Code 13 Read online

  Another confused look on her pretty face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Get this. During the Obama administration, the Department of Homeland Security put in orders for 1.6 billion rounds of hollow-point bullets.”

  “Did you say billion?”

  “Yes, I said billion. Not million. Billion.”

  “And did you say hollow point?”

  “Yes, I said hollow point. The most lethal type of ammo you can imagine.”

  “Whoa. That sounds like a ton of ammo for a federal agency that isn’t even military.”

  “That’s a mild way of putting it. At the height of the Iraq War, the U.S. Army fired less than six million rounds per month. So that’s less than seventy-two million rounds per year. Put it this way. Homeland Security bought more ammunition than the military uses in a war. In fact, that’s enough ammunition to sustain the U.S. Army in a hot war for twenty years!”

  “I don’t understand.” She paused. “Why would Homeland Security need all that ammo?”

  “Bingo. You just asked the billion-dollar question. You know there are only three hundred million Americans. Who are they going to shoot?”

  “Wait a minute. Where did you get this information? You didn’t get this from one of those right-wing conspiracy sites, did you?”

  P.J. chuckled. “Not unless you call Forbes magazine one of those conspiracy sites. Forbes reported on this on May 11, 2013. The Denver Post reported on it on February 15 of 2013. Fox News reported on it. But again, most of the mainstream media ignored it.”

  Victoria checked her cell phone again. “I see the Forbes article. This is scary. I mean, again, why do these agencies need all this ammo?”

  “I’m sorry to have to be right. And you’re right. It’s scary. And the public has no clue.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Her green eyes danced in the dim light, displaying an enticing mixture of curiosity, fear, excitement, and admiration. A moment passed.

  “And you discovered this during your research on the drone project?”

  “Yes. Every bit of it. I’d heard rumblings of some of this stuff, but I didn’t believe it. Or maybe I didn’t want to believe our government is turning the Fourth Amendment on its head. And it’s not just Homeland Security. It’s the Bureau of Land Management, the IRS, the EPA. And it’s not just the feds. State and local cops are just as bad. I ran across this article in the New York Times from June 2014 about war gear flowing to police departments. They’re all arming themselves to the teeth. The Times article talked about even small police departments going crazy buying armored personnel carriers, M-16 rifles, grenade launchers, silencers. You name it. You start researching, and one thing leads to another.”

  “This is mind-boggling.” Victoria looked at him, her leg brushing against his knee again. “But again, why, P.J.? Why are they buying all this ammo?”

  “You’ve again asked the right question, Victoria. I can’t prove this, but to me there’s only one explanation.” He looked into her face. “To be prepared for martial law.”

  “Martial law?”

  “Yep. In the event of an economic collapse. Americans already own so many guns personally, because of the Second Amendment, that these government agencies, in my opinion, feel like they need even more guns and bullets than Americans own. That’s the only explanation. In theory, these agencies would have enough ammo to take on the U.S. Army.”

  “You think a collapse is coming?”

  “How can it not?” He started to touch her hand but refrained. “With the national debt load exploding every day, it’s not a matter of if it’s going to collapse, but when. The law of mathematics will catch up with us.”

  She didn’t respond at first but nodded her head and lowered her gaze out at the street before asking, “Okay. Another question.”

  “Fire away.”

  “I’m concerned too. But what does all this have to do with your legal opinion to the Secretary on the Navy’s drone project?”

  “Don’t you see it?”

  “I think I do, but tell me,” she said.

  “Look. Here’s the problem. The manufacturer has already built a couple hundred of them. They’ve loaned them out to the Navy just to whet the command’s appetite. But they’re going to build so many of these drones that they’ll be like a swarm of locusts in the skies. Part of the problem is that they aren’t just going to be flying out over water. The bigger part of the problem is that they’ll be flying over land. Over cities, towns, interstate highways, the countryside, you name it.”

  “That’s a spooky thought.”

  “No kidding. You’ll see them all the time. They’ll be flying below the cloud cover in a lot of cases. And because of what the federal government claims is a ‘Constitution-Free Zone,’ these drones will be flying up to one hundred miles inland.”

  Victoria sat there a second, looking stunned. “So the game plan is for these drones to fly over domestic U.S. soil?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve seen the plans. That’s why they want the clearance on the posse comitatus angle.”

  “Well, there’s something I don’t quite understand. Since these drones are flying over domestic soil, why isn’t the proposed contract with Homeland Security? Why not just a smaller contract with the Navy, then sell the drones to a domestic federal law enforcement agency?”

  P.J. nodded his head. “That’s a great question. And the answer is because of political ramifications.”

  “What political ramifications?”

  “It’s easier to sell the contract to Congress if it’s sold to the Navy than to Homeland Security. Why? Because it’s getting sold primarily on the need to combat maritime terrorism. The domestic surveillance part isn’t emphasized as the main part of the contract. That’s a secondary part, on paper.”

  “By maritime terrorism, do you mean they say they need the drones to stop terrorists slipping into country by boat?”

  “Well, that’s part of it. But the threat posed by maritime terrorism is even more dangerous than that. Did you ever read that novel The Black Sea Affair?”

