The Hunted
Chapter 1
In this section of St. Michaels, Maryland, a caravan of three black SUVs attracted little attention. People walking along South Talbot Street enjoying the unseasonably warm November weather gave them only a passing glance. They were used to the comings and goings of these people and though some of them resented the intrusion it caused into their small little community, they realized it helped to inflate their property values and infused money into the local economy.
Only the drivers and the security detail paid any attention to the crowds on the street. They expected no trouble but they were highly trained professionals and they took nothing at face value.
No one on the street would have noticed that the Buick in front of the SUVs or the Lexus that followed them were part of the caravan. Their job was to ensure no other vehicles came between them and their charges. The men in the back seats of the SUVs paid no attention to what was taking place outside the windows. Their minds were on other events taking place in the world, events that needed their attention.
The caravan continued past the shops and restaurants. Though not as busy as during the summer season, they still attracted a sizable crowd. Most of those living here were fifty and older who had done well and retired early or were the heads of large corporations. Most would define themselves as conservative Republicans. Families with young children were a rare sight in this community.
A short way up the street the black SUVs turned left onto Railroad St, becoming Railroad Avenue before turning into Mt. Pleasant Road. Here they took a left onto Church Neck Road where the yellow signs on the utility poles said No Outlet. This wasn’t true, but only the locals knew this and it kept many of the tourists out.
The Lexus didn’t take the turn but instead pulled a quick U-turn and parked on the side of the road. The driver and his passenger would insure that no unexpected guests followed the SUVs.
The Buick led the way down Church Neck Road. If they’d had their windows down, they could have smelled the salt air drifting in from the Chesapeake Bay. They saw the sign for Misery Road on the right but continued past watching in the review as the SUVs took it. They would continue down to where New Land Drive and Church Neck Road intersected and wait there until they were contacted for the return trip to Washington.
The SUVs continued straight on Misery Road. On the right was a large plowed field stretching off in the direction they were headed. The left side of the road was lined with trees, hiding the fields that stretched out behind them. There were few houses on the road.
The SUVs continued until they reached a bend in the road and here they turned into a drive passing by a post with the American Flag fluttering. A tall one-hole birdhouse stood nearby, though if one were to look closely, they would have seen a lens sticking out of the opening in the front recording all that took place.
A split-rail fence ran along the side of a gravel driveway and on the other side of it was a thick hedgerow of small trees and shrubs.
To anyone just driving by it would seem a quiet, peaceful, unguarded place but if any but expected guests would have attempted to enter they would have found themselves quickly confronted by men standing in the shadows, men who took their jobs very seriously. There were those among them who had experience in guarding the President of the United States and only those who were expected could have hoped to get by.
The men in the SUVs were here for a meeting that could decide the course of the United States for the next decade, maybe even the next century.
At the end of the drive was a beautiful Georgian-style home made of red brick. The SUVs followed the drive left, around to the back of the house where the driveway sloped down and to the right. Here, green well-manicured lawns ran away from the house for a hundred yards before ending in the tall seagrass on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay.
Two large L-shaped docks with boats and a yacht could be seen stretching away from the shore. The owner of the house often used them to entertain guests. They would sail out onto Broad Creek and from there out into the wide expanse of the Chesapeake itself.
As with everything he did, he insured his privacy with security and that’s what the other boats were for. The yacht was his aircraft carrier and the boats were his destroyers. As was the case in front of the house security, though unseen, was just as tight along the shore.
As they reached the bottom of the slope, three large doors opened and the three black SUVs drove through, the doors closing behind them. From the road, it would have appeared as if no one were home. It was the way these men wanted it to look. It would not do to have the press learn of the presence of these men here.
When the press was needed, it would be informed. These men were veterans of dirty, hard-fought, political campaigns; they knew how to use the press to their advantage, how to cull them, stroke their egos, play them and get the stories they wanted out before the people. Two of the men were United States Senators. There were others in the group that had been in Congress or held influential posts in past presidential administrations and one had been next in line for the highest office in the United States.
They were all men who loved power and were accustomed to getting what they wanted. They expected no less with the issue that now confronted them.
There was not a man there, and that included those in the security detail, who did not believe that what they were about to undertake was necessary to protect the United States and their way of life.
They were members of a tightly-knit group called Americans To Ensure Freedom or ATEF. They were powerful, influential people and they were well-funded.
It would never have occurred to them that they should bring their concerns to the press, to have an open discussion in which Americans citizens could take part. Their trust in the people was limited. They didn’t trust the people to do the right thing. This was because they were convinced the right thing could only be what they wanted.
The front doors of the vehicles opened and two men in each of them stepped out first. The underground garage was expansive with an elevator to the right and a staircase leading up into the residence on the left. Two men went into the elevator and two others took the stairs. The other two men stood facing the doors through which they had just entered.
Two minutes later the men waiting by the SUVs opened the doors and nine men, three in each vehicle, exited and quickly headed for the elevator, going up in two groups.
The elevator opened onto a hallway with an oak floor and paintings that few would have been able to afford. They walked to the end of the hallway entering a room that had windows from the ceiling to the floor, allowing them a view of the wide expanse of lawn, seagrass, docks, and the bay beyond.
The morning sun reflected off the water lighting up the room they now occupied. There was a large mahogany table in the center of the room that sat fifteen comfortably and the nine men each took a chair.
The chairs were made from the same wood as the table. They were straight-backed and handcrafted. Across the room was a fireplace made of polished red and green slate. The owner liked to sit here on a winter's evening with a glass of cognac and think of the people who first built this house in the early eighteen hundreds.
The men now occupying it were old men. All men who could have, when they retired, divested themselves of the chains of the political world and settled down to a life of quiet reflection, golf and travel. The idea had never even entered their minds.
They were players on the world stage. All were Americans except one, a man in his mid-fifties. He was the youngest by a decade. He was a man born to middle-eastern nobility and was used to being shown respect, whether it was warranted or not. He was dressed in a suit and tie instead of his accustomed dress. Neither he nor the men he was with wished to be noticed.
These same men had sold the American people the war in Iraq. They did it with a media-blitz of false information; broadcasting it over and over again until the people believed it. It had been carried out so well that on the day it was launched eighty-three percent of the American people supported it.
Many powerful men, men who owned and controlled the information that came out of the countries and capitals around the world, were among their closest friends. It was this group of men who decided what news the people needed to hear and they bent and slanted that news in a way that best served those interests.
Seven of them now looked to the two men who had arranged for them to be here. Not one of them considered for a moment that the operation they were about to put into place would fail.
The man who spoke first was pale. He had thinning white hair and wore wire-rimmed spectacles. He looked like a man who didn’t smile much and when he did most people viewed it as a smirk.
“Okay, we all know why we’re here. The situation as it stands is unacceptable to us, to the Israeli Prime Minister, and our friends in Saudi Arabia,” he said, nodding towards the man from the middle-east.
Seven heads nodded in agreement. “This situation should have been taken care of in 2010 before this administration let Iraq slip from our hands. The American people will not accept another war without a good reason. That was made very plain to us recently with the situation in Syria. If we’re to get their support we have to play to their patriotism.” This man, who had never served in the military, emphasized the word patriotism.
The Senator, a man whose thinning white hair gave his forehead a broader look, considered a maverick by many and who had once sought the office of President said, “Agreed! Once this is done, pushing through a bi-partisan resolution to use all force necessary to resolve this situation will be easy. The people will be enraged and will not question it.”
Another man, one who had received a presidential pardon, interjected. “We will need to silence any critics in the media. Pressure will have to be put on the editors to control their people.”
The first man spoke again. “We already have people in place that will ask the right questions of the media as the story begins to break. It’ll begin slowly but in a short time and with the help of social media, it will spread like wildfire and that’s when we must strike when the fire is hot and the people are scared and angry. That’s when they will respond in the manner necessary. Goering was not stupid gentlemen, he was just on the wrong side.”
He paused, looking across at the two men who were veterans of media manipulation and who knew everything there was to know about the men who owned it. Most of those men were already in favor of the actions that were about to be undertaken, those that weren’t would be controlled or silenced.
Speaking to the two men he said, “That is already being handled, right gentlemen.” They nodded their heads, letting the others know that what this man said was true.
“Good!” The pale-faced man spoke again, this time to the Senator from South Carolina. “Are the bank accounts ready to be delivered to our friends in Washington with the proper identification?”
Everything is set. Inside of an hour of the close of the operation, the accounts will be delivered and the world will know the truth.”
A chair shifted and they all turned to look at their counterpart from Saudi Arabia. Speaking in a voice that was deep with emotion he said, “My government has been generous in funding this operation, gentlemen, and though in terms of money it is of little importance, the outcome of this operation could not be more important. The balance of power in the middle-east will be determined by the outcome.”
He looked at each of them, in turn, to make sure he had their attention, to make sure they understood this was of the utmost importance. “This operation must not, will not fail, gentlemen. The American people did not buy the use of chemical weapons in Syria. They did not buy it because it did not affect them. This time we will ensure they understand how they have been affected. This time it will be the people who scream for Washington to respond with righteous force.”
An observer would have seen them sit a little straighter in their chairs, would have noticed their jaws tighten and their eyes take on a different light. It was the same change an observer sees on the countenance of a drunk who has just been given a free bottle of booze. Except these men were not drunk with that, but with the power they wielded.
The man designated as their leader spoke again. “Then we’re ready, gentlemen. Operation Inshallah, code name Storm, will commence. Our operatives in the field will be notified of the final details and the evidence will be procured. Each of us knows what his role will be over the next three weeks. We must not deviate from it. If contact needs to be made, it will be through a currier. There will be no phone calls, no e-mails, no social media. Are we all very clear on this?”
The pale-faced man looked to each of them in turn and they each nodded their understanding. “Okay, gentlemen, we will meet back here three weeks from today and you can be sure,” he paused before continuing, “the mood of the country will be quite different. Now, who would like a drink?” They all smiled.
