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W. E. B. Griffin - Presidential Agent 07
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
I
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
II
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
III
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
IV
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
[FIVE]
V
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
VI
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
[FIVE]
VII
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
[FIVE]
VIII
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
[FIVE]
[SIX]
[SEVEN]
[EIGHT]
[NINE]
[TEN]
[ELEVEN]
IX
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
X
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
[FIVE]
XI
[ONE]
[TWO]
[THREE]
[FOUR]
[FIVE]
[SIX]
ALSO BY W. E. B. GRIFFIN
ALSO BY W. E. B. GRIFFIN
HONOR BOUND
HONOR BOUND
BLOOD AND HONOR
SECRET HONOR
DEATH AND HONOR
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
THE HONOR OF SPIES
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
VICTORY AND HONOR
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BROTHERHOOD OF WAR
BOOK I: THE LIEUTENANTS
BOOK II: THE CAPTAINS
BOOK III: THE MAJORS
BOOK IV: THE COLONELS
BOOK V: THE BERETS
BOOK VI: THE GENERALS
BOOK VII: THE NEW BREED
BOOK VIII: THE AVIATORS
BOOK IX: SPECIAL OPS
THE CORPS
BOOK I: SEMPER FI
BOOK II: CALL TO ARMS
BOOK III: COUNTERATTACK
BOOK IV: BATTLEGROUND
BOOK V: LINE OF FIRE
BOOK VI: CLOSE COMBAT
BOOK VII: BEHIND THE LINES
BOOK VIII: IN DANGER’S PATH
BOOK IX: UNDER FIRE
BOOK X: RETREAT, HELL!
BADGE OF HONOR
BOOK I: MEN IN BLUE
BOOK II: SPECIAL OPERATIONS
BOOK III: THE VICTIM
BOOK IV: THE WITNESS
BOOK V: THE ASSASSIN
BOOK VI: THE MURDERERS
BOOK VII: THE INVESTIGATORS
BOOK VIII: FINAL JUSTICE
BOOK IX: THE TRAFFICKERS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK X: THE VIGILANTES
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
MEN AT WAR
BOOK I: THE LAST HEROES
BOOK II: THE SECRET WARRIORS
BOOK III: THE SOLDIER SPIES
BOOK IV: THE FIGHTING AGENTS
BOOK V: THE SABOTEURS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK VI: THE DOUBLE AGENTS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
PRESIDENTIAL AGENT
BOOK I: BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT
BOOK II: THE HOSTAGE
BOOK III: THE HUNTERS
BOOK IV: THE SHOOTERS
BOOK V: BLACK OPS
BOOK VI: THE OUTLAWS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA • Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia • (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi–110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Copyright © 2011 by W.E.B. Griffin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published simultaneously in Canada
ISBN : 978-1-101-55222-3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
http://us.penguingroup.com
26 July 1777
The necessity of procuring good intelligence is apparent and need not be further urged.
George Washington
General and Commander in Chief
The Continental Army
FOR THE LATE
WILLIAM E. COLBY
An OSS Jedburgh First Lieutenant who became director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
AARON BANK
An OSS Jedburgh First Lieutenant who became a colonel and the father of Special Forces.
WILLIAM R. CORSON
A legendary Marine intelligence officer whom the KGB hated more than any other U.S. intelligence officer–and not only because he wrote the definitive work on them.
RENÉ J. DÉFOURNEAUX
A U.S. Army OSS Second Lieutenant attached to the British SOE who jumped into occupied France alone and later became a legendary U.S. Army intelligence officer.
FOR THE LIVING
BILLY WAUGH
A legendary Special Forces Command Sergeant Major
who retired and then went on to hunt down the infamous Carlos the Jackal.
Billy could have terminated Osama bin Laden in the early 1990s
but could not get permission to do so.
After fifty years in the business, Billy is still going after the bad guys.
JOHNNY REITZEL
An Army Special Operations officer who could have terminated the head terrorist of the seized cruise ship Achille Lauro but could not get permission to do so.
RALPH PETERS
An Army intelligence officer who has written the best analysis of our war against terrorists and of our enemy that I have ever seen.
