by Frank Perry
jargon, except her helicopter was now flying with Peter. She felt the rush of excitement and ignored the discomfort. Riding in the helicopter was cold, noisy, dark and it vibrated terribly. She could smell and feel the hot jet exhaust as they banked hard, and the seatbelt cut into her thighs. The steep bank and fall made her nauseous. They were in total darkness and the only light was from cockpit instruments.
She had no idea where they were with respect to the ground, and the moon was now only a narrow crescent. In seconds, the aircraft leveled off and slowed. Almost as quickly as she adjusted to the new flight attitude, someone tapped her knee and everyone was moving out of the helicopter. As she got to the edge of the floor, she realized that she did not know where to step. She hesitated momentarily then two sets of hands gripped her BDUs and pulled her to the ground. Men on both sides grasped her upper arms and pulled her at a slow run away from the helicopter. They were running through waist-deep crops. She heard the helicopter engine winding down.
About fifty meters away, they stopped and all knelt on one knee. Without the aircraft noise, everything became eerily quiet. Peter said, “All present?” All men responded with “Aye ayes.”
Angela’s eyes were starting to adjust and could make out the dark shapes of her teammates. She felt amazingly safe. Peter led the way toward the farm buildings about a quarter mile away.
They moved in a wide line about 5 meters apart, except for Angela’s escort who stayed right beside her. After traveling part way in a low silent crouch, her back hurt and she was gasping. About fifty meters from the back of the barn, Peter stopped and crouched down into the crops again. Angela needed rest, but no one else even seemed winded. Communicating with hand signals a two-man team moved toward the equipment shed. A second team went left toward the farmhouse. Peter and his backup moved forward toward the barn. The man next to Angela stayed behind. She was fascinated by how quietly they disappeared in the dark.
All the buildings were dark with no light anywhere. Each team moved cautiously around the perimeter, checking doors and windows. The barn had huge sliding doors on the back, which were too noisy to open. Peter moved around the side of the barn toward the front. At the corner, he peered around and could see the front doors were opened. They moved forward, checking all quadrants.
At the barn door, Peter listened for several seconds then signaled that he was going inside. The other man took a covering posture against the door as Peter disappeared. One second later the soldier followed. Both men moved in silence. Peter opened his vest pocket for a small utility light. He panned the interior with a narrow beam. It took about a minute to determine there was no one inside the barn.
Meantime, the team at the equipment shed found nothing and was moving toward the barn. Peter inquired at the house, “Team three, teams one and two are at the barn, all is secure. What is your status? Over.”
“Wait one,” the pause lasted about twenty seconds, “Striker One, we have entered the house. You need to come over here sir, over.”
The two teams jogged to the farmhouse and met the Team Three leader at the back door. He reported, “Sir, no sign of life or unusual equipment, but look here.”
Peter’s line of sight followed the pencil beam as the Ranger moved his light over to the bloody mess on the floor. Team Three lead said, “Sir, this guy is still breathing. No others located.”
One of the soldiers rolled the man over on his back. Peter looked down in astonishment, then instructed, “Team Four, bring the FBI forward to the ranch house, over.”
“Four, roger that” The Ranger assigned to Angela stood up, and she followed as they jogged to the house.
Peter starred at the man’s face; he recalled their last meeting in the desert. Rage surged as he grabbed Razzaq’s hair and forced his gaze directly into his eyes saying, “Hello again asshole, remember me? Your mission will fail and you are a dead man in disgrace. I will be sure everyone in your world knows what a fool you are.”
It wasn’t possible to know if Razzaq recognized Peter or heard his venom, as he lay near death in the grasp of an enemy. No attempt at medical aid was made. He gasped with blood purging from his mouth, and jerked spasmodically, fighting to remain conscious. Peter dropped his head.
When Angela arrived, Peter realized that he didn’t known which agent was in his flight. He wished it had been Luke. He turned the flash light toward the steps leading up to the porch. As Angela entered he said, “Agent Kerr, we have a mortally wounded terrorist. He will be dead shortly.” She had a shocked expression when Peter added, “He was in this condition when we arrived, so none of our guys got him.” She nodded.
He moved out of her way and used the flashlight to illuminate the terrorist’s face saying, “Meet Razzaq, the terrorist we’ve been tracking.” He felt cheated. He wanted to meet Razzaq alive; now, he could only take mild satisfaction that Razzaq would die, in excruciating pain.
Razzaq’s eyes were opened staring at the silhouettes behind the light beam in his eyes. With this vision, his face muscles slacked and something gurgled in his throat. No one checked his vital signs.
Angela felt queasy having never seen a bloody corpse before. She had trouble asking, “Any idea why he was killed?”
Peter said, “There’s no indication. He was stabbed by the barn and dragged in here.”
At that moment the flight’s radioman interrupted, “Sir, HQ on the line for you.”
He took the handset, “Shields here, over.”
”Colonel, this is Brodie, we have a situation regarding the nukes, over.”
“Go ahead, over.”
General Brodie said, “Peter, the FBI in Washington just received a phone call with ransom demands. Someone wants big bucks for the nukes, over.”
Peter responded, “Sir that may be consistent with evidence at this LZ. The terrorist leader was murdered before we arrived, less than an hour ago, over.”
Brodie said, “Hold for one, we’re putting this through phone patch to a conference call in Washington. Are you there Washington?” ‘Yes’ was heard. “Striker One, are you there?” Peter affirmed. “Okay Washington, we’re listening, over.”
With single channel military radios, there was no way to talk over one another in a normal conversation, so protocol required the word ‘over’ to indicate they were listening, by release of the push-to-talk button on the handset. Peter had signaled his team to find a light switch and they had moved to the kitchen where there was a table and a few chairs. Most of the Strike personnel moved to the living room awaiting orders.
Over the radio, several people were introduced from the FBI and DOD, and others without identifying agencies. One name Peter recognized: Jim Coates, Rachael’s coworker at DOD intelligence. Peter gave a quick situation report and listened to considerable chatter at the Capital and felt they were wasting a lot of time if the nukes were in the city. The bottom line was that someone with an Eastern European accent was demanding a billion dollars in ten different foreign accounts, one hundred million per account.
Peter spoke, “People—people, break, please.” He released the talk button.
The chatter dissipated and a voice said, “Go ahead”
Peter responded, “We are at the bomb staging area, and the bombs are gone, along with the detonation transmitter. I assume they are in Chicago or en route. We need to find the detonator. Can we get anything from the caller indicating possible location? Over.”
After a moment’s delay, “Colonel Shields, this is Jim Coates, Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for Intelligence. I believe you know Rachael Aston? I think you have assets under your control that may be of immense value locating the detonator, over.” Peter desperately wanted to ask about Rachael’s condition, but was constrained with so many unknown people listening.
”Yes sir, I recognize you. Can you clarify please? Over.”
Coates said, “A man has made several calls of short duration, apparently trying to avert
our devices, but we got a signature from his mobile phone that we have isolated and can track in near real time, over.”
”Sir, is the signal something we can track from Compass Call? Over.”
Coates said, “I believe they can track the carrier frequency, but probably not the modulation unique to the phone, but that’s probably enough if we can capture multiple broadcasts, over.”
“Sir, how frequently has he been calling? Over.”
Someone with a voice unfamiliar to Peter said, “He averages around ten minute intervals. Most recently threatening to blow up one bomb in four hours as a demonstration, over.”
Peter replied, “Okay, that may coincide with traffic conditions if they want the bombs in the city. Can we keep him talking so we can get coordinates? Over.”
Coates said, “We can probably coax him along if all assets are synchronized, over.”
“My team needs to locate the detonator. Can you coordinate the transfer of SIGINT to COMPASS CALL--ASAP, over.”
Coates agreed, “It will be done in two minutes, over.”
“Shields, out.”
Peter called Striker Two, who came up negative at the other farmhouse. As the team moved out, running toward the helicopter, he ordered, “Striker Two, and Blue Thunder, return to base ASAP, refuel and prepare for second assault. All Little Birds, start spinning up now! Striker One, out.”
The MH-6J