Part 4 (1/2)
”Morning. I'm Tanner. You have any questions, ask me. We'll be taking off promptly at oh-eight-thirty. Commander Johnson is our pilot. She is one of the best. Our flight time to the Was.h.i.+ngton National Airport will be four point seven two hours, depending on the jet stream. The jet goes from west to east, so it could boost our speed by a hundred miles an hour. We've taken meals on board. As soon as we take off and gain alt.i.tude, I'll be bring you box breakfasts. Just after twelve hundred, you'll get a lunch prepared by the North Island NAS Officers' Mess. Any questions?”
”Yeah, who has the beer concession?” Jaybird cracked.
”That would be Commander Janice Johnson. However, she's a little busy right now getting ready for take off. Any other questions?”
”Yeah, why are we landing at Was.h.i.+ngton National instead of Andrews Air Force Base?” Canzoneri asked.
”I don't know. I have no need to know, and that matter may be cla.s.sified. Let's have a good trip.” The crew chief vanished back into the forward cabin.
Murdock looked at J.G. Gardner. ”So why are we landing in downtown Was.h.i.+ngton?”
”Got me. I know that airport is a lot closer to Langley than Andrews, which is maybe fifteen miles east of DC in Maryland.”
The box breakfasts were routine, but the noon meal was great, served on china with silverware.
They landed early, barely four hours into the flight. The plane taxied to the end of the runway and took a narrow concrete strip to a building painted dull green, with two closed vans and three airport police cars in front of it. A light colonel came out of the closest van and marched over to where the crew had just let down the steps on the VC-11. Murdock met him at the steps.
”Commander Murdock?”
”Yes, sir,” Murdock said, saluting.
”Anderson here, I'll be your official guide. Have your men bring all of their equipment, weapons, vests, everything. We're a little early, which will make the chief happy. Remember to set your watches. It's three hours later here than on the coast.”
They loaded into the vans and drove. The closed vans were the twelve-pa.s.senger type but had no windows other than the winds.h.i.+eld and those in the front doors.
”This feels like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned tomb,” Hospital Corpsman First Cla.s.s Jack Mahanani said.
”You've done this before?” Gardner asked. The squads were each in a separate van.
”Once or twice I can remember,” Fernandez said. ”This must be a high-level operation to pull us in here rather than jet us right to the hot spot.”
”We gonna be here long?” Dexter Tate asked.
”Who knows?” Fernandez said. ”When they tell us to go, we'll go.”
Fernandez tried to watch out the winds.h.i.+eld, but he couldn't see much. They had lost three hours so it was just past 1600. Fernandez grinned. He had seen the same roadside fruit stand twice now. The drivers were taking them on a confusing joy ride before settling down at the Farm, the famous training ground for United States CIA spies and operatives.
It was another half hour before the van came to a stop. The guard in the front seat opened the rolling door from the outside.
”End of the line. Everyone out.”
They came out and automatically formed into a column of ducks and awaited the next command. The army colonel waved at Gardner and he brought his men up near Murdock's squad.
”Gentlemen, this is the CIA Farm. You've heard of it. Most of you have been here before. We have some business to take care of before you head out on your mission. These guides will lead you to your quarters. In twenty minutes there'll be a chow call, and then at oh-nineteen-hundred we have a meeting. Leave all of your weapons, even your hideouts, and your ammo and gear in your quarters. A guide will be on hand to lead you to the meeting. That's all. You're dismissed.”
The guides waved and the SEALs marched over to a pair of low-lying buildings that looked more like college campus dorms than barracks. Inside, though, they were barracks, with double bunks and room for sixty men. The two officers stayed with their men. They went through the same chow line and were ready when the guides came to take them to the meeting.
They entered a three-story brick building with ivy blanketing half the near wall, and went up to the third floor. The conference room looked like one from a major corporation. The oval walnut table was twenty feet long, with chairs all around the outside. Already in the room were four men, one in an army general's uniform and three civilians.
The SEALs stood in two ranks along one side of the table and the four other men sat down. Deputy Director of the CIA Glenden Swarthout nodded at the SEALs.
”Gentlemen, it's good to have you here again. We're facing a problem that has been growing for sometime but was confused with false information, rumors, and downright lies. Now we have the facts and we're prepared to act on them.
”Our top agent in Iraq has told us that the government there now has four operational atomic weapons. They are crude but functioning. We have no information on what they plan to do with them, but we can't afford to wait and find out. Those weapons must be destroyed as quickly as possible. We know they have staged at least three underground explosions, and from all reports the weapons worked as planned.
”Right now, we're not even sure where the bombs are. We know they are in the desert, probably at least two hundred miles west of Baghdad. That could be anywhere in a large arc of locations. Your job is to go to Iraq, infiltrate the country, learn where the bombs are, and destroy them. Next you will take out the production facility where they have been manufactured. A big task? You bet. A deadly important one? One of the highest on our agenda. Most of you have been here before and taken our quick Arabic and Iraqi indoctrination program.
