The Threat

His people were gathered at a table behind the receptionist’s desk. Meilhamer had explained that given counterdrug’s limited manning and worldwide responsibilities, he’d divided them up among the assistant directors by geographic area. Asia/Europe was Marty Harlowe, major, Marine Corps, a rail-thin blonde Dan trusted on sight. He noticed she didn’t wear a wedding ring. South America/Caribbean was Luis Alvarado, a Hispanic Coast Guard lieutenant commander. The continental U.S. belonged to Ed Lynch, an Air Force major. Interagency liaison was Miles Bloom, Drug Enforcement Agency. Bloom was younger than Dan, fit-looking, with a heavy black mustache and leathery skin that testified to a lot of time in hot climates. The staff assistant, Elise Ihlemann, was an Army Guard sergeant. At the moment she was at the waddling stage of pregnant. All were in civilian clothes, suits or sport coats, corresponding office attire for the women.

Marty, Luis, Ed, Miles, Elise. Plus Bry Meilhamer, of course. The temptation was to think of the career incumbent as the exec and himself as the skipper. But permanent civilian staff might not have the same goals as those who’d return to the field, the fleet, when their tour was up. They looked impressed by him. Perhaps even afraid of him. The grapevine would have given them their new boss’s background. Even if it just hit the high points, he supposed it’d be an earful.

“Want me to summarize what Mrs. C put out this morning?” Meilhamer asked him.

“Thanks, Bry, I’ll give it a go.” Dan went over what he thought pertained to them, then flipped his wheel book closed. “I’d like to get briefed on what each of you has on his plate. What packages you’re working. What events we have to prepare for. I need someone to explain this counterdrug intelligence-plan initiative. That’s going to change how we do business. Miles, that fall into your area?”

“I can brief you on that, Dan.”

First names, right. “Come on into my office and we’ll talk. Bryan, you too. Marty, you available this afternoon? Talk about the Taliban and poppy production?”

The major said quietly that she’d be there.

* * *

Meilhamer and Bloom briefed him in a long two-on-one interrupted by many phone calls. Dan’s office was so small their knees bumped. The view through his half window was of construction vehicles down in the central courtyard. GSA employees in green uniforms were free-throwing bags of trash into blue Dumpsters. If he bent low and looked up he could catch a sliver of sky.

“We’re basically walking point for the administration’s initiative. That’s what’s coming down these days from the chief of staff,” Meilhamer said, looking down at the carefree janitors, not at Dan.

“I read something about us being a coordinating agency.”

“We’re not an agency, but yeah, we coordinate.”

“Which means?”

Meilhamer said patiently, “Getting military and law enforcement and State to work together to reduce interstate drug flows.”

“Interstate?” Dan said, puzzled. He’d thought their charter ended at the national border.

“He means international,” Bloom put in. He was sprawled back, clearly not impressed by having to brief his new boss. He also didn’t hew to the suit-and-sport-coat code. He was in shirt sleeves, collar open. His gray silk shirt was more stylish than what the others wore. “But we also keep tabs on the grass growers in the national parks.”

“So we coordinate military, law enforcement, DEA, and State?”

“And CIA, Customs, and Justice, and Commerce, and sometimes Agriculture. Whoever we need to reach out and touch.” Meilhamer wiped his glasses. “But let me make one thing clear: We coordinate, but we don’t command.”

“Who does?”

“Well, that gets fuzzy above the task force level.”

Great, Dan thought. He frowned at his notes. “Who exactly is our customer? And who’s our boss?”

“Boss and customer are the same guy: the president, through Mrs. Clayton. But there’s a lot of congressional involvement.”

He looked at his notes again. “NDIC?”

“National Drug Intelligence Center. Justice Department. Strategic intelligence fusion.”

Dan said okay, and what was the linkage to the military? Meilhamer said it went through three task force headquarters, in Key West, Alameda, and El Paso. “But Defense doesn’t really want to play.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a traditional mission, they look at it like a tar baby. But the national estimate’s fifty-two thousand drug-related deaths last year. Like Castro invaded and wiped out Galveston. You think we wouldn’t declare war the same day? But it’s sprinkled here, sprinkled there. And the corruption’s oozing in along with it.”

Dan frowned, trying to get his head around why the military didn’t want to participate. That didn’t make sense.