Win Some, Lose Some: An Owen Carmichael Adventure

By Jeff Hutchison

How do you beat anyone who, with so much to live for, chooses to die?

Navy Captain Owen Carmichael, currently residing in London, but soon to be returning stateside to serve as the Director of Operations at the National Counterterrorism Center in the DC Beltway, knows that terrorist attacks will continue until someone solves that riddle. The London Tube bombings during his tenure at the Royal College of Defence Studies in London have made him realize that counterterrorism is a whole new playing field, with stateless young men just as willing to die for a few victims on a bus as for thousands in the World Trade Tower.
Not warming to the roll of “Minister without Portfolio,” Carmichael, together with Claire Trexler, a former cryptologic analyst, and NCIS Agent Gates Burgoyne launch an off-the-books investigation to identify and find a mystery terrorist who they believe to be tied to both 9/11 and the London Tube bombings. Carmichael must leverage his Royal College friendships to get assistance from European intelligence and law enforcement agencies in this quest.
Carmichael aged 52 and a recent widower, now has little to look forward to except eventual retirement. That is, until he meets Realtor Sheila Feherty, who not only shows him the perfect house to buy, but also shows him how to again have a home and a happy relationship.
And, that is, until a young man, formerly known as Cody Truman, but now going by the name Mustafa al-Benghazi appears on Carmichael’s radar. Mustafa may be the terrorist Carmichael is seeking. Even more worrisome is an apparent link between CIA Case Officer, Austin Gomez, and a Saudi Prince Fakiri, as the two of them seem to be assisting and protecting Mustafa, thereby facilitating his next terrorist plan.
What are the odds that Carmichael and his team can find Mustafa before he executes an attack on American soil?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Hutchison
• Release date: Nov 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310544118

Jeff Hutchison

Captain Jeff Hutchison, U.S. Navy (Retired) served the Department of Defense for more than 40 years as a naval officer and as a consultant. He commanded three of the six ships he served in at sea, and ashore his assignments involved Intelligence, Counterintelligence, Special Operations, and Antiterrorism. He was a Member of the 1998 course at the Royal College of Defence Studies in London.

Book preview

Win Some, Lose Some

An Owen Carmichael Adventure

By Jeff Hutchison

Copyright © 2014 Jeff Hutchison

Distributed by Smashwords

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This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictiously.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

About the author

Chapter 1:

London

December 2005

Captain Owen Carmichael, U.S. Navy, slipped quietly into a pew at St Martin-in-the-Fields, just as the Vicar started the program. Never late for anything in his life, Carmichael easily subscribed to his navy's rule that ten minutes early is on time; on time is late. Yet, the captain had lingered in Trafalgar Square just a few minutes too long, enjoying a last look at one of his favorite London sites. During his year in London, he had enjoyed frequent afternoons browsing the National Gallery, great receptions at the Canadian Embassy on the corner opposite St Martin, and quite a few of the famous concerts that Sir Neville Mariner had originated. These opportunities were among the perks that came with living in the city during a wonderful leisurely year in his assignment as the senior U.S. Member at the Royal College of Defence Studies.

The College was the Ministry of Defence's senior war college, established in 1927 by Winston Churchill, who had begun it with just a handful of officers. The college was located in Seaford House, a 19th Century London townhouse with a posh Belgrave Square address. Originally serving senior military and diplomatic officers from the British Commonwealth, it opened its doors over the years till it had acquired a truly global membership. Now, in 2005, the one-year course boasted nearly one hundred members; 40 British military officers or senior diplomats, 15 from Commonwealth countries, and 43 overseas members including three colonials, as they liked to refer to the Americans.

The attendees were called members rather than students because the college was the last of the truly gentleman's courses, while its counterparts in the States had become academic diploma factories. Not the college. It retained Churchill's vision of providing a place for members to stand back from immediate professional concerns, to read, think, challenge conventional wisdom, and develop ideas in a highly stimulating and conducive atmosphere—and, more importantly, to allow the UK's future leaders to establish personal contacts and friendships with counterparts worldwide. All this was accomplished without overburdening the members with too much academic work. To further the cementing of personal relationships, the assignment included a very popular membership at one of London's premier golf clubs.

Not a few prime ministers, and yes, dictators, had come through the college. The MOD selected the countries to invite. In doing so, MOD subordinated moral judgments about the governments to recognition of the value of establishing personal relationships wherever Britain had strategic interests. And, of course, the sun never set on the British Empire. So invitations were broadly extended—and the personal relationships were developed, nourished, and, as possible, exploited. When the MOD sent an invitation, they made clear the expectation that the invitee would send only persons who already were, or would soon be, among the country's military or diplomatic leadership.

Most of the invitees complied with that expectation—except for the United States. For a variety of reasons the Americans kept superstars at home and used the RCDS nominations as a consolation prize for plodders whose careers had been faithful and competent but who almost certainly would not become the chiefs of their services or ambassadors. From time to time, this was a minor irritant to some college Commandants, but the special relationship remained vibrant enough overall to tolerate this slight.

Captain Carmichael knew he was one such plodder, but he was not in the least offended by the occasional light jabs to that effect. He was savvy enough to be aware of his status and thankful for the opportunity. He had long had the habit of making the best out of any circumstance. He had served mostly in Destroyers, the smaller, lighter, faster ships supporting the mighty Aircraft Carriers that were the heart of any battle group. In addition to being smaller, lighter, and faster, Destroyers also tended to be underfunded and undermanned, so he had served in more than a few that were going through troubled times. The good news was that he was a survivor; he had generally managed, over a year or two—with lots of help, of course—to bring his ship back into fighting form. The bad news was that survivors were more likely to be tarnished by their association with troubled ships than they were to be rewarded. It tended to keep one in the middle of the pack. So, instead of matriculating at the prestigious Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island in the wake of Nimitz, Halsey, and Spruance, Carmichael got London. He had no regrets; a year in London was great consolation prize!

By special arrangement that went back probably to Churchill's time, the college held convocation at the end of each course at St Martin-in-the-Fields. The Vicar spoke . . . and spoke . . . and spoke. On reflection, the convocation had probably become a bit dated. In the beginning, when all the course members had been British or at least Commonwealth, an Anglican Church service had probably seemed unquestionably appropriate. But with nearly half the members from places such as Hungary, Russia, China, Indonesia, and so on, it might now be perceived as offensive by some. But being the gentlemen and ladies they were, they sat more or less quietly as the Vicar droned on. He was neither better nor worse than the typical lecturer they had listened to all year. But that experience had made them sharp critics of anyone who stood before them. The fidgeting in the pews was due to the fact that members would start scattering for home and their next assignments as early as that evening. The fun was definitely over, but the friendships they had formed would endure.

It had been a great year. Members sat in lectures from 9 am to 1 pm each day. The rest of the day could be spent in research, maybe in the library but more likely on a golf course or at the Horse and Groom, a small pub in the mews just behind the college. Carmichael had been lucky enough to rent a small flat in the same mews, so it was his local pub as well. As one of the few single members on the course, he needed no more than the three-room flat. The college discouraged assignment of single members because the calendar for the year was heavily encumbered with social events. In Carmichael's case, the deficiency had been overlooked because he had not been single when his orders were written.

He had married in mid-career and enjoyed a few really wonderful years with Beth, a lawyer he had met during a shore duty assignment. She was somewhat older than Owen and had succumbed to a massive stroke at just sixty-three. No warning; just gone before she hit the floor, according to the medical examiner. While there had been no illness or other warning, her sudden and unexpected death was not a total surprise. She could not find anyone in her family tree that had ever lived to retirement, even though there were no notable hereditary illnesses in the family.

When Beth died, he thought his life was over. But he really enjoyed the college and especially the special group of friends he was developing among the world's finest military officers and diplomats.

Fiona Jewel, a beautiful brown-haired pixie and British civil servant, was another notably single course member. She and Owen fell in pretty naturally to even out tables and couples groups at college social events. Her home was near Oxford for convenience as she had spent the past two decades working either in Cheltenham at GCHQ (Government Communications Headquarters, the British counterpart to the National Security Agency) or at High Wycombe. Oxford was just between them. She knew she would be returning to GCHQ as one of their most senior managers after the course, so she did not want to give up her home. While attending the course, she stayed with her mother at the family home in Uxbridge—closer but still over an hour by train each way to the college. That was tolerable, except for the evenings when social events ran quite late. And Fi liked joining a small group of mates at the Horse and Groom an evening or two each week. So the rumor mill started churning when Fi began staying over at Owen's flat in the Mews. On a couple of early occasions, some fueled by warm beer, some more sober, Owen and Fi considered making something of it. But as a relatively new widower, Owen was not quite ready for it. And Fi had long ago learned that screwing around at work was bad for business. And she fully expected to be doing business with a number of her peers at the college. So they bonded as friends: close enough to travel and party together, share confidences, and as necessary, his flat. But that was the extent of their relationship.

The college Commandant was their only neighbor in the Mews. His small flat did not compare favorably with the spacious quarters usually enjoyed by lieutenant generals, but it was part of the college property and served well enough. The commandant and his wife entertained the members in throughout the term in their home, but the general's proximity enabled him to see much more of Owen and Fiona and to spend considerably more unplanned casual time with them as the year progressed. He watched their relationship initially with concern but always with interest, until he was satisfied that it could not in any way sully the college. However, he did nothing to quiet the rumors, believing a little gossip was good for coffee hour. He kept their secret all year.

The golf was not solely for fun as there could be a professional aspect to it as well. The college arranged matches with former members who might still be on active duty or who had retired and as grey beards retained substantial but unaccountable influence with MOD and Parliament. Sometimes, CEOs of defense-related industries were invited. Besides expanding the social circle, it allowed the British officers to audition for eventual second careers.

The British were extremely security conscious and rightly so. They had survived decades of troubles with the IRA. When Carmichael had come to London the previous January, he had wanted immediately to report for duty to the college in order to terminate his official travel and not waste vacation days. Given his own experience, he reported to the college wearing his Service Dress Blue uniform and was immediately admonished by the Commandant for running about town in uniform. You don't want to be making a target of yourself!

Carmichael thought that was a bit over the top, but took it to heart. Uniforms could be brought to the college and left in lockers. There would be only a few official ceremonies and photo events; otherwise, dark business suits were the uniform of the day.

Understanding British business dress was a real challenge for a naval officer for whom business casual meant hemmed rather than frayed Levis. These were people who wore blue blazers with ascots instead of ties to denote casual, while otherwise combining very spiffy £1000 suits with the most garish combinations of shirt and tie that offended even his limited sense of style. More often than not, the shirt would also have a noticeably frayed collar and/or cuffs that stood out like campaign ribbons on a uniform. He noticed this not just at the college but also when walking the streets in the city, so it was not just military officers in mufti. He never did decipher the message but suspected it had something to do with the rapidly expiring perks of the upper class.

Another curious note upon entering the college was the posting each day at the front door of the weather forecast for Bermuda. Sunny, Cloudy, Stormy, and Hurricane were the choices on the board, with an arrow indicating the current forecast. Why the members should care about Bermuda's weather remained a mystery till a few weeks into the course, when they received their security lecture. Naturally, this forecast had nothing whatsoever to do with weather. It was a code system for terrorism alerts. Sunny: conditions normal. Cloudy: indications or warning of potential terrorist activity, but no change in security measures. Stormy: definite indications or warning of terrorist activity together with an upgrade in security measures. In the case of the college, this meant armed guards at each entrance and a disabling of the swipe access at the external gates. Every member had to be positively identified and the gates manually released. Hurricane: terrorist attack in progress or believed imminent. It gave the members a whole new appreciation for Bermuda's weather as it ranged almost always between Sunny and Cloudy. For six months, there was no threat of storm or hurricane.

Until July. On Thursday, the 7th, just as members were gathering for the morning lecture, three nearly simultaneous explosions on London Underground trains disrupted the day's events. Within an hour, a fourth explosion blew off the back end of one of London's famous double decked buses. By the time the lecture was concluded, word was circulating that terrorists had attacked London with four brazen suicide attacks and more to come. Some fifty-six Londoners had died and more than 700 were injured. Neither members nor staff personnel were involved, as they had already been at the college when the carnage erupted. All four explosions had occurred more than five miles to the north and east of the college. Confusion understandably reigned for a few hours, but the day's events were recognized as terrorist attacks immediately. They had occurred, as they usually do, when