CHAPTER 1
Gulf Blvd, Redington Beach, Florida
Wednesday 28 June 06 2040 hrs EDT
The harmony had greatly improved over the last hour. The three voices drifted up to him from the fire pit on the beach:
“… when this old world starts getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face ...”
His son Brian was singing Up On The Roof’s lead solos with a strong tenor voice that Phil hadn’t known that the boy possessed. There was a passion there that paralleled that of the Drifters’ lead singer. Who was that? thought Phil. Ben E. King had left before this song came out so it had to be Rudy Lewis.
The two girls, his daughter Tracy and Marie, the Canadian legal officer who was quickly becoming a part of the family, joined in on the choruses with sweet voices which, while higher than in the original version complemented Brian’s voice perfectly.
Earlier in the evening they had started off with some Phil Spector’s productions, the Crystals’ He’s a Rebel and Da Doo Ron Ron and the Ronettes’ Be My Baby and Baby, I Love You. Tackling the Wall of Sound had been a bit ambitious in a cappella even though their voices had melded quite well. With the Drifters the trio had reached a definite high-point.
“… at night the stars put on a show for free.
And darling you can share it all with me . . .”
That line had always brought a touch of moisture to Phil’s eyes but tonight he had to physically stifle a sob. Luckily it was darker where he was sitting with his laptop and he was able to discretely wipe away the tears which had started to run down his cheeks. Phil loved listening to music; especially the golden oldies. He just couldn’t produce any; his best efforts were off key baritone grunts at best, hence he had begged off joining them in order to do some work on his laptop while sitting near them on the lanai.
The day had been a hot one with temperatures in the low nineties. A shower had briefly rolled in from the Gulf but the rain had been warm and brief. Most of the day had been lounging around the pool or on the beach.
The kids had come down for the summer holidays from Kentucky, where they lived with their maternal grandparents while they continued their schooling there. The arrangement had been in place since their mother, Diana, had died in a motor vehicle crash in Tampa in 2002. At the time she had been opening up Phil’s beach house in preparation for their transfer to US Special Operations Command. Phil had been serving with the 10th Mountain Division in Afghanistan. Her death, caused by a drunken doctor driving home after happy hour, had devastated the family. Phil’s tour had been cut short and, with the new job and the children's’ young age, he had gratefully accepted the Jorgensens’ offer to help raise the children.
Time had passed. Brian had just turned seventeen and Tracy was fifteen. It was time to rethink the future. Tracy still had two more years of high school while Brian’s graduation from grade twelve had come just few weeks before his birthday. The boy had been actively pursuing his options chief among which was following in his father’s footsteps with an application to West Point. His chances had always been good. His academics had placed him at the top of his class; he had scored very high in his SAT; his physical fitness was excellent and he had been an adept leader in several of his high school’s clubs and programs. Out of an abundance of caution there had been several applications to safety schools which would now not be needed as his acceptance to West Point had come through. In a few days he would be leaving for New York to start his Cadet Basic Training.
“Dad?”
Phil looked up at his daughter. In his reverie he hadn’t noticed the song ending.
“Mmm?”
“Marie and I are heading inside. There’s a Desperate Housewives rerun that neither of us have seen before. Can we get you anything?”
“No thanks sweetie. I’m good,” he said holding up his half-full tumbler of scotch-on-the-rocks.
Marie blew him a kiss as she followed Tracy into the open air family room.
— § —
His relationship with Marie, whom he had known for a year now, had blossomed in the last four months following their attendance at the trial of Sergeant Lane in Perth, Australia.
Sergeant Lane, a member of the Australian Special Air Service Regiment had helped to save Phil’s battalion’s bacon when they had become pinned down on Operation ANACONDA in 2002. More recently he had worked for Phil in a joint US/Australian/Canadian Special Operations Task Force assigned to free a number of international archaeologists who had been captured by the Taliban in Herat, Afghanistan. Lane’s patrol had the job of rescuing four of those hostages, all female. Three had been freed but one had been killed in the effort. Lane had subsequently been charged by the Australian army, not with anything to do with the death of the female hostage, but with manslaughter arising out of the death of several civilians who had been working with the Taliban and who had died in a fire fight in the hostage takers’ compound.
Phil and his friend Colonel Kurt Richter, a veteran of Canada’s elite special forces unit, Joint Task Force 2, had gone to Perth to give testimony on Lane’s behalf. Lieutenant Commander Marie Lamoureux had been assigned as Kurt’s legal advisor and had accompanied them there.