Marc L
A senior intelligence officer, despite his youth, who reminds me of Bill Colby more and more each day.
Frank L
A legendary Defense Intelligence Agency officer who retired and now follows in Billy Waugh’s footsteps.
OUR NATION OWES THESE PATRIOTS
A DEBT BEYOND REPAYMENT.
I
[ONE]
Highway 95
80 Kilometers North of Acapulco de Juárez
Guerrero State, Mexico
1110 11 April 2007
“Oh, shit! The fucking Federales!” the driver of the off-white Suburban said when he saw the roadblock ahead.
“Our esteemed associates in the unceasing war against drugs,” the man sitting beside him said. “Try to remember you’re a diplomat.”
The driver of the car was Chief Warrant Officer (3) Daniel Salazar, Special Forces, U.S. Army. The man sitting beside him was Lieutenant Colonel James D. Ferris, also U.S. Army Special Forces. The two men in the back of the white Suburban were Antonio Martinez and Eduardo Torres, both of whom were special agents of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration.
Lieutenant Colonel Ferris was an assistant military attaché of the United States embassy and Mr. Salazar was an administrative officer of the Office of the Military Attaché of the embassy. Both held diplomatic passports, and had been issued by the Mexican government a carnet—a plastic card the size of a driver’s license—further verifying this status. Martinez and Torres did not have diplomatic status but had been issued a carnet identifying them as DEA agents working in Mexico with the blessing of the Mexican government.
Everyone was in civilian clothing. Ferris and Salazar were armed. Both carried Colt Model 1911A1 .45 ACP semiautomatic pistols in high-rise holsters concealed by their loose cotton shirts. They were also armed with fully automatic 5.56mm AR-15A3 Tactical Carbines, now resting on the Suburban’s third row of seats.
The Mexican government didn’t like at all the fact that Americans were running around Mexico armed with pistols and what were actually submachine guns. But the laws of diplomacy are immutable. Diplomats are not subject to the laws of the country to which they are accredited.
Martinez and Torres were not armed. The theory was that because the DEA agents were working closely with Mexican law-enforcement authorities, including and usually the Policía Federal, these agencies would provide them with all the protection they needed.
The subject of weapons had been a bone of contention between Lieutenant Colonel Ferris and the Honorable J. Howard McCann, whom President Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen had six weeks before appointed as his ambassador plenipotentiary to the Mexican Republic.
Sympathetic to the feelings of the Mexicans, Ambassador McCann had told the military attaché—Colonel Foster B. Lewis, MI—to make sure that Lieutenant Colonel Ferris was made aware that he agreed with the Mexican position that American diplomats should not go about armed absent a clear situation in which they might be in genuine danger.
When Colonel Lewis had a chat with Lieutenant Colonel Ferris about this, Ferris replied in a somewhat blunt manner perhaps to be expected of a Special Forces officer.
“Fuck him. I have no intention of getting blown away by some drug lord’s banditos without a fight.”
“Colonel, you have been informed of the ambassador’s desires.”
“Colonel, if you order me not to be armed, I will of course obey. I will also get on the horn to General McNab and request immediate relief.”
Colonel Lewis’s military superior was Major General Amos Watts, the Defense Intelligence Agency’s commander. Lieutenant Colonel Ferris’s immediate military superior was Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, the Special Operations Command (SPECOPSCOM) commander.
When Lewis reported the substance of his conversation with Ferris to Ambassador McCann, the ambassador considered the political ramifications of the impasse, the most important of these being that General McNab and Secretary of State Natalie Cohen were, if not friends, then mutual admirers.
It had been the secretary’s idea—rather than a proposal from one of her subordinates—to have Army Special Forces personnel sent to Mexico to train the Mexican military and police forces so that they could better wage their war against the drug cartels.
Ambassador McCann’s predecessor had protested the idea as best he could and had been overruled. The secretary was in love with her own idea.
Ambassador McCann’s predecessor had reported the substance of that conversation to McCann during the turnover.
“She told me that she had learned from General McNab that the primary role of Special Operations—despite all the publicity that Delta Force and Gray Fox get—is the training of indigenous forces to fight their own battles, and their success in doing so is judged by the amount of fighting the trainers have to do themselves, with no fighting at all being a perfect score. She said that seemed to her exactly what the situation in Mexico required.
