A Quiet Revolution

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© Copyright 2011 Thomas H. Lee.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-1-4269-5960-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-5961-5 (e)

Trafford rev. 04/19/2011

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

EPILOGUE

These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value.

---- Thomas Paine. The American Crisis

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It is with profound admiration and gratitude that I acknowledge the superlative performance of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Clandestine Service. On occasions during my Air Force career, my duties enabled me to interact with members of that service and, without exception, I found them to be intelligent, well educated, and highly trained professionals. I also found them to be very effective at what they did, and that is to continuously put themselves in danger while protecting our country from those who would do us harm. They are quite literally our nation’s first line of defense.

What I found most remarkable about these extraordinary individuals was their willingness and ability to live dual lives in order to perform their demanding and perilous duties in obscurity. As a result, they neither seek nor get public recognition for their accomplishments. And on occasion, in their opaque world, they die anonymously while performing those duties. To me, these individuals personify patriotism and heroism. I thank them, salute them, and wish them Godspeed.

My thanks also to Jackie Richards, author of the highly acclaimed political mystery novel, The Pinnacle Seven, for her friendship, generosity and encouragement as I was writing this novel. Discussions with her about the complex problems besetting our society and government were always enlightening. Throughout those discussions, we differed only in our fictional approach to resolving the problems. Analogously, her approach is like silk; mine more like sandpaper.

After years of doing my own editing, I realize I’m not as good at it as I need to be. With that epiphany—and in an effort to retain a modicum of my hair—I turned to Ellen Lee for editorial help. I’m grateful that she agreed to put aside her charitable work for a short time and tackle the daunting job of correcting my many typos and grammatical transgressions. Many thanks Ellen.

PROLOGUE

Washington D.C. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon as Raymond Charles, vice president of the United States, left his residence at the Naval Observatory and climbed into a waiting limousine. Morning, darlin’, he said to the attractive young woman in the seat next to him. You’re looking lovely as ever.

Good morning, Mr. Vice President, the woman said. Are you ready for your briefing?

No. You know I have to have my coffee first. As he spoke those words he retrieved the coffee mug in the holder in front of him and took two long sips. He then asked for the morning newspaper, which the young woman unfolded and handed to him. The first and last thing he saw was the bold headline: ‘VICE PRESIDENT TO BE INDICTED FOR TAX EVASION’. He stared in disbelief for several moments before grasping his chest in pain. With eyes still open, he pitched forward and stopped breathing. He was dead.

The young woman, his CIA briefer, leaned over and checked his carotid artery to confirm that fact. She then shouted at the Secret Service driver, Get us to GW Hospital as quickly as possible, the vice president’s had a heart attack. Behind the seatback she quietly pulled a thermos from her bag and poured the contents of the coffee mug into it. She wiped the mug clean and buried it in her bag along with the thermos and the newspaper. After excitedly urging the Secret Service driver to hurry, she texted on her BlackBerry and sent it.

The vice president’s passing was confirmed as soon as they reached the emergency room at George Washington Hospital. Doctors there were quick to pronounce him DOA, ‘dead on arrival’, from an apparent heart attack. Days later, after an autopsy, the coroner’s report stated that he had ‘died of natural causes, presumably a heart attack’. This surprised no one since the vice president had a notoriously bad heart.

It’s difficult to know which caused the most buzz in the nation that day: news of the VP’s demise or the revelation of his felonious financial dealings and egregious tax evasion. One thing was certain—many rich and powerful people were left to wonder how they would cope with this tragedy. The vice president was their fulcrum for leveraging the Federal government to do their bidding.

CHAPTER 1

Three Weeks Earlier—April 30th. Terry Lawson turned up the collar of his tan windbreaker and glanced at his watch. It was nearly 0800. He took one last look at the black wall of the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial and quickly walked away. He chose a path that took him past The Three Servicemen, a life-sized bronze statue of three young battle-scarred and weary Vietnam soldiers. Acting the tourist, Lawson paused a moment to take a photograph of the statue before continuing his walk toward the Lincoln Memorial. Minutes later a short balding man in an unbuttoned trench coat came onto the path behind him. The man walked briskly to catch up with Lawson. When he did, he fell into step beside him. After ignoring the intruder for several moments Lawson said, Good to see you Jack. But it looks like you’re still not getting enough sleep.

Hanley nodded. I’m not. Things have been hectic at Langley for too long now. Let’s grab that bench over there—the one facing away from the monument. I don’t want anyone eavesdropping on this conversation.

After they were seated, Lawson said, Why all the secrecy? Is there something more to Harrison’s reunion invitation than I was told?

Hanley smiled, pushed back his horn rimmed glasses, and said, Yeah, we’re going to do a little more than celebrate the 30th anniversary of our infamous withdrawal from Vietnam. Here’s a hint. John left the Agency but he’s still in the game.

Lawson looked quizzical. In what way?

Hanley smiled. You’ll find out shortly.

Okay, Jack, you’ve got my attention. What the hell is going on?

Still smiling Hanley said, "Before I answer that, let me tell you that a lot of us at Langley admire your integrity for resigning when John did. More of us should have. As for your question, all I can tell you is that we’ve been reading your commentaries in the Post, especially the ones opposing the Middle East war. We agree with everything you’ve said. It was certainly unnecessary, much too costly, and benefits only the defense industry and big oil."

Lawson nodded. Thanks for the positive review. Now who is, ‘we’?

That would be me and three old friends of yours from Saigon days; John, Jennifer and Phil Martin.

Lawson raised his eyebrows and nodded.

Hanley added, As you know, Phil replaced John as director of clandestine operations. Phil wanted to leave too, but John talked him into staying so he could keep tabs on this renegade administration.