  “Oh, yes. I read it in Justice School because it was written by that ex–Navy JAG officer. Somebody Brown. I can’t remember his first name.”

  “That’s right. The guy was in the JAG Corps back in the ’90s. But do you remember what the book was about?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was about this Russian freighter that got loose on the high seas, and these Islamic Chechens were building a hydrogen bomb in it. And the American president sends a Los Angeles–class submarine to go hunt it down.”

  P.J. nodded. “That’s right. Brown’s novel calls attention to this dangerous issue of maritime terrorism. See, most Americans aren’t aware of it. It’s almost impossible to keep track of a ship on the high seas unless you have another ship following it constantly, or unless that ship activates its GPS transmitter. So it could sail right into New York or San Francisco harbors with an atomic bomb on board, detonate the bomb, and no one would know what’s coming.”

  “Now that’s a nightmare scenario,” Victoria said.

  “Of course it is. That’s what Brown addressed in the book. The problem is that radar can’t see way out in the ocean. In fact, radar can only shoot out about seven miles. In Brown’s book, nobody could find the Russian freighter on the high seas, and everybody worried that it was headed to London or New York Harbor. So they went looking for it to try to sink it.”

  “Yes. I remember that. It was a pretty tension-filled scenario.”

  “That’s right. It was also a realistic scenario. And even though the public as a whole isn’t aware of it, Congress has been discussing this disastrous scenario for years.” He took a swig of beer. “For years, neither the Navy nor the Coast Guard could do anything to defend against it. Until now.”

  Her eyes lit up. “So this drone contract—”

  “Exactly. With the sheer numbers of drones that would be manufactured under this contract, the Navy can send a swarm o
f drones hundreds of miles out over the ocean, in flight patterns parallel to the coastline, and vastly increase our visual coverage of the seas.”

  “Ah. So therefore, the drone project expands coverage of coastal waters to better fight against the possibility of maritime terrorism, because it enables the Navy to see many more ships approaching the American coastline.”

  P.J. nodded. “Precisely. The Navy can physically see more ships approaching the U.S. coast from miles out because of cameras on the drones, plus these drones also have radar in the nose cone. With these little drones buzzing out there over the ocean 24/7, we can extend effective radar coverage to fourteen, twenty-one, twenty-eight, thirty-five miles, even more. So this is what makes the contract so politically attractive—the notion, finally, of protecting the coasts against some unknown ship sailing into Boston or New York with a hydrogen bomb. In fact, that makes the contract very attractive for lawmakers.” P.J. looked into her eyes. “But there’s a catch.” He paused again.

  “There always is. I’m listening.” She touched his hand. “Tell me about it.”

  “The catch is that when Homeland Security caught wind of this potential contract, they decided they wanted in on the action. So at first they floated proposals for their own contract. But both the administration and the Congressional Budget Office axed the idea, on the grounds that two major government contracts of this magnitude would be too expensive and unmanageable.

  “But the Secretary of Homeland Security, Bob Bradshaw, wouldn’t take no for an answer. So he pressed some of his buddies in the senate to draft language that would require, as a stipulation for funding, that the Navy would fly the drones over this so-called Constitution-Free Zone and secretly share the data with Homeland Security. In fact, there’s language in the legislation that will allow for real-time camera feeds and data feeds from the Navy to Homeland Security headquarters when the drones are in flight over U.S. soil.

  “So, yes, this project is technically a U.S. Navy command. For drones patrolling the coastline and flying over open waters, the Navy will be running the show without interference from Homeland Security. But for flights over this Constitution-Free Zone, everything gets shared between the Navy and Homeland Security. They’re talking about setting up a joint ops center with Navy drone pilot-controllers and intelligence centers, but the intelligence centers would be manned by Homeland Security officers, and they would have authority to direct overland surveillance.”

  The wind whipped up again, and Victoria brushed back a strand of auburn hair from her forehead. “I think I get it. They sell the contract politically as a Navy project, with half really for DHS, so it’s an easier political sell.”

  “Bingo. You’ve got it. That’s why they want the posse comitatus opinion. Because these Navy drones are going to be used for domestic police actions. In fact, I think it will primarily become a DHS operation before it’s over with. They’re going to finish off whatever’s left of the Fourth Amendment.”

  He stopped and gazed at her, and she did not break eye contact.

  “So what are you going to do?” She spoke softly.

  “I don’t know. That’s why my stomach is twisted in knots. I mean, in theory, they’re asking me for an independent legal opinion. But billions of dollars are riding on this contract. There’s no doubt in my mind they want a rubber-stamp opinion saying all is well from a legal standpoint and there would be no violations of posse comitatus. But it’s not just posse comitatus I’m worried about. I’m more worried about the Fourth Amendment.”

  “Excuse me. Would you all like anything else?”

  The waitress was standing over P.J.’s shoulder. Hopefully she hadn’t overheard their conversation. Even if she had, she wouldn’t understand it. “No thanks, Marilyn. You can bring the check.”

  “I have it right here for you, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced at the bill and waited until Marilyn walked back into the bar.

  “She’s ready to close out,” Victoria said.

