Mission Compromised by Oliver North

the awning, which pointed like a green finger toward the Old Executive Office Building. The rain had stopped and the afternoon was turning cool. Newman knew it was going to be a cold night.
    Before crossing West Executive Avenue toward the OEOB, Newman stopped and said, “Just one more question: Does this Special Projects Office have the authority to ‘take out’ terrorists like the one who killed my brother?”
    â€œTake out?” Harrod feigned a confused look.
    â€œYou know what I mean,” said the Marine.
    â€œOh, I see,” said Harrod. “‘Take out.’ Well, let me put it this way. The UN Executive Order has designated certain individuals who have refused to accede to international law and flaunt their lawlessness before the international community. Those individuals are to be removed , as threats to international order. It's a short list. But the man who killed your brother, General Mohammed Farrah Aidid, is on it.”
    â€œWho else is on this list of people who are to be removed as ‘threats to international order’?” asked Newman, relishing the idea of exacting vengeance on his brother's killers.
    â€œLater,” said Harrod, more sure than ever that he had just the man he wanted.

THE
SPECIAL PROJECTS OFFICE

    Â 
    CHAPTER FOUR

    Room 306
    ________________________________________
    Old Executive Office Building
    Washington, D.C.
    Tuesday, 29 November 1994
    1605 Hours, Local
    Â 
    A s the two men approached the portal of the Old Executive Office Building, they were confronted by a flood tide of mostly young people in what appeared to be a mass exodus from the ornate structure. Most were clad in jeans, various forms of athletic footwear, and nondescript outer jackets as a hedge against the damp cold. One of them carried a skateboard under his arm. To Newman it looked like an abandoned ship drill or perhaps more like the exodus of fans from a rock concert. Several of them recognized the National Security Advisor and said “Hi,” or “Hey, man.” As one of theprecocious youngsters swept by on his way to the South West Gate, he hollered out, “Hey, Simon—waddayasay, big guy?”
    Apparently unperturbed at the extraordinary familiarity, Harrod waved back with the file folder in his left hand, the green-bordered TOP SECRET cover sheet flapping in the breeze. He turned to Newman with a sheepish grin and said, “You can tell it's quitting time, can't you?” The Marine simply nodded, wondering for at least the fortieth time that day what he had gotten himself into.
    When the two men finally made it into the building, Harrod pointed to an elevator, walked over to it, and punched the “up” arrow next to the door. As they waited to board the elevator for the ride up to the third floor, the National Security Advisor took on the role of tour guide. In point of fact, he wanted to avoid discussing any more details about Newman's assignment until they were back inside a secure space.
    â€œUntil the Pentagon was built, this structure was the largest office building in Washington, and even today it is one of the largest granite structures in the world. The outside walls are granite blocks, four feet thick. The interior is all granite, cast iron, brick, and plaster. When you look at how ornate it is, you can see why it took seventeen years to build. The building was supposed to house the Departments of State, War, and Navy. As an afterthought, someone decided that the Vice President should have his office here. Even then, vice presidents were useless, eh, Newman?” Harrod laughed at his own joke. Newman smiled politely but said nothing.
    Harrod continued talking as the two men boarded the elevator. “The experts describe the architecture of the building as ‘Second Empire,’ which was apparently pretty popular for about two weeks after the Civil War. It doesn't fit with anything else in the city. It hasnearly two miles