barely felt the landing. Once on the ground, we greeted all around.

“Miss Laura.” It was Johnny.

“Johnny, you look good.”

“I'm fine. Governor's got some shrapnel in him, but it ain't enough to put him down.” He grinned broadly. “I got a couple of scratches, nothing much.”