| 21 July 2006 The Sea Dog My pal Boats is the kind of guy we used to call "a sea dog." It is not disparaging. Far from it. It is a little bit like the dramatic first sentence of Moby Dick. The narrator says “Call me Ishmael,” and then it is off to the hunt for the White Whale. That is precisely what you get with Boats. He is exactly what he is, no bones about it. I was nursing a cup of coffee at the Starbucks by the Navy Memorial, worrying about the implications of The Party of God in Lebanon firing three Chinese-designed SILKWORM missiles at an Israeli patrol boat. The Persians appeared to be proliferating the cursed things, and it seemed like pretty soon everyone including your crazy aunt was going to have a coastal defense capability. The implications for a Brown Water Navy were significant, and I used the real raw cane sugar in my Starbucks, and half-and-half, straight up. I was skeptical about the reports that the Lebanese extremists had used a ripple fire of Silkworms. Those huge rockets were developed at the Chinese Institute of Mechanics under Tsien Hsue-shen, a scientist who did his grad work at MIT and Caltech, before being deported in 1955. I thought it was more likely that the Persians were proliferating the C-802, which was lighter and faster. But I'm a retired Spook, and the information I get is not as timely as it used to be. That is what I wanted to talk to Boats about, but he showed up on his own schedule, as he always does. I think he moves with the tides. He is as salty as an alkali plain, but he personifies the old dog of the sea. He has a hound-dog quality to him when he is on watch, and working the mission. I wouldn't know that first hand, since his first shore tour was back when Christ was a Striker. I know some old timers who remember him, though, and they still shake their heads in amazement. Boats was posted as a rated boatswain's mate to a Coast Guard small boat station as a coxswain. This was in the days of the old "forty boats,' which were twin engine diesel 40-footers with stout towing bitts and low freeboard aft for search and rescue and general law enforcement. The young Boats could promptly navigate to the datum given to him by the SAR Incident Controller, but he was independent even then. If he didn't find the missing fishermen at datum, he didn't just execute a standard expanding circle search pattern. He would look for "sign," the invisible trace on the trackless water. Sometimes sniffing the air like a bloodhound. The old timers said it was positively eerie. Often he found his quarry by steaming directly over to a flight of tell-tale gulls, or following the remnants of a chum line. Remember, these were the days before GPS. Radar units were big and expensive and the Guard could not afford to install them as issue gear on a "Forty Boat." When ordered out in restricted visibility, Boats followed the procedure in The Book: predetermined compass courses for predetermined times, but he learned to "feel" for position confirmation by listening for birds on the breakwater and frogs on the banks. On law enforcement intercepts, he often defied the conventional wisdom and scored a bust by thinking about the coastal terrain like he was the one with something to hide. Boats didn't just "connect the dots," he developed into a sniffer of dots, often finding data points in the vast quantities of apparently meaningless spots. That way of thinking reminded me of how we thought in the old Ocean Surveillance System when we hunted the Russians. It was a way of thinking like the target, and Boats had specialized in that zone where the swamp became too deep to wade in, and the brackish water turns to salt, though the smell of the land is all around. It was a way of thinking that served him well when he became a boarding officer for special interest vessels. When he would board a suspect ship, he would get that look, the one that said he was processing information and not to mess with him until he got it straight. He was wearing that hound-dog look when he rolled into the Starbucks, ordered a coffee of the day and plopped himself down across from me. "Vulture,” he said without preamble, “I've been thinking more about the security of the inner harbor." "Boats, I wanted to talk about Silkworms, but you are wearing your hound-on-the-hunt look. I recommend you stay away from the poker table until the mood passes. Have you sniffed out some new dots to connect, or new boxes to examine? Is it some of each?" "Righteous boatswain's mates play Pinochle,” he growled. “It's some of each. Since I talked to you about inner harbor security, I've come to realize that there is some dry rot in our doctrine, and general purpose non-thinking going on. The inner harbors of this country are about as watertight as a sieve with scaly rust." I sighed. My problems started at the horizon, but Boats brought his right up to the kelp on the ladder of the pier. I took a sip of scalding coffee and nodded. "Remember how I told you an attack on the inner harbor could be initiated from the shore-side? I've been puzzling on how it would be possible to bypass the outer concentric rings of maritime security. I think a terrorist only needs to arrive in the country with cash and he is good to go.” He began to gesture, startling a tourist couple in identical white shorts and shirts emblazoned with American flags. I thought one of them should have read “I'm with Stupid,” but I couldn't figure out which one. It is something we put up with in Washington in the summer. “Everything a terrorist needs, the delivery boats, the explosives- everything- can be readily purchased right here. And these guys are not stupid, not after the New York Times blew up the money trail. Odds are that the bad guys wouldn't arrive here with a seabag full of cash, anyway.” “I got you, Boats. The money would be sent ahead in a number of small increments, probably using the traditional Islamic practice of debits-and-credits to avoid usury. So if we assume our boy gets his ugly carcass into the country, the trick becomes how to keep him separate from the goods he needs to carry out an attack.” Boats smiled grimly, pleased that he was able to lead me to the right dots. “It is harder than it used to be, but stay with me. The BATF has some controls and traces on explosives, and point of purchase for the chemicals is where they are watching. The high-value marine terminals have main gates with fairly professional guards and physical barriers to dissuade vehicle-borne attacks. We had to start somewhere.” He leaned forward, and the air seemed to crackle around him. “But here is the deal. The water-side of these terminals always face navigable throughways shared by commercial vessels great and small, and a hoard of recreational boats. Think what Tim McVey's Rider Truck filled with ammonium nitrate did to the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. Now imagine what a 25-foot cabin cruiser full of that stuff could do under the wharf of a waterfront terminal." I squirmed in my seat. I am used to thinking about inbound missiles or torpedoes. But this sounded bad. I popped the plastic top off my coffee and surveyed the dark brown liquid. “So how do you keep a terrorist with money out of the recreational boat market? And who is responsible for that"? Are you saying DHS ought to set up a unit to police maritime retail sales?” I snorted. “That is just what we need. Another new, big program controlled from Nebraska Avenue.” "Vulture, you are limited by your blue-water training. We have just the right people to do it, and they have the charter and responsibility. I propose to use Uncle Sam's Complex Group, the good old USCG. They have the resources and the know-how. They are just acting like "Uncle Sam's Confused Group" mode at the moment." "Boats, let me guess, unexamined and mislabeled boxes again." "That's what I like about you Vulture. The Navy bought you books and sent you to school and you came back with more than just rapped knuckles and a blank look." "How are the boxes labeled this time?" I said, thinking about how Boats stowed his mental cargo. " 'Recreational Boating Safety', mostly." "And what does that cover, exactly?" "Mostly Coast Guard Auxiliary programs, and it begins with the 'Dealer Visitation program' " My coffee grew cold as Boats warmed to the task. “We have an enormous national resource in the Coast Guard Auxiliary. They are all volunteers, and they augment every station in the country. We have trained them to fan out and brief recreational boat dealers on safety equipment regulations, hull safety and powering issues. It amounts to a vast human intelligence network that we are not exploiting.” “Shoot, Boats. I hadn't thought about it. My Old Man was in the auxiliary. He registered his sailboat with the station up in Charlevoix, and did his training and drills with the Guard every month. It made him proud to help.” “That is the point, Vulture. The "Dealer Visitors" of the Auxiliary are a vast network of volunteer operatives who need no new authorities. They are welcomed by the boat dealers because they help educate them about the vital compliance provisions of new regulations and mandated equipment. It is like a no-threat Operational Readiness Inspection. It takes part of the workload off the retailers and helps them stay current on recommended safety equipment that needs Coast Guard approval.” I like the way Boats thinks. He takes what is, and works it around to what might be. There are thousands of unpaid professionals out there, and they ought to be used now that the nation needs them. “The Dealer Visitor Program helps the vendors of some go-fast watercraft understand the importance of matching outboard power to the hull's regulation mandated maximum capacity. It is spelled out on the transom plate. In short, it is win-win. Over the years, the dealers have come to trust the Auxiliary Dealer Visitors to help their sales and to help them avoid liabilities for overselling outboard power.” Boats leaned back. “All we have to do is pay attention. We need to incorporate a security briefing into the Dealer Visitor training program, and have the Auxiliary pass it along to the retailers. It would include details of how to spot a criminal intent on the part of the buyer. Simple stuff, like whether a buyer is peeling the entire purchase price off a crisp roll of large denomination bills. But there is much more they could be doing- the subtle clues about when the dealer should report potential bad actors.” The Dealer Visitors could also provide wanted posters of known terrorists with suspected maritime training. By posting these in the dealership, a wider assortment of recreational boaters would be on the look-out for the unrepentant yacht-borne murderers. Boat dealerships would become more uncomfortable places for those seeking a ticket to Paradise paved with the dead bodies of Americans.” “It would be like the wanted posters at the Post Office, right?” “Precisely,” said Boats. “I am proposing we use the Auxiliary as a highly visible force to leverage the scarce manpower of the Guard. They could have a significant deterrent effect at the points of essential purchases for an assault on inner harbor facilities.” "That's all well and good,” I said. “But won't that just send the bad guys into the used boat market?" "Vulture, we've got stuff in the boxes for that too. For example, why don't we use "Ramp Days" at the marinas for screening? Auxiliary flotillas often spend a few days every boating season at the local launch ramps offering "courtesy motorboat inspections'. The boating public loves them, because the Auxiliary has no law enforcement authority. They are not the cops. Safety violations are drawn to the attention of the owner with suggestions for corrections, no tickets or fines. When a boat passes the Auxiliary standard for required and recommended safety equipment, they get a sticker. Unless a vessel is actually suspected of criminal activity, Coast Guard law enforcement units make it a point to not disturb boats with Auxiliary safety stickers. By adding a short security briefing and passing out flyers with things to look out for and report and wanted posters of terrorists with suspected maritime proclivities, the launch ramps become uncomfortable places for terrorists. You are reaching many of the potential used boat sellers right there but 'Ramp Days' aren't the only tool in the box." “Why aren't we exploiting the Coast Guard Auxiliary "Journalist" program? It is a no-brainer. Auxiliary members who have experience writing for publications get "press cards" for covering Auxiliary and Coast Guard events. They are especially encouraged to write for such publications as "THE NAVIGATOR," the national magazine of the Coast Guard Auxiliary, as well as all the District magazines, and the Headquarters publications issued out of Buzzard's Point.” “All we have to do is encourage the same people to expand their topics to include boating magazines, and describe methods by which used boat sellers should properly screen buyers, and who ought to be reported to law enforcement. It would be an information campaign, not propaganda. Think of it as a sort of maritime McGruff the Crime Dog to maximize detection of terrorists in the used boat market. It is another low-cost deterrent that would make the bad guys look over their shoulders.” "Boats, since this is all based on existing programs and resources why isn't it being done already?" "Elementary, my blue-water brother.” He snorted. “The Brass sees the Auxiliary in boxes marked 'recreational boating safety,' and 'search and rescue.' It is difficult for the conventional thinker to picture an unarmed group as a 'deterrent force,' especially a 'visible deterrent.' The newly minted and slowly emerging Coast Guard professional intelligence force inherited the Cold War mindset that equates all phases of intelligence gathering as something best done in secret. But this is really about open-source intelligence. All we want to do is recognize what is right there in plain sight. This is an asymmetric war. Here at home, we have to play goaltender. We cannot guard everything all the time, just like Secretary Chertoff says. But we must guard the most important stuff sufficiently so as to avoid the deadly one-two punch. If the terrorists attempt to avoid our outer maritime security rings by focusing their attack by way of the inner harbor, a few simple obstacles may cause them to loose the moment. If the Dealer Visit Program caused a terrorist to leave the first two dealerships, we win. If he finds Auxiliarymen passing out flyers and doing Ramp Inspections, he may realize his moment is lost. All we have to do is look like we are alert. That is the thankless name of the asymmetric game where intelligence, deterrence, and reaction, must all form a seamless web. The product for the taxpayer is a peaceful domestic scene, maybe not forever free of all terrorist attacks, but one this is flexible, low-cost, and prevents massive disruption to the economy. This is the terrorist's real target, after all, and Osama has been up front in saying it. It is the Economy, Stupid. To protect it we have to empty all the boxes, readjust the labels and use all the tools in the tool-kit. "One place to start is with the Vessel Tracking Program. Once we start using it for more than simple collision avoidance, we have a powerful tool for tracking potential threats. Then we need to use the Great Americans of the Auxiliary as a deterrent force. We need to re-craft the Dealer Visit Program, Ramp Days, and the journalism program. We are doing it anyway. Why aren't we using one of the biggest information collection and dissemination systems in the country to help us secure the inner harbor from attack?” Beats me, Boats.” I said. “Why don't we do that?” “You have to start thinking,” he said. “It isn't too late. Not yet, anyway.” He looked out the glass pane of the window where the tourists were wilting on the Navy Memorial. The Lone Sailor was the only one standing up straight, looking into the middle distance, where the smell of the sea and the smell of the land mingle. “I gotta get going,” the sea-dog growled, scraping his chair back. He crinkled his nose, a little like a hound that got a whiff of something interesting. “I'll see you next time. I have some dots to connect.” Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra |