Green Team - 03 by Richard Marcinko

Author:Richard Marcinko [Marcinko, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 1995-12-14T14:00:00+00:00

That may all look good on paper, but I can tell you from experience that in real life, the security master plan generally turns into a clusterfuck when it gets put to the test. Why? First, because the folks who run nuclear power plants don’t train their security details in proactive forms of response often enough. It’s expensive to do so. A truly thorough security op means securing the power block areas. Let me put that in English: shutting down the reactor becomes a real possibility. Just ask any power-company vice president if losing half a million bucks in revenue is something he likes to do on a regular basis.

Moreover, because of what managers like to call safety considerations, they almost never allow their security teams to engage in live-fire exercises against moving targets. Somebody might get hurt and slap a lawsuit on the facility. Indeed, most security employees are never trained in aggressive tactics because of the possibility that if they were, say, to shoot some tango dead, the tango’s family would sue—and probably win.

Last, most of the folks who walk the beat at nuclear plants make minimum wage or damn close to it. Why? Because aggressive, effective security of the human kind is labor intensive—and expensive. It demands that you manage well, motivate successfully, and bestow rewards for keeping your environment safe. Those things cost money—which often does not sit well with bureaucrats, managers, and boards of directors.

So you end up with an absurd situation in which industry pays millions for sophisticated sensor devices, television monitors, electrified fences, and computer-operated gates, but only pennies to the rent-a-cops, high-school dropouts, and other assorted idiots hired to run those million-dollar goodies.

(Airports are the same, incidentally—remember the fun I had at Narita in Rogue Warrior: Red Cell? The people who throw your baggage into the hold make two or three times as much as the folks who scan that luggage for explosives. You figure it out.)

I satcommed back to Mick Owen, letting him know where I was, and giving him a brief dump on what I’d found. I requested a status report on my condition.

Mick’s answer came back six hours later. It wasn’t optimistic. He had been told to shut down whatever was left of our joint tango-searching operation. The chain of command had informed him there was no immediate problem, and he was ordered to return to Hereford posthaste. He had no reason not to comply, so he was heading back. The SEALs I’d left behind in Britain were being sent back stateside. Nothing, however, would dim his commitment to me. He’d stay in touch and try to help as much as he could.

As for my situation, the search had been widened now—Interpol had been asked to join the manhunt. So had the immigration authorities of all NATO countries. The name Marcinko was now enough to cause immediate arrest and detention in any of the NATO countries when it came up on a passport-control computer screen.

The entire text could be summed up in three words: doom on me.

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