  “Yes, it’s closing time.” He checked his watch, then extracted sixty dollars from his wallet, put the money in the check holder, and slid it to the middle of the table. “So what do you think I should do?”

  “Can I ask a question?” A soft smile.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you remember our oath as officers?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you remember about it?”

  “That we took an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

  “Then let your oath be your guiding star. That’s my advice for you.”

  Her words had a soothing effect, even if his stomach was still knotted. “I like that.” He felt himself smile. He checked his watch again. “It’s late. We’d better go. May I walk you to your car?”

  “I’d love that.”

  He stood and got her chair for her, gently touching her back and guiding her off the patio.

  “Thank you, sir.” Marilyn grinned when she looked at her nice-sized tip.

  “My pleasure.” He nodded at Marilyn, then led Victoria out onto the sidewalk.

  The streetlights revealed the outlines of a few cars still parked alongside the bar. But since it was a weeknight, the street had mostly cleared.

  “Where are you parked?” P.J. asked.

  “I’m the blue Volvo. Right across the street, just past the park.”

  They turned left, walking on the sidewalk along the street, past the causeway park. The moon was three-quarters full, casting a dim white glow along the sidewalk to supplement the streetlights at the corner of every block down Royal Street.

  “Nice car.”

  “Thanks.” The Volvo beeped and flashed when she pressed the automatic unlock. “It’s brand new. I treated myself when I got my orders here. I figured you’ve got to drive around Washington in style.”

  A cool breeze wafted in from the river. He stepped to the driver’s door and opened it for her.

  She looked into his face and smiled, her hand on his arm.

  Time froze.

  A starry magic descended on the moment, intertwined with a strand of awkwardness.

  “P.J., I had a great time. Thank you for the evening.”

  “It’s been my pleasure. Let’s do it again.”

  “I’d like that.” She started to get into the car, then stopped and turned to him. “Look, I know this is a tough time for you. But I also know you’ll make the right decision. And no matter what you decide, I want you to remember one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No matter what, I’m here for you, P.J.”

  She pulled his face to hers. When their lips touched, the awkwardness yielded to the magic. She drew herself close to him, and the starry canopy above seemed to surround them in the moment.

  At some point, at a moment that came all too soon, their lips separated. She turned and, with a continuous smile crossing her face, got into the driver’s seat.

  She closed the door, rolled down the window, and started the engine as her headlights lit the street.

  “Bye.” She smiled at him, blew him a kiss, and drove away.

  He watched the Volvo’s taillights disappear out of view as the car hung a left from Royal Street onto King Street. Then he turned and walked back into another gust of cool breeze.

  He pulled out his keys to unlock his black Audi, which was parked by the pub.

  His phone sounded in his pocket. A text message.

  He smiled. She missed him already! He’d give her a hard time tomorrow about texting and driving. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

  The smile on his face vanished when he read the text.

  Hey, you! It’s me! I’ll be at the Pentagon Wednesday visiting with ADM Brewer and getting ready for my new duty station. Wanna go for a run? Like the good ole days? 1300? I can swing by Code 13, then we can go down to the Pentagon gym, change, and you can show me all the sights in Washington.

&
nbsp; Can’t wait!

  XO, Caroline

  Great. He did not immediately respond. Now what?

  He got into the Audi, cranked the engine, and drove off into the night.

  WEST SPRINGFIELD APARTMENTS

  BURLING WOOD DRIVE

  WEST SPRINGFIELD, VIRGINIA

  LIEUTENANT VICTORIA FLADAGER’S APARTMENT

  With a smile helplessly plastered on her face, Victoria walked up the concrete stairway to the second deck, inserted the master key, and turned it clockwise.

  Even with the BAH allowance, the extra pay she got for housing based on the high cost of living in the Washington area wasn’t enough for a junior officer to purchase real estate. Military housing, which was scarce, got snapped up so quickly that most naval officers resigned themselves to living in local housing.

  So she had rented a modest but functionally adequate apartment in West Springfield, some thirteen miles from the Pentagon, and had tightened her budget to adjust to Washington living.

  The lack of affordable housing was one reason she decided to treat herself to the new Volvo. Just because her apartment wasn’t five-star didn’t mean she couldn’t splurge a bit on a car.

  At the moment, however, financial budgeting was the last thing on Victoria’s mind.

  He had pulled her against his muscular, six-foot body, and as she ran her hand through his short brown hair, he’d closed his blue eyes, and she closed hers.

  His cologne. His kiss.

  Wow.

  Perhaps she’d been a bit aggressive by initiating the kiss. But still . . . wow.

  Regardless of who initiated it, he certainly cooperated. Oh, did he ever cooperate!

  Victoria locked the door behind her and plopped down on the brown leather sofa in the living room, a smile still plastered on her face, her heart bubbling like a quart of festive champagne.

  There was only one problem.

  She had already heard the rumors. The Navy JAG Corps was a small community, and officers in the JAG Corps talked. It was odd that he had never mentioned her. Even tonight, with his mind on the drone project, she thought he might have mentioned her. But no, it was like she was the taboo subject, the elephant in the room.