by Lee Jackson
“It’s a hell-hole.” Sofia’s voice rose. “It had a great civilization centuries ago. That’s long gone. It’s where Egyptian and Turkish traders snatched people to sell into slavery. The Brits took over Sudan more than a hundred years ago and set up a democracy, but they mucked it up with more lines on a map, like they did when they created Iraq out of whole cloth.”
Atcho noted the anger in her voice, unsure if it was aimed at him or history. She continued unabated.
“The Brits criminalized migration from the south to the north and vice versa, and then opened the south for Christian missionaries. In no time, Christians and Muslims started fighting each other. The civil war killed people by the millions, and the last coup happened only three years ago. Omar al-Bashir is a dictator, and he just aligned with Osama bin Laden and let him set up terrorist training camps outside the capital. Do you even know what the capital city is?”
Atcho started to shake his head, but before he could say anything, Sofia put her head close to his, her eyes boring into his own, her inflection becoming more pronounced. “It’s Khartoum. I was on the desk for that part of the world for several years. I studied Sudan. Khartoum makes the Tri-Border Region look as organized and civil as Switzerland. Sudan isn’t Cuba, and it isn’t Latin America. They kill people on the streets over any excuse. That’s what you’re wandering into.”
Atcho held Sofia by her shoulders. “This isn’t like you. Aren’t you being a little extreme?” As he gazed at her, he saw that, under her ferocity, she was fighting back tears.
“Extreme?” Sofia jerked away. “I’ll tell you what’s extreme. It’s the culture you’re going into. They hate us because we’re infidels. It’s the culture that murdered my first husband.” She whirled on him. “I won’t lose another husband, and we have a baby son and a granddaughter to think of. I’m begging you. Don’t go.”
Atcho, feeling helpless, reached to comfort Sofia, but she tensed and stepped away.
“Why can’t they bring Klaus here, or to Israel?” she blurted. “Somewhere safe.”
“Burly explained that. They’ll snatch him out of Sudan when they are sure they have the right person. If they have the wrong one, Klaus could get wind of it and disappear again, and they might expose informants and operators.”
“You always have a reason why you have to be the one going in.” Bitterness had crept into her voice. “Why can’t you just stay home for a change and let someone else get their hands dirty? I’m starting to think you like the adventure.”
Stunned, Atcho searched for words. “Adventure? Like it?” He held his creeping anger in check. “Have you forgotten that an assassin came to our front door? That the man we’re going after has a sworn vendetta against me? He’s aligned with Al-Qaeda, Hamas, and Hezbollah. They’re hitting bigger and bigger targets, and he has a nuclear bomb. If I don’t go after him, I’m consigning my family to death.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll miss my flight. I have to go.”
Sofia stood, unmoving.
Atcho kissed her on the cheek, then picked up his case and headed for the door, stopping at the threshold to face her. “Promise me you’ll stay out of this.” He paused, his face a mask of conflict. “Take Jameson and go stay with Isabel. She’d love to see you, and the two kids will have fun together. It’ll be good for all of you.”
Sofia walked over, embraced Atcho, and kissed him. “I love you,” she said softly, and then turned away.
20
Tel Aviv, Israel
Two days later
“I trust your flight was pleasant? Burly, that tip you gave us about Klaus’ whereabouts was terrific.” Eitan turned to Atcho. “We’ll take today to let you get over jet lag.” He sat across from the two men in a bungalow along a broad stretch of beach by the Mediterranean. In the distance, skyscrapers reached into the heavens, and on the road between them, multiple-lane traffic bunched up as cars traversed both ways. Near the water’s edge, vacationers soaked up the sun.
“Our men are rehearsing, and you”—Eitan indicated Atcho—“will need to be inserted into the team and brought up to speed quickly on your role during the operation. The next moonless night is in a week. That’s when we go in.”
Atcho stood, stretched his arms over his head, and stifled a yawn. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get on with it.” He crossed the room, cup in hand, to refill it with coffee from a steaming pot on the kitchen island.
“We’ll take it slow,” Eitan responded, an edge to his voice. “We need you at your most alert. Things are rough in Khartoum, especially now. This is a difficult operation without much room for error. As we speak, a crew is preparing a dirt airstrip in the desert, capable of handling a large cargo jet. They have to work undetected—not an easy feat.”
He turned to Burly. “We’ve set up an operations center on a nearby military base where we’ll monitor preparations and the op as it progresses. Your living quarters are there. You won’t have access to the rest of the base, and you’ll have to enter and leave under escort. I hope that’s acceptable.”
Burly chuckled. “Nothing I didn’t expect. Can you bring us up to speed on what’s going on in Khartoum?”
“You’ll get more in-depth briefings later. Atcho will rehearse how to interact with the team and members of the Sