War and Forbearance: Volume 1: Duty, Honor, Money

By J. F. Cronin

Colonel Neil Sedak, like others in uniform, is not seen as a hero. A nonstereotypical army officer without the hard edge expected of those sworn to defend America, Sedaks lifetakes a different turn after the events of September 11, 2001 lead him into a downward spiral. But when his former boss asks Sedakto meet with him, suddenly everything changes again.

Jerry Brynes, now working for a defense contractor, reveals a shocking clandestine plan instigated by several people in the WhiteHouse: America is going to pivot its attention from Afghanistan to Iraq, start a war, and then repair, replace, or improve theinfrastructure destroyed during the battle. After Brynes convinces Sedak to retire and start a competitive security fi rm that caters to the smaller companies that also want in on the deal, troops and contractors invade the Middle East where combat is just beginningwithin a chaotic environment fueled by depravity, greed, murder, and heroism. But as the clock ticks away and more lives are lost,everyone wonders if America can ever win a war based on an illegal premise.

War and Forbearance shares a powerful tale about modern warfare, its corruptions, successes, and troubling effects on its participants as America stumbles into Iraq in a post-September 11, 2001 world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491799024

J. F. Cronin

J.F. Cronin is a retired marine general who has written extensively about the state of politial-military affairs. He currently resides in a fishing village on the Oregon Coast.

Book preview

1

A LTHOUGH THOSE SERVING IN the military were generally showered with acclaim, it was never hinted that Colonel Neil Sedak, like others in uniform, was a hero. The over-the-top term used when speaking of those in the military was not used to describe him, because he was a nonstereotypical army officer with none of the hard edge expected of those sworn to defend America. He was obese, so much so that the belt holding up his trousers cut a paunch that billowed above and below it. His pear-shaped upper body made a poor first impression, and that was too bad because with sad, brown, almond-shaped eyes, a curled-up nose, and perfectly straight white teeth, he was oddly good-looking. He had a full head of thick black hair, and his smooth olive skin showed no hint of a beard, unusual for a person of Lebanese descent. Soft facial features and pouty lips gave him a cherubic air, in stark contrast to the chiseled images of the warriors depicted on army recruiting posters.

Having suffered through a series of toe ailments that limited physical activity, he was desk bound and liked it. Whereas fellow officers at the Defense Logistics Agency at Fort Belvoir, Virginia, used their lunch hour to work out and try to stay in physical shape, Neil used the time for which it was intended. He ate—and often overate. His weight and shape were the reasons his superiors requested that he wear civilian clothes to work. They wanted to hide his army affiliation. Even as efforts were made to keep him out of sight, no attempt was made to remove him from the army rolls because he had a skill set that couldn’t be replicated. He was a one-of-a-kind officer, and that made him untouchable.

After graduating near the top of his West Point class, he had been given his pick of any occupational specialty that the army offered. Whereas other high-ranking students had sought the challenges of the infantry, he had elected to become a logistician. For more than twenty years, he had not left that specialty and had become one of the army’s experts in systems acquisitions. He had the power to allocate millions of dollars with the swipe a pen and was responsible for some of the army’s largest procurement and fielding programs. Once he was promoted to program manager, defense companies and their lobbyists fawned over him, and his network of contacts in the defense industry ran into the top tiers of management.

His early career track hinted that one day he would become one of the upper-level commanders at the giant logistics agency, but he didn’t aspire to a high-ranking military position. He merely wanted the title such a job would provide as résumé fill. His intent was to parlay his rank and expertise into a seven-figure civilian salary when he retired.

But 9/11 sidetracked his plan. When America moved to a war footing, requests for supplies and equipment were showered on the Defense Logistics Agency, or DLA. So much was needed so quickly that the only way to get the job done was to cut corners and disregard the meticulous paper trail that normally followed transactions. The speed at which requisitions were filled resulted in verbal commitments with paperwork to follow, and Neil, forsaking his usual thoroughness, joined everyone at the DLA in doing what needed to be done in rushing material to the war.

Having to maintain an impossible schedule, with never enough time, he found his workday extending to sixteen hours, and he became lax. The slide started slowly, but when a contractor to whom he had just awarded a big-dollar contract left an envelope of one-hundred-dollar bills on his desk, he was insulted and angry that someone thought he could be bought. His mistake was that he didn’t give the envelope back. Overnight, the defense industry learned that Neil Sedak could be bought. He tried to rationalize it—awarding contracts was his job, and some contractor would inevitably profit—but he knew those who paid the best. Many gifts followed, some so excessive that schemes had to be developed to hide the money trail.

When a defense contractor sold him a six-month-old silver Porsche 911 Carrera for $1,000, the numbers didn’t make sense, no matter how legitimate the deal looked. The car followed the same pattern as that used for a condo and a boat. He bought things at absurdly low prices and resold them, often to the people who originally had sold the items, at exorbitant profits. He was living the good life when a whistle-blower exposed him. Transactions that had been secret started to come to light, and he quickly annulled those deals that he could. Cover stories were developed, but many of his dealings were a matter of record, and his case was referred to the DLA inspector general. The resulting investigation didn’t find that he had used a gun to hold anyone up, but the findings did indicate that he was dirty.

The accusations and innuendo troubled him, and after drowning his sorrows at a bar not too far from his office, he ignored his drunkenness and tried to drive home. After crossing the center divider on US Route 1, he was pulled over with a blood alcohol reading that was twice the legal limit. The DUI changed his life.

Two months after completing the mandatory driver’s course that came with a DUI, Sedak couldn’t believe that he had messed up his life. Sitting at his desk, from which he could see Potomac River, he was visualizing his retirement and trying figure out how he was going to live on a colonel’s pension. The job offers he had received prior to the investigation and the DUI had dried up. He was considered damaged goods, and companies were reluctant to take a chance on him. Suffering with the thought that he had thrown away millions of dollars in civilian salary, he couldn’t understand why he had made such a foolish mistake. On one hand, he was a pariah; on the other, he was an officer who had just committed $100,000,000 to acquire a command and control system that would tie the war efforts together. He could think of no one else who could have done that, and he leaned back in his high-backed leather chair to give himself smug self-congratulations.

His secretary opened the door to his office and interrupted his reverie. Jerry Brynes is on the phone. Brynes was his former boss.

He picked up the phone. Sedak. He was curt in answering so that it would be understood that he was still an important man.

Neil. This is Jerry. Happy birthday.

He was smart enough to know that defense industry executives, even friends, didn’t make social calls without wanting something. Brynes was the senior vice president of business development for the defense contractor Warburton, and it was a good sign that such an important player in the defense industry had called on such a shaky premise.

I’m in town for the next couple of days, Brynes continued. How about getting together?

I’m good for a late lunch tomorrow. Does that work for you?

Yes, Brynes said. The usual place.

Yes. I’ll see you at three o’clock.

The conversation had been terse so that it wouldn’t raise suspicions among his outer office help, people who had been put in place to keep an eye on him. He wanted no more whistle-blower complaints.

*

At two fifty, Sedak walked into the Old Ebbitt Grill on Fifteenth Street, not far from the White House. Marble floors and heavy dark wood accents coupled with the massive wooden bar and mirrors were an effort to replicate a bygone era, a time when lobbyists passed money to congressmen openly. Lobbyists and legislators had learned a lot with the passage of time and now were too shrewd to pass cash across the table. Deals were still cut at the Ebbitt, but payoffs came later when there were no witnesses.

The afternoon waitstaff led him to the table he had requested, toward the back of the large dining area. Sedak took the seat facing the wall, reserving the seat facing the crowd for his dining partner.

Jerry Brynes arrived promptly at three. It’s good to see you, Neil. He extended his hand.

Brynes was Sedak’s physical antithesis. Tall, tanned, and in great physical shape with a neatly trimmed shock of silver hair, he had a quick smile that contrasted with the dour man across from him. Brynes wasn’t put off by his friend’s detachment. They had worked together as acquisitions officers and program managers. Together they had procured and managed the largest programs at the Defense Logistics Agency, for which Brynes generally had received the credit. Brynes had ridden his success, become a general, retired, and moved into industry at a seven-figure salary. The way he had positioned himself as he moved up the organizational chain and turned that success into a follow-on civilian career had served as a template his friend tried to follow. But that had fallen apart with the whistle-blower complaints. They remained close because part of Brynes’s business development credential was getting Warburton military contracts through the DLA—more specifically, through Neil Sedak.

They ate slowly and didn’t talk business until they were finished.

If you are ready to get out of the army, I have an opportunity that I want to run by you, Brynes started.

I’ve told my boss that I’ll retire when things smooth out in Afghanistan. Sedak recognized the irony of having to stay in the military.

I’m sure somewhere in Washington someone gives a shit, but Afghanistan isn’t going to be where the action is.

Sedak waited for an explanation.

Warburton is locked into the neocons in this White House, and we have been told that Afghanistan is a dead issue. America is going to pivot to Iraq. So if you’re doing your duty to in some way make sure we win in Afghanistan, you’re missing the boat.

Are you sure?

This can’t leave this table. Brynes leaned in to lend gravitas to his words. Warburton has contracts, in hand, for reconstruction projects in Iraq. Does that tell you something about the importance of Afghanistan?

I haven’t seen any contracts for Iraq come through my office.

You won’t. They are no-bid and off the books and are being awarded by a cadre of people within the White House whose job it is to get us into a war with Iraq.

DLA has to be brought into the picture no matter where a war is fought.

Neil, you’re living in a world where the books have to be balanced. That isn’t going to be the case in Iraq. As I understand it, the plan is to go to war and then repair, replace, or improve the infrastructure destroyed during the hostilities. Right now, reconstruction plans for the obvious things are way ahead of the war planning.

Obvious things? Sedak was puzzled.

Oil. We don’t know how much damage will be done to the wells and refineries, but some is bound to occur. Warburton has a blank check to get the oil production up and running.

Sedak looked at him as if he were hearing a fairy tale.

Oil field construction and repair is Warburton’s core business, and we have been charged with getting the Iraqi oil production online quickly. The idea is to use Iraqi oil revenues to pay for the war. As a result, we are picking out projects that we want to complete without guidance from any government agency. No one is tying the war and the reconstruction together. In that type of scenario, money is going to be made.

Warburton stands to do well.

That they do, but that is not why I want to talk to you. Brynes adjusted his tie and spoke just above a whisper. Planning for reconstruction is old business. Studies indicate that the amount of money that will be spent on security will be as great as that spent on reconstruction. The military doesn’t have nearly enough manpower to cover the companies that are lining up to work in Iraq, and the only way companies will be able to play is by hiring private security firms. The payout for security is projected to be so great that Warburton is getting into the game to cash in on what they see as a bonanza. However, they have to be careful about how they do it. If they lump security and reconstruction under the Warburton banner, there is the danger that they could play a larger role in Iraq than the military. That visual won’t fly, so the connection between Warburton entities has to be hidden. As a first step, I am dropping off their payroll.

You can’t give up all you’ve worked for, Sedak cautioned, not wanting his friend to make a hasty decision.

My leaving Warburton is a smoke-and-mirrors move. I’m going to form a privately held security business and hide its linkage to Warburton. I’ve been tied into an offshore bank that funds projects they want to keep hidden, and I have an unlimited budget. Warburton and the bank will retain control by having me sign debt instruments—not bonds because that requires filings with the government. So basically I’m signing IOUs.

That’s risky.

The risk is worth it. The most conservative estimates put profits upwards of 50 percent.

That’s unsustainable.

The figures could be higher. Besides, I’ll lose nothing if the security company doesn’t pan out. Warburton will take my name off the promissory notes. At least that is what I’ve requested my lawyer write into the contract, a contract that no one will see.

It sounds like it will be too profitable an arrangement to remain hidden. Someone will blow the whistle, and there will be hell to pay. Sedak’s fears were rooted in his own problems.

I’m not worried about that. I’ve already hired several of the retired general that suck around Washington trying to pick up dollars and have given them figurehead positions. I’ll be a second-tier company officer and serve as treasurer. From there, I’ll be able to run things without raising interest in the link between Titan Global Protective Group and Warburton. Brynes saw the questioning look on his friend’s face. Titan GPG is a name someone pulled out of thin air. It works well for a company that is supposed to provide security by giving the impression that it is powerful.

If what you are doing pans out, you’re going to get rich.

Yes, I am, but I’m going to offer you a better deal. Brynes paused until he was sure his friend understood what he was saying. Warburton doesn’t want to get into the weeds. They want Titan GPG to provide security for government agencies, the Iraqi government that will be established, and multinational corporations. That’s where they see their money being made. By cutting out smaller companies, they are leaving millions of dollars on the table. Right now, I have the names and contacts of dozens of companies that want to play in Iraq that Warburton refuses to service. So I want you start a security firm catering to those companies. You’ll be the general partner, the front man. I will remain a silent partner with 51 percent of the company.

Is that legal?

Great fortunes aren’t made without taking risks and stretching the law.

It’s the part about stretching the law that I’m interested in, Sedak said, cutting him off.

We are going to be entering a war based on an illegal premise. Companies will be buying their way into it in an effort to make absurd profits. There will be so many crooks in Iraq that only the dumb ones will go to jail, and we aren’t dumb. Brynes seemed sure.

So the business model is to extort smaller companies so that they can gain access?

Neil, lighten up. The company I want you to set up will provide a needed service.

Does Warburton know you are involved in setting up a competitive company?

That shouldn’t concern you. It’s my risk, and I will be the only one who gets burned if this falls apart.

I know you’ve thought this through, but I can see problems. Sedak was wary.

What I’m proposing is a slam dunk. The administration is leaking its intent to friendly companies, and they are clamoring to get into Iraq, seeing as I do the money that will be made there. They won’t be able to operate in Iraq without security and are searching for firms that offer it. The company I want you to set up will provide it, and client companies will pay plenty for it. By catering to midsize and small companies, both US and foreign, we will make real money. Some of the smaller companies will have great ideas but won’t have the cash needed to pay for security upfront. My idea is to cover them while not strapping them with big bills. Instead, we’ll take a piece of their action, an ownership-share. If we do this right, we will never have to work again. Brynes was clearly prepared to take chances in an effort to make a huge score.

As you had with Warburton, we have a history. People know that we go way back. That could become problematic.

You’ll be the managing partner and can exert full control from anywhere you decide to place yourself in the organization. There are plenty of retired military you can hire to serve in figurehead positions and for photo ops. It’ll be good PR. Those looking to hire a security firm will like the idea of military people at the top.

That’s easy enough, but the other problem I see is that I have no background in security.

You’re reading this all wrong. This isn’t a security puzzle. This is a money game. We can get dozens of Rambo types to play at security. I need someone I can trust who can build a business on the fly. I need you to work in the field as an operations chief while serving as an auditor and CEO. From the research I’ve done to date, I can tell you there is already a workable client list of companies that have been let in on the administration’s plans and that want to get a foothold in Iraq.

Sedak still felt cautious. So you want me to retire to form a company that provides a service in a war that is not yet declared?

That’s the idea. Brynes laughed at how funny his proposal sounded.

How do you see me starting out?

I’m buying my way into WYZe, a security contractor working in Afghanistan. I want you to go there and look at their operation. See how they’re staffed and how their staffing varies for different security jobs. Once you feel you have enough information, come back home and put an organization together. We know the companies that want to play in Iraq, and it will be your job to sell them security services. As you are selling, you can hire people to staff the organization. Brynes hesitated. WYZe does a decent job, but their operation is manpower-intensive, and more money will be made by staffing at lower levels. We can do that if we lean on the military. Plan on working closely with the army and utilizing them to bail you out of situations that you don’t have the manpower to cover.

They might not like the idea we are using them.

They don’t have a vote. If a company gets into trouble, it’s the military’s job to bail them out. Don’t overthink this, Neil. Put this together along the lines I’m suggesting. You can make tweaks later as the situation changes. Do anything you feel necessary, remembering that higher civilian staffing means less profit. I’ll leave it to you to work that out. The good news is that I’m ready to deposit two million dollars into an account that you can draw on to cover your startup costs. If you need more, you’ll get it.

Sedak mulled over the offer. He could smell the opportunity to make seven figures. It won’t be easy for me to retire with all that’s going on, he said, edging himself into accepting the offer.

With Warburton’s connections in this administration, I’ll get you out of the army with a phone call, Brynes boasted.

Do you have any ideas on what we should name the company? Sedak didn’t have the imagination for such things.

How about Thor Intercontinental Defense Industries? It sounds warlike, and the global wrinkle would play well.

Okay, Thor IDI it will be, and the sooner I get released from active duty, the sooner I’ll be able to put Thor together, but keep me informed about when you think the war is going to start.

You’ll be informed. Read the newspapers, and it will all become apparent.

2

F RAN MATTHEWS AWOKE SUDDENLY from an unsettled sleep in a fully lit room as if she’d been shocked with an electric wire. Disoriented, she stood quickly, unable to transition from her dream. As she staggered to awareness, her mind acted like a black hole into which rational thought swirled and disappeared. Her pajamas, a khaki marines T-shirt and gym shorts, were sweat-soaked, and her blond hair was so matted with sweat that it looked like it had black streaks. Her wild eyes emanated the kinetic fear of a trapped animal. She gasped for air, unable to satisfy her need even as her heart pounded, slamming into her chest cavity. Her skin was wet, but her mouth was bone-dry, and in trying to take a sip of water from the glass on the table next to her, she trembled so badly she spilled water down her front.

At 0300 she needed sleep, but she wouldn’t try again, knowing that would risk her having another incident, suffering through the recurring dream. She called it a dream because it happened when she was supposed to be sleeping, but it was really a replay of the past, only worse. Time and space provided no escape. The debilitating emotional spikes were more drastic and magnified months removed from the actual events. After each replay, a new finding, something that previous dreams hadn’t picked up, was added to her memory bank so that her emotions became more intense. In a microsecond, the nightmares compelled her to relive the mental and physical pain of her experiences in Afghanistan. Adding to her fear and confusion was that she could not remember the events being as bad in real life, when she experienced them, as they were when she imagined them now.

Having thought that she had made progress in distancing herself from the past, she was embarrassed at having suffered a relapse. The vivid dreams had spaced themselves out, but the intervals between episodes amplified their severity. Instead of nightly microbursts, the occasional dreams were magnified. It was as if her mind stored up its energy and exploded, rendering her incapable of functioning.

As her head cleared and she was able to focus, she looked at the bottles of pills sitting on the kitchen counter of her studio apartment. Each had been prescribed to help alter her moods, but she couldn’t remember which pill she was supposed to take to control the tremors, and she was unable to focus on the labels. Worse, in her mind, was that there was no way to tell if and when