Lawson nodded. It’s good Phil stayed. John and I had a long talk before we resigned. As you know, he couldn’t stand the arrogant and hypocritical crowd camped in the White House. He detested them for ignoring his warnings about a pending terrorist attack—an attack that ultimately resulted in far too many of our citizens being killed. The final straw for John came when the VP tried to pressure him into producing phony intelligence to justify his ill-begotten war. Since John is an authentic patriot, he told them to kiss his butt and went into retirement. I followed him out for the same reasons.

Hanley nodded. I know. And when John didn’t leave quietly those clowns in the White House deliberately leaked Jennifer’s covert status to their media friends. That vindictive and malicious act exposed her network in China and resulted in two of her field agents being executed. Three more are awaiting trial and will probably get the same sentence.

Lawson frowned. Yeah, I know…those bastards. If you read my commentary on the subject you know there’s no way our corrupt and broken justice system will ever prosecute them. But I hope John’s not inclined to let them get away with it.

Hanley nodded. He’s not, and he’ll have help in making it right. There are more than a few of us at the Agency wanting to see those criminals get what’s coming to them.

I like that kind of talk. Any chance I can help?

That’s a possibility. Interested?

Of course. I’m tired of writing about this greed-driven administration and having it fall on deaf ears. It’s like shoveling manure into the wind.

Hanley smiled. Good metaphor. But for any further discussion of this subject we need to get out of Washington. Harrison’s place is well out in the country, about an hour-thirty from here. I’m parked just across Constitution Ave. on 19th, so we shouldn’t have any problem getting out of the District. After that the driving time will be determined by the traffic on I-95.

Exactly where is John’s place?

You’ll see.

Big secret?

Yeah. You’ll love this. A short time before he left the Agency, John had a safe house built to his rather extraordinary specifications. It’s a beautiful place out in the remote Virginia countryside. Only a few of us know it exists. It doesn’t show up on any maps, land plats or GPS systems. The house sits on a heavily-forested four-acre lot overlooking the Rappahannock River. I think you’ll be impressed.

Lawson nodded. From what you’ve told me, his house should be about 75 miles south of here. That would be approximately 20 miles past Fredericksburg.

Hanley shook his head. Not bad, Colonel, for an over-the-hill IT guy.

Thanks, and stop calling me, Colonel. That was a long time ago.

Hanley laughed. Yes, sir.

Traffic on I-95 was unusually light, so Hanley unleashed his powerful late-model Lincoln Navigator. When Lawson mentioned he was exceeding the speed limit by 15 mph, Hanley just laughed and said, No problem, my friend. The special plates on this wagon permit me to drive as fast as necessary to carry out any and all of my highly classified responsibilities.

Lawson smiled. And you’re currently involved in a highly classified action?

Hanley nodded. "Absolutely. For your information what you’re about to be involved in has a classification beyond Eyes Only. Starting now, nothing we say is to be recorded on paper, or digitally, unless it’s uniquely encrypted."

Are your encryption algorithms courtesy of my old crew?

Probably, but I don’t know. We still compartmentalize. Now hold the rest of your questions until we’re at John’s place.

Lawson nodded and turned his attention to the beautiful scenery lining the highway.

After driving in silence for several minutes, Hanley exited I-95 and followed signs to U.S. 17 South. After driving sixteen miles south on Route 17, he pulled up to a red light at the intersection of 17 and U.S. 301. While waiting for the light to change, Hanley punched a speed dial number on a dash-mounted mobile. After a moment he spoke into a nearly invisible Blue Tooth. We’re passing Port Royal. See you in ten. He touched the ‘Off‘ button on the mobile and said, We’re nearly there.

Lawson smiled. Arriving in about ten minutes, I presume.

Hanley chuckled. Sorry. Didn’t mean to patronize you. Not everyone listens to what I say.

Three miles beyond Port Royal, Hanley turned left into an inconspicuously marked and heavily forested rural subdivision. The sprawling bedroom community was comprised of large lots with houses set well back from the roadway, often hidden by tall oaks, maples and white pines.

After driving a quarter-mile on a winding road, Hanley made a right turn onto an intersecting road. A short distance later the road bent to the left and headed in a northerly direction. Lawson caught a glimpse of a long pier protruding into an expanse of water and asked, Is that the Rappahannock?

Hanley nodded. Yeah. Pretty impressive, huh?

Yes it is. I had no idea it was so wide.

This stretch of the river is atypical. Two creeks feed into it near here creating a lake-like addition to the river’s main stream. The water in the basin is only about four feet in depth. That means deep-draft boats can’t port here. You’ll get a better view of the river from John’s place. He has 250 feet of waterfront.

Can’t wait to see it, Lawson said. Two minutes later he noted the road coming to a dead-end, and no driveway in sight. What happened, Jack, miss a turn?

Hanley just smiled as he steered the rugged SUV off the paved road onto a patch of matted grass. He headed straight toward a stand of trees some thirty yards in front of them. When they approached the tree line Lawson was able to make out a modest opening scarcely wider than the SUV.

Think it’ll fit?

I know it will, Hanley said, I’ve done this a few times before.

Lawson watched anxiously as the sleek black Navigator threaded its way into the trees and onto a primitive dirt road. The crude road widened as they approached a rugged two-piece steel gate. Hanley pushed a button on the vehicle’s sun visor and the twin gates obediently retracted into their stone gateposts. A short distance beyond the gate, the primitive road morphed into a paved driveway wide enough to accommodate two vehicles.

Lawson smiled and said, Think John has enough privacy here?

Yeah. But this place isn’t just private, it’s also ultra secure. You probably haven’t noticed, but we’ve been monitored ever since we came into the trees. Now relax, you’re about to see the ideal pad for a not-yet-fully-retired spook.

Moments later the SUV