Best Intentions
Chapter 17

Mark tried to speak with the Israeli government, but they were outraged at his actions and weren’t in a mood to discuss the situation. Mark had thwarted their attempt at retribution and in the process two of their tanks had been completely destroyed with no effort by CJ’s robots. Finally they relented and he was put through to their Minister of Defense.

“Look, Minister Baran, I did what I thought was necessary. You should have consulted with the UN before sending in those tanks.”

“Mr. Richards, you have interfered in an internal security matter. We will be speaking with the Secretary-General, to register a complaint about your actions! You had no right to intercede on the behalf of Palestinian terrorists!”

He had no idea that much of their bluster was just an act to try and get more concessions out of him. The Minister had a secret. Unbeknownst to Mark, the deaths of the terrorist rocket team members had been observed. A small squad of men, members of the Israeli military anti-terrorism division had been moving in on the rocket launch position. They had concealed themselves in a gully when the explosion occurred and escaped detection by CJ’s scanners.

“We expect reparations for the loss of those tanks, Mr. Richards.”

It galled Mark, but he just replied, “I will abide by the decision of the United Nations Security Council.”

The Israelis knew that the Palestinian’s deaths had been an accident. They were more interested in the fact that Mark Richards and his machines were not infallible. They would keep the incident a secret, but the information could be useful in future negotiations with him. The cost of the tanks was negligible compared to that. And as none of their soldiers were injured, the government would not make too much of an issue out of the affair. Besides, no one would loose any sleep over a few more dead terrorists.

Back in Washington they looked at the incident in another light altogether.

Stone called a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and they sat in silence watching a recording of the battle unfold on the screen.

“Well, what do you think about that?” asked the president.

Admiral Michael Cullen was the first to respond. “Well, Mr. President, that is the first overt use of technology we’ve seen by Mark Richards that is of a purely military nature.”

“We have been in contact with him through the United Nations regarding this incident. He maintains that those… things are not military machines. He calls them ‘rescue drones’ and says they were adapted to that purpose from some sort of mining robots. He still insists that there is no military hardware on board that ship.”

“Rescue drones,” snorted the vice president. “They sure as hell weren’t rescuing those tanks!”

“No, he says that he had to improvise when the Israelis crossed the border. Richards says that they are designed to save people in times of disaster. At least, that is what he claims.”

“If it is true that they are not military hardware, Mr. President, we can be grateful for that.”

“Why is that Admiral Cullen?” asked the vice president pointing at the now blank screen. “Didn’t you see what they did?”

“That, Mr. Vice President, is exactly my point. With the efficiency that those machines showed against the Israeli tanks,” he stopped to shake his head at the thought, “which are as I’m sure everyone here knows, no pushovers, I don’t even want to contemplate what types of military weaponry technology of that level could create!”

“We’ve all seen the footage of the confrontation with that suicide bomber in New York,” said the vice president, rising from his seat, speaking fast and gesturing with his hands. “Reports from the scene say the laser that was used bored over one hundred and fifty feet into solid bedrock in a fraction of a second, and the accuracy from over three thousand miles up in space was beyond military precision. Admiral Cullen, our military possesses some of the most advanced technology on the planet. What Mark Richards calls tools I call weapons, and ones that make ours look like bathtub toys. What we could do with tools like those!”

The Commandant of the Marine Corps General James Conaway who sat down with a cup of coffee he had poured himself from the service on the sideboard spoke up next. “We’re ignoring the real problem here, gentlemen. Mark Richards has taken direct action this time. He didn’t consult the United Nations. He didn’t call in the peacekeeping troops. He handled the matter personally. We may be looking at a fundamental shift in his attitude. Where will he next direct his wrath?”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head, General Conaway,” said President Stone. “When Mark Richards’s goals do not coincide with ours or the UN’s, will he attempt to impose his will on the rest of us? It may be just a matter of time. The question becomes; will we be able to resist him if and when it does?”

“Mr. President,” said Admiral Cullen, “I’m just not sure what if anything we can do about it.”

“I think it’s time we took some drastic action. Get me General Chilton, commander of the U.S. Space Command.”

“Yes, Mr. President, right away.”

“Good call, Roger,” said Vice President Foster. “Let’s see if our Mosquito can take down Richards’ Elephant!”

Henry Scott got on the phone to Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado. Within two minutes General Kevin Chilton was on the line with the president.

“General Chilton, we need you here for a meeting tomorrow regarding a discussion we had some time ago. I’m sure you know the subject. If there is anyone else that should be included, you have my authorization to have them attend as well.”

“Certainly, Mr. President. The Commander of Vandenberg Air Force Base, General Steven Pell should attend as well, since all the current launches are from his facility.”

“Good, we will get in touch with him. Arrange to get to Washington immediately. We will expect you at 10 AM tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, Mr. President. I will be there.”

With that the president hung up the phone and turned to his aid.

“Henry, I want you to contact General Steven Pell at Vandenberg. Tell him to hop a jet to Washington tonight. We need him here for the meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I will contact him immediately.”

He went to his office and got on the line to Vandenberg.

“Vandenberg Air Force base, how may I direct your call?”

“This is Henry Scott, chief of staff to President Stone. I need to speak with General Pell immediately.”

“I’m sorry, the general just left for the evening. Just one moment and I’ll try to catch him at the main gate.”

General Pell’s car was just about to exit the south gate when the sergeant of the watch stopped his driver.

“General Pell,” he said leaning down near the open window. “Sir, there is an urgent call for you from the White House. You can take it in the guardhouse.”

Grumbling under his breath, something about slave drivers, the general got out of the car and went inside to the phone.

“This is General Pell.”

“Ah, good general, they caught you. This is Henry Scott, chief of staff to President Stone. The president and vice president need you to come to Washington for an important meeting.”

“Can you tell me what this is all about, Mr. Scott? We are in the middle of a dozen launches and I have been on duty for fourteen hours. Tomorrow will be just as hectic and I need to get some sleep.”

“General, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you. They will need you here tomorrow for a 10:00 meeting. That’s all I can tell you. Please arrange priority transportation immediately.”

He hung up the phone without even waiting for the general’s response.

“Sloppy way to do business,” the general thought as he got back into the car. His driver turned the car around and took him back to the command complex. When he got back to his office he called his wife and told her he wouldn’t be home tonight. Experience had taught him to keep a packed overnight bag handy. Within two hours the general found himself sitting in the second seat of an F-18 Super Hornet; flying at Mach 1.3 and with external fuel tanks and a mid-air refueling, they would be in Washington airspace in less than three hours.

The next morning both General Chilton and General Pell were escorted into the briefing room.

“What’s this meeting about, Kevin? I’m not a fan of all this cloak and dagger stuff!”

“Sorry, Steven. Let’s wait for the others to arrive before we discuss anything.”

President Stone was the next to enter. The two officers stood and saluted their commander in chief.

“I want to thank you for coming on such short notice. The vice president will be here soon with the two other participants. Would you like anything while we wait? I’m going to have some coffee.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I could use a cup.”

“How about you General Pell, some coffee?”

“No thank you, sir. I’m fine.”

Turning to an aid, the president ordered two cups of coffee and some pastries as well.

The vice president arrived just after the aid had been dismissed and walked in with two men in civilian clothes.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Let me introduce Scott Warren and Tom Delaney. They will be the liaisons between the White House and Vandenberg during the operation.”

“Since you informed us about Mosquito and its capabilities, General Chilton, we have had several three-man teams training on top secret mission simulators. One team in particular has excelled in all areas. We feel that they are ready to go.”

“Mr. President,” asked General Pell. “What is this all about, what is Mosquito?”

“Why don’t you explain, General Chilton,” said Vice President Foster.

“Certainly, sir. Mosquito is the code name of a prototype stealth spacecraft. The craft will deliver a team of men to Mark Richards’s ship up there in orbit, undetected.” He turned back to the vice president. “I assume the difficulties of getting the men aboard has been solved, Mr. Vice President?”

“Yes, we think we have that last wrinkle worked out, general,” he replied, holding up the tablet computer. “This contains more information on that ship than I believe Mark Richards ever intended for us to have, including the interior layout.”

“What does this plan have to do with me sir?” Then it dawned on him. “Oh, I think I see. The spacecraft needs to be launched, and launched in a way that no one pays any attention to it. Disguised as a satellite, I guess. Am I correct?”

“That’s close, General Pell,” admitted the president. “We intend to use a modified Atlas rocket to send our stealth ship into orbit during a normal satellite launch.”

“But why, Mr. President? Mark Richards has done a lot of good for the world. It doesn’t make sense to risk the lives of the men selected for this mission. Why take the chance of antagonizing him for no reason?”

“Mark Richards has become much more demanding and militant recently. I guess you didn’t hear about the incident in Gaza a week ago, did you?”

“No sir, I have not.”

“That’s not surprising as it has been suppressed as much as possible. Show him the recording we received, Doug. Maybe that will convince him that this action is not only necessary, but vital to our national security.”

They played the battle between the Israeli tanks and the humanoid robots. General Pell watched with a grim look on his face. When it ended and they heard the final words Mark Richards spoke they turned the screen off.

“Well general, what do you think about that?” asked Vice President Foster. “Mark Richards has shown that he will take direct action against military forces. It’s hard to fault him for his actions in this particular case. The Israelis and the Palestinians can’t get along no matter what you do. The issue is; he had the robots ready for action even before the incident. He claimed to the United Nations that they are designed as rescue machines and not military devices. We believe he must have been thinking along those lines for some time now. What can we do if he decides to take more action unilaterally? He could have an army of those metal monsters up there or possibly something even more powerful. We just can’t afford to wait and find out.”

The president took over the discussion.

“That isn’t all, general. We’ve been keeping an eye on that ship’s activities, as much as we are able,” said President Stone. “Something is being built on Pallas, which I am told is one of the biggest asteroids. Something that is big enough for us to see with our telescopes.”

“Has he said anything about them to the United Nations?”

“According to Lisa Smith they know nothing about them, general.”

“Do we know what the purpose could be?”

“We have no evidence, but from things that have been said, it is possible they are shipyard facilities. We believe the construction relates to the production of, what does he call that stuff, John?”

“Neutron-steel Mr. President,” said John Berger. “That is the material the ships hull is composed of, General Pell.”

“Yes, the neutron-steel that Mark Richards claims is invulnerable. Mr. Richards said the ship had suffered damage. That part of the story appears to be correct. We have images of the patches in the hull. Spectroscopic analysis confirms the patches are conventional steel alloys. The rest of the hull cannot be analyzed. That will be our teams’ way in; through one of the patched modules.”

“We have no way of knowing how long it will be until those facilities become operational and begin to produce the substance,” said the vice president. “Once the hull damage has been repaired, we may have no way to get on board.”

“Why do you assume it is a shipyard? Maybe he’s just mining like on that other asteroid.”

“No general, we don’t think so. His machines have barely put a dent in the contents of 216 Kleopatra in the few years they have been at it. We can think of no good reason for him to start mining another asteroid. Pallas is so much larger. The gravity, even though it’s still low, would make mining more difficult. Besides, he didn’t construct any special structures to mine the first one. He just removed material from the surface and sent it into one of the ship’s modules.”

“Have you thought about asking him what he’s doing?” the general asked, though he already knew what they would say. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Sure, just ask him and tip him off that we know what he’s up to. You are a military man, General Pell. Does giving an enemy our tactical information sound like a good idea? That is, I assure you, one mistake we will not make. We need every advantage we can get. Our window of opportunity is closing,” said the vice president. “If we miss it, we may not get another chance.”

General Pell knew it was useless. He could hear the excitement in Vice President Foster’s voice. It was the sound of a man who never served his country, but had no problem sending soldiers off to die. He made one last attempt to appeal to the president.

“But the consequences if the mission fails Mr. President, the consequences. You could trigger just the kind of actions that you worry about just by trying this. It would be bad if it fails, but what if it succeeds and your men have to kill Richards? Have you thought about what the computer might do? It considers him its Commander!”

“General Pell, we have given this considerable thought. Between the spacecraft and the men, our chance of success is excellent. We will be proceeding. Please return to Vandenberg. We will let you know when the selected team is ready to go.”

“Remember general,” Scott Warren warned while giving him a cold look. “This meeting is beyond top secret and should not be discussed with anyone. The consequences if this information should get out could be, unfortunate.”

“Don’t threaten me son, I’ve seen your type come and go for longer than you’ve been alive. I’m a soldier and know how to follow orders.”

The vice president spoke up to calm things. “That’s enough, Mr. Warren. I’m sure the general knows how sensitive this information is. We will be in touch General Pell, have a pleasant trip back to California.”

With a deep sense of foreboding, General Pell left the White House and was driven back to the Air Force Base for his return flight to Vandenberg.

“God, I hate those CIA types. I should resign my commission,” he thought during the trip, though he knew he would never do that. Duty was all that mattered. “I’ll just have to hope to hell they know what they are doing,” he thought.

Back at the White House, President Stone expressed some reservations. “Doug, what if General Pell is right? We have no idea what that computer is capable of on its own.”

“Don’t worry, Roger. These men are the best. They will capture Mark Richards alive.”

It was three weeks before the CIA operatives Scott Warren and Tom Delaney showed up at Vandenberg. General Pell had begun to hope that the whole idea had been dropped, but it was not to be.

“Hello again, General Pell,” said Scott Warren as they entered his office without bothering to knock. “We have a go on the operation. The men and equipment are en route as we speak and will arrive later on today. We’ve come to brief you on your role in our little operation. Here’s what we need you to do.”

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