“She also told me that she had prevailed upon General McNab to send her the best trainers he could, and that he had—‘reluctantly, we’re friends’—agreed to do so. So that’s what Ferris and his people are doing here—they’re on loan to the State Department for ten months. Ferris has been down here three.”
Ambassador McCann had told Colonel Lewis, “I’ll give this matter due consideration and make a decision about it later.”
Although Colonel Lewis considered himself a loyal subordinate of Ambassador McCann, he could not help himself from thinking that that was the sort of response one could expect from a career diplomat: Never decide today that which can be put off until tomorrow—or even later.
Whenever Lieutenant Colonel Ferris knew that he and Danny Salazar would be traveling through what he privately thought of as “Indian Territory,” accompanied by members of the DEA, or sometimes the FBI—the latter known as “legal attachés” and with the legal attaché afraid to defy Ambassador McCann, they also went unarmed—Ferris elected to arm himself and Danny with AR-15A3s in addition to their .45s. He had done so today when he headed for Acapulco.
He reasoned that if they were bushwhacked by drug scum, and the DEA or FBI guys happened to pick up the .45s that he and Danny happened to drop while grabbing their A3s, and that extra firepower kept everybody alive, he would hear nothing from Ambassador McCann.
The roadblock on the highway ahead consisted of six black-uniformed Federales operating out of a Ford F-250 6.4L diesel crew cab truck, which Colonel Ferris suspected had been paid for by U.S. taxpayers.
One of the Federales, an AR-15A3 slung from his shoulder, stepped into the road and held up his hand, ordering the Suburban to stop.
“There’s a CD plate on this,” Danny said. “Jesus H. Christ!”
A corps diplomatique license plate on a vehicle was usually enough to see the passengers therein waved through roadblocks.
“Make nice, Danny,” Ferris said, “remembering that we are guests here in sunny Meh-hi-co.”
Danny slowed the Suburban to a stop, simultaneously taking from his shirt pocket his diplomatic carnet and holding it up.
Ferris, doing the same, ordered: “Carnet time, guys. Smile at the nice Federales.”
The Federale who had blocked the road approached the car.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” Ferris said in Spanish, holding up his carnet. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Out of the truck, please,” the sergeant said.
“Sergeant, I am Lieutenant Colonel James D. Ferris, an assistant military attaché of the U.S. embassy.”
“Get out of the truck, Colonel.”
“I demand to see the person in charge,” Ferris said as he opened the door and stepped to the ground.
He saw a Federale lieutenant standing with the others.
“Over there,” the Federale said, nodding toward him.
“Thank you,” Ferris said.
“Everybody out,” the Federale said.
&
nbsp; Ferris walked toward the teniente.
“Good afternoon, Comandante,” Ferris began.
Ferris knew that a comandante actually was a captain. But he had learned over the years that people are seldom offended by a promotion, even one given in error.
“Comandante, I am Lieutenant Colonel James D. Ferris, an assistant military attaché of the U.S. embassy.”
The tenientes did not reply, but three of his men, two second sergeants and a corporal, walked toward the Suburban.
“This is my carnet,” Ferris said.
There was a burst of 5.56mm fire.
Ferris spun around.
Salazar and Torres were on the ground. Martinez, a surprised look on his face, was on his knees, holding his hands to his bleeding abdomen. Then he fell to one side.
“You murdering sonsofbitches!” Ferris shouted.
Another second sergeant struck Ferris in the back of his head with a pistol.
When Ferris fell to the ground, the second sergeant who had pistol-whipped him quickly pulled Ferris’s wrists behind him, fastened them securely with “plastic handcuffs,” and did the same to his ankles.
The teniente pulled a black plastic garbage bag over Ferris’s head and closed it loosely. Four of the Federales picked up Ferris and loaded him into the rear of the Suburban.
The teniente and one of the second sergeants then got into the Suburban, and with the second sergeant driving, made a U-turn and headed in the direction of Mexico City. The others got into the Ford F-250 and followed the Suburban.
W. E. B. Griffin - Presidential Agent 07