The friendship that had already been developing even before that trip grew by leaps and bounds thereafter as Phil saw her competence and common sense at work; traits which far exceeded those of his own legal advisor a Lieutenant Colonel out of USSOCOM.
They met frequently after that trip: at Phil’s beach house in Florida, in Ottawa where she worked, and at Kurt’s house at Horse Thief Bay on the shores of the Saint Lawrence River. The friendship and respect had grown into something stronger. Phil had never expected or sought to find love again after Diane’s death, but he was sure that this relationship was definitely heading in that direction. They felt close and comfortable with each other and the petite, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Québécoise had been accepted by the kids without reservation.
Phil swirled his glass. The last of the ice was just about fully melted and what he had now was a fairly weak twelve year-old, single-malt Glenlivet and water. He finished the contents with one healthy swig.
The last four months had also seen a significant change in his work routine.
The year ending with the trip to Perth had seen him employed as Commander USSOCOM’s roving troubleshooter. Whenever General Peters, a four-star, needed a quick investigation, liaison or task commander, Phil was tapped for the job at the expense his principle billet, working intelligence for the SOJ2 directorate.
After Perth, he was effectively grounded in Tampa while an investigation was conducted into the circumstances surrounding the al-Qaeda bomb plot which had been defeated in a flurry of gunfire from Kurt’s JTF 2 and Phil’s Delta close protection teams on the steps of Perth’s Commonwealth Courts building.
Clint Peter’s loss was SOJ2’s gain. Phil was immediately given the lead of a fusion team coordinating intelligence support efforts in aid of Joint Special Operations Task Force 88 in its war against al-Qaeda in Iraq and particularly in hunting down and eliminating its leader Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. JSOTF 88, formerly JSOTF 145, reported to Joint Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, one of USSOCOM’s subordinate commands. JSOC already had the resources in play to develop and exploit their own intelligence for what were mostly black, door-kicker operations going after high value targets. Phil’s team was definitely a side show emplaced to ensure that JSOTF 88 had everything it needed and expediting the upward and downward flow of intelligence for tie in to other theaters.
They’d had a major breakthrough this month. JSOTF 88 had been on al-Zarqawi’s tail for some time and nearly had him on a number of occasions. Starting in May, several pieces of information started coming together and on June 7th, the terrorist was seen entering an AQ safe house a few kilometers north of Baqubah. Two laser-guided, five hundred-pound bombs—the ultimate in door-kicking weaponry—dropped by an F-16C ended the hunt. The next day al-Zarqawi’s body was positively identified.
The euphoria following the strike, while justified, was short lived. Everyone knew he’d be replaced and by mid June it had become clear that Abu Ayyub al-Masri had been anointed as al-Zarqawi’s successor. In the interval terrorist attacks in Iraq continued almost unabated averaging about twenty a day and everyone was anticipating a major revenge strike.
The really good news was that JSOTF 88 now had a system and a battle-rhythm that was working; Find, Fix, Finish, Follow-up and Analyze. It was the Follow-up and Analyze components that were leading the way. They consisted of rapid analysis of captured terrorists and their equipment and documents followed by immediate exploitation thus leading back into the Find element of the cycle. Every successful strike led to one or more other strikes. It was all a matter of resources; sufficient intelligence and direct action resources. The resources were there. Deltas, DEVGRU SEALs, British SAS and SBS, a battalion of the 75th Ranger Regiment, helicopters from the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment and a heavy element from the Intelligence Support Activity intermixed with CIA and other components.
Being returned to intelligence full-time had also focused Phil’s attention on his career. He was now in his fourth year at USSOCOM. While there was great benefit in having General Peters as a mentor, there was also a down-side. Peters had come to USSOCOM after Phil and by all indications would remain there another year. By this time Phil should have moved on to commanding a Brigade Combat Team or a Special Forces Group. This would give him the balance of staff and command experience which would make him a likely candidate for a general’s star. The extra time he had been spending at USSOCOM as the commander’s personal trouble shooter wasn’t helping and was slowly dragging him out of the running. By now he should have received notification of his next duty assignment or received some hint about how he had stood on the Army’s Brigadier General Selection Board. No word on either was forthcoming.
Phil sensed a presence near him. The light from the laptop screen had impaired Phil’s night vision so he had missed seeing Brian approach from the fire pit. The surf was gently rushing up against the beach masking any sounds the boy’s bare feet might have made on the lanai’s tiles. It wasn’t until Brian spoke that Phil actually knew that the boy was there.
“Dad? Can we talk?”