”By this time you've probably figured out that we can't infiltrate sixteen men into Iraq. We can put in three, and we hope all will be fluent in Arabic. We have few resources in Iraq. Our best man there is continuing to send us vital information on this problem. I realize you men are not experts on nuclear weapons and how to destroy them without blowing up the whole countryside. We will be sending an expert along with you. Some of you know this person. She's Katherine 'Kat' Garnet. You've worked with her before. She comes on station here tomorrow morning. She will be dressed as a man to avoid female restrictions in any Islamic country we are in.
”We will know tomorrow if we can use Saudi Arabia as our staging area. Our relations with that nation have been good, and when we tell them that Iraq has these weapons and may use them on its neighbors in a drive for new territory, we believe they will give us total cooperation. Saudi Arabia has a border with the far western section of Iraq, in the edges of the Syrian Desert. If the bomb location is in the desert, we will be much closer to it from Saudi Arabia than from Kuwait, but if we can't use Saudi Arabia for staging, it will be Kuwait. Are there any questions so far?”
Murdock stepped forward. ”Sir. You said we don't have an exact location of the weapons yet. So we'll have to go to Baghdad, meet your man there, and ferret out that location. For this we would take in only three men. Then when we know the location, the rest of the platoon can move in from Saudi Arabia?”
”That was our best plan so far. Rather than work up from Kuwait with our three men, we are considering an airdrop from the northern edges of the Iraq Southern No-Fly Zone, which we patrol regularly, so aircraft there would not arouse suspicion.”
”How close can you get our men to Baghdad with that airdrop?” Jaybird asked.
”About forty miles, which is a lot better than the three hundred and seventy-five miles from Kuwait to Baghdad.”
”Then Kat would remain with the bulk of the platoon in Saudi Arabia while our three men dig out the location?” Murdock asked.
”That is our suggestion.” The deputy director looked at the SEALs, then at the others at the desk. ”Are there any more questions?”
Murdock spoke up. ”I'm a.s.suming that we'll use all non-U.S.-made weapons and that we'll have all non-U.S. uniforms and gear for the fighting part of our platoon, so we leave no fingerprint of our presence.”
”Right. You've been there before. The three men who go into Baghdad must be as Arabic as possible. Who will you send, Commander?”
”Our key man is Omar Rafii, a native of Saudi Arabia and totally fluent in Arabic. I'll be the second one. My Arabic is pa.s.sable. The third man I want along is Kenneth Ching. He speaks four languages and picked up well on Arabic on our last outing when we needed it.”
”Good. You three will start your training at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. The rest of the platoon will report to our uniforms and wardrobe department. We'll probably go with Kuwait army cammies for you. Miss Garnet will be outfitted with the rest of the platoon.”
He pulled down a large scale map that showed Iraq and portions of the nations around it. ”So you can orient yourselves. If we don't get confirmation from Saudi Arabia before you fly out, we land in Kuwait, then we'll work from there. Our timetable looks like this. Training tomorrow and the next day. We want you three to be as invisible as possible while in Baghdad. That way you can stay alive. We want your Arabic to be as colloquial as possible. Three days from today you'll fly out in another VC-11, heading for the Middle East.” He nodded to the men. ”Thank you all, and have a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we get to work.”
The general and the three civilians stood.
”Ten-hut!” one of the SEALs bellowed. The SEALs snapped to attention as the general and the civilians walked out of the room.
6.
Baghdad, Iraq Salah Rahmani watched his two sons and his wife at the breakfast table. She had captured his heart four years ago and he had married her at once. Now he was a family man and had to start thinking about his responsibilities. The food and living conditions were adequate, but not nearly as good as they could be in the United States. But first he had his commitment to the CIA to be as useful here in Iraq as possible. He prayed that he could get out soon. There had been some hints about his loyalty in the past, but nothing came of it. He had not been aware of any innuendo that the president's secret police suspected him. He knew the dangerous track he walked. There was absolutely no margin for error. One miniscule misstep and he would be shot down at his desk or wherever one of the elite hit squads found him.
He had been back in Iraq for four years. He was born here, and before he left he had graduated from the top military academy in Baghdad. He placed first in his cla.s.s and was recruited to go to college in America and take ROTC training to learn as much about the American military system as possible. He wouldn't exactly be a spy, but he was to soak up as much U.S. military information as he could. While in the States he fell in love with America, with the people, the government, the relaxed, marvelous way of life. It took a CIA man only two months to turn him and convince him to become a spy for America in Baghdad.
He quit college and took a four-month course at the Farm at Langley and went back to Iraq with his college degree and his commission as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army reserve. Both were fabricated by the CIA. Since then he had been increasingly important as a source to the Company about Iraq and what the government really was doing. In Iraq he had been a.s.signed by the War Ministry to the American Forecast Desk and had told them just enough about the U.S. Army's operation to keep them happy. In his position as a captain in the Iraqi Army he was privy to some but not all of the Iraqi military plans. He did have an up-to-date plan for the placement of antiaircraft guns in and around Baghdad.
The most dangerous part of his life was transmitting his reports to the CIA via the SATCOM. The small CIA version of the satellite radio had come into his hands in various pieces and he a.s.sembled it and made contact. The radio was so advanced that it spurted out the transmissions in a tenth of a second, far too quickly for any triangulation to pin down its location. He had the foot-high, four-inch-square radio hidden in an unused chimney in the flat that he rented from the government.