CHAPTER 6

He did not bother with going back to his residence when his people rushed him off the golf course. That was the reason Charles Whitman came strolling in the conference room, looking like a fashion designers nightmare. His stripped, button down, shirt and his plaid pants, topped off with the funny little beret on his head, was almost comical out on the greens. At the United States Consulate it was almost downright cartoonish. Whitman could really care less since he knew that no one would say a damn thing about it. That was just one of the perks of being the boss.

For the first twenty minutes, Whitman listened to some droll reports, from various advisors, about the developing situation. Finally, when he was sure he heard enough, he ran everyone out of the conference room with the exception of the fellow with the buzz cut that was sitting on the far end of the table. Right now, as far as Whitman was concerned, this man was probably the only one that really mattered. The guy had not spoken yet and, would not, until they were alone.

When the last person was out and the door was finally shut, Whitman looked to the man and said in his usual easy manner that went with the drawl of a man from east Tennessee, “ok Gary, the dog an pony show is over. You mind telling me what this is really all about? You wouldn‘t even have come in here if this was just some normal bullshit in the Arch.”

“Mister Ambassador,” Gary started out respectfully, “it is my duty to inform you that, we have some indication that this might be a TORPEDO event.”

“God all mighty,” Whitman snorted with a mild hint of irritation, “sometimes, I think that you believe everything is related to that.”

Moss remained business like, “Only the things that are, sir.”

“Let’s have it,” Whitman said, still agitated.

Whitman sometimes wondered how a guy could talk about stuff like this and make it sound so boring. When Moss was at his most exciting he sounded droll and could put you to sleep in all of ten minutes. He never seemed to notice this and Whitman felt sorry for the people who worked under him. Charles could barely tolerate it and he was the guys boss!

“Sir,” Moss said, “you just heard that we had one casualty in this incident.”

“Yeah,” Whitman nodded, “some marine at a second job. That right?”

‘Yes sir,” Moss went on, “she was injured and we believe she’ll be fine. We also believe she was compromised before this.”

Whitman rolled his eyes, “damn it Gary, why didn’t you send him..”

“Her,” Moss corrected the Ambassador.

“Whatever,” Whitman continued and was quite disturbed, “why didn’t you send, HER, home before now?”

Despite Whitman’s flare up, Moss remained his usual bland self, “because I thought it might be useful if handled correctly.”

“Near as I can tell Gary,” Whitman told him, “so far, you guys haven’t handled anything correctly. Did she have anything to do with the bomb?”

That actually caused a crack in Moss’ armor. He looked down, licked his lips, and then admitted, “we’re not entirely sure.”

Whitman let out a grunt of frustration as he got up from his chair and began to pace, “what are you sure of? What about the Germans? What are they doing right now?”

“As far as we can tell sir,” Moss stated with more confidence than before, “the same thing that we are, for the moment at least.”

Whitman kept right on pacing and rubbed his chin as he thought. That, “for the moment” was what disturbed him more than anything else. What Whitman really needed to know was, “does Horst know yet?”

“It does not appear so,” Moss replied.

“Yeah,” Whitman was not thankful for the small favor, “cause his grenadiers aren’t knocking down our goddamn doors yet. Horst is just looking for an excuse Gary, you do understand that, right?”

“Sir,” Moss sounded almost like a school teacher giving a lesson as he continued, “our best intel suggests that Horst is not even aware of TORPEDO. His actions seem to bare this out.”

Whitman’s eyes narrowed and he told Moss, “somebody over there does. The one thing I know about Germans is, they aren’t stupid. Just when you think they’ve done something dumb, they turn right around and prove you fatally wrong.”

“Mister Ambassador,” Gary said as he crossed his hands and acted almost as if it were of no consequence, “if you truly believe that then you only have one option here.”

There was no question of what Moss was talking about. Whitman shook his head and said, “we are not sending a drone to Beta Canaan, not yet.”

Moss shook his head, “if you believe the German’s are going to make a move then now is the time. If we wait, we give them a chance to find the drone and shoot it down before we can even use it. We might know what their assets are on the ground, here, sir. That doesn’t mean they can’t have a starship hiding somewhere in the outer system.”

“I know that,” Whitman replied adamantly. He was equally as firm when he said, “you have orders to follow Gary, well, guess what, so do I. Mine happen to come directly from the White House.”

“With all due respect Mister Ambassador,” Moss replied, “those orders are two years old now. The situation has changed since you first got them and it will be some time before we can get new ones. This could all be over with long before that happens.”

“All be over with,” Whitman quipped in an almost amused tone, “that’s the understatement of all times.” Silence returned as Charles paced some more and thought about this. When he stopped, he looked the Defense Intelligence Agency man in the eye and said, “how far has TORPEDO gotten?”

“We’ve had contact with the target,” Moss replied in a matter of fact way, “but it has not yet been successfully infiltrated.”

Whitman grunted again. He then sighed and asked in a very agitated tone, “and we’re sure that Barton was behind that first bombing? Absolutely, with no doubt at all?”

Moss never changed his demeanor as he said, “with zero degree of error sir. Not only is the evidence conclusive but, he’s the only man that could have.”