I called Jerry. True to form, Ro had food and soft drinks brought in from somewhere. I wished we were in a situation room instead of her office. We were in a cocoon—what we in Senator Dalton’s room knew nobody around us knew. Our umbilical of information was our open line to some office in the DOD.
Senator Crawford, who had been on the phone in Michael’s office, came in to tell us that some sharp general had ordered a detachment of Marines out of Gitmo, in full battle gear, to get airborne ASAP.
To help us understand the logistics of what a plane full of combat-ready Marines might face in Carmaya, Gavin had requested DOD fax us a recent satellite map of the Carmayan archipelago. I saw it was close to South America, as Harley had said. I teased Ro about the Marines actually getting sent in, but got no reaction.
The Marines’ plane had already been airborne about five minutes when Crawford had passed the coordinates to DOD. I found them very proactive even before Crawford announced that they had dispatched their closest ship, a destroyer, to the island.
Senator Crawford’s AA, Gordon, had joined us and was working with Michael. He came in to Ro’s office and said, “We just got off the phone with the State Department. They’ve been in contact with Carmaya’s president. The Rogers compound is on a small, previously uninhabited island two miles from the main island, in the five-island archipelago.”
“Did he send troops to—?”
“He only has a police force. They sent a helicopter, which was shot at, and it hightailed out of there. The pilot said he saw smoke billowing up from a large building.”
Some of us sat, some walked around. Time hung heavy on all of us. I was on and off the phone. Michael came in from the mini war room in his office and broke the long, somber mood.
“Everybody, Harley Rogers is on the phone. You’re on speaker, sir.”
“Senator Dalton, my security chief reported they have repelled the attackers.”
A spontaneous cheer went up from all of us.
“Chief Driscoll said four of the attackers are known dead, two are wounded and in custody. He didn’t think there were any more. Your father was hit by shrapnel in the shoulder, arm—”
Gasps and “what,” “oh no,” “how is he?” came from us.
“He seems fine,” Harley shouted. “He also has a small scalp wound, but whatever hit him did not penetrate the bone. He is alert, telling people what to do. Old war horses never change.”
Ro asked, “When can I talk to him? We can’t get through on the numbers you gave us,” she shouted. “What about Johnny?”
“I have a satellite connection. I’ll have Driscoll get me a phone you can call. Don’t worry; your father and the others are being cared for. I have two EMT-trained personnel on the security force. The worst thing is two of my people were killed, and Sherman is in bad shape.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry . . . what can we do from here?” Ro said empathetically.
“You already have. I hear the Marines are on their way. I’ve got to go.”
“What about the wounded attackers?” Crawford asked anxiously.
“We have a lead on who they worked for and have given that to DOD. Driscoll is calling me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rogers,” Ro said to a dead line.
Now we had another wait. It would be hours before the Marines reached Carmaya.