DHS–Domestic Terrorism
Annex
Washington, DC
November 12, 2017
Deep inside a large gray building located on 10th Street Northwest, the DHS Domestic Terrorism Annex was surrounded by museums, galleries, association offices, lobbyists and law firms just a few blocks from the Gallery Place/ Chinatown Metro stop. Admiral James Wright sat at the end of a V-shaped conference table and listened to the initial assessment. His mind wandered as he heard the same old conservative, tentative briefing that provided little new information as to what really happened. These were good people that had been drained of their ability to look at things objectively. Classic bureaucrats, they thought they’d seen it all. This was merely another random collection of some isolated events that would see the front pages for maybe another 48 hours and then be forgotten.
He looked down the table and watched the presentation on the screen. It occurred to him that the person who had chosen the conference table had made a good choice. From his seat at the head of the table, he could see the slides and keep an eye on all the other subtle interactions going on at the table.
“Any questions, Admiral?”
“No. Thank you all.” The Admiral sat back in his chair and then pushed forward, putting both his elbows on the table.
The dozen people at the table suddenly were all leaning forward and waiting for the Admiral to speak. One of them was a retired Navy Captain who knew what was coming. He looked at the single row of ribbons centered on the Admiral’s left breast uniform pocket just below a set of gold Navy wings. A glance captured a career: Defense Superior Service Medal, Navy Cross and Bronze Star with Combat “V.” There were many others, but Wright was an uncomplicated man who shunned the spotlight, avoided the Washington party circuit and didn’t have a young, trophy wife. That was all part of the package required to be successful in this town. Wright was a rare, clear-thinking warfighter who firmly believed that everything he did had to somehow be tied to the men and woman on the front lines. If it didn’t meet that criterion, then it was of little interest to him.
Sure, he’d been selected and promoted to Rear Admiral but not because of his efforts to impress his chain of command. He’d made it on the front lines, leading aircraft to their targets and being a man that people would follow anywhere, anytime. He was an Old Testament kind of guy who could crack the whip and wash the feet of his squadron or wing at the same time. That’s why people naturally looked to him when a problem was messy and complicated. But it was painfully clear that he’d go no further. When the stream of dirty jobs that he’d willingly taken on for his service and for the country slowed, if it ever would, he’d be plucked by the Navy for retirement and replaced with one of those hard chargers on the fast track to more stars.
The President himself had picked Wright out of his J3 position on the Joint Staff and asked him to pull back his request for retirement. Wright was assigned to lead the new domestic terror cell at DHS. He had been looking ahead towards retirement when he and Carole could return to Rhode Island. Construction of their retirement house on the Sakonnet River was already started when he was ordered to the job. He had made the Navy his top priority for all of thirty years and was ready to see the next generation take over. It wasn’t because he’d lost his motivation or that time had dulled his insight. No, the explanation was simple. He was ready to settle down, to dig a few clams for some chowder or match his wits against the striped bass that populated Narragansett Bay every summer. He longed for the simple pleasure of shuffling along the rocky beach with Carole deeply inhaling that clean, salt-laden air. Again, that would have to wait.
Jim had told Carole, “Heh, I’ve been serving at the pleasure of the President since commissioning so I can’t say no!” She was disappointed but saw his eyes sparkle at taking on one final challenge. She was also worried: chaos seemed to follow him whatever the assignment. She enjoyed Washington and could certainly keep busy while he worked those long days and sometimes nights at DHS. It didn’t matter what time he finished, he’d always come home, and she looked forward to that each and every day. At least this job didn’t involve leading a battle group halfway around the world for months at a time. He was driving a large desk, not an aircraft carrier with 100 planes and a dozen warships in company.
“Were there any surveillance tapes from Philadelphia?” the Admiral asked.
“No, sir, TSA set up this recruiting office only a few weeks ago and leased the site for six months. A surveillance system was never requested or installed.”
The Admiral removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“So, let’s recap.” he said, “We’ve got parade in Fresno with hundreds of dead spectators and vets alike, including the Lieutenant Governor of California, the Mayor and the Commanding General of the National Guard. A major highway tunnel flooded and who knows how many dead in Virginia Beach, seventeen people confirmed dead, another dozen wounded in Philly, and the only thing we know is that a teenager was talking to the TSA chief when some sort of explosive went off. And we’ve got a water supply in Newport that’s full of very virulent bacteria that’s got the city panicked and people flooding the emergency rooms thinking that they have somehow contracted the plague from their drinking faucets. All on Veterans Day. Just a coincidence? Are there any dots to be connected here?” The Admiral noticed that most of the people at the table began looking down and studying their planners. He did not expect an answer anyway.
“Look, our Secretary sees the President this afternoon and asked me to come along to provide an initial assessment. There’s not a lot of detail here and nothing conclusive on any of these incidents. I guess it will be a short meeting.” He stood at the table, looked down both sides and concluded, “I sure hope these things are not connected but my gut tells me that that is just wishful thinking.”
He walked back to his office and stopped briefly at his administrative assistant’s desk.
“Michelle, I need to be over in the Secretary’s office at 1:00 p.m.”
Michelle would have Wright’s driver pick him up at the building’s back entrance and drive him up to the Nebraska Avenue site that DHS had taken over from the US Navy. The site was small and not ideally located for a Cabinet Secretary whose time was spent equally between the White House and Capitol Hill, but USG facilities were at a premium with the government’s infrastructure continuing to expand like an incoming tide that never receded. Having to squeeze into a consolidated facility to house most of the Department’s operations seemed to be the inevitable compromise. Spreading the organization across the expanse of the General Services Administration’s DC office complexes would be too complicated, and the Director would lose control of his expanding workforce. Better to slum a few years on Nebraska Avenue until a larger Headquarters could be built, leased or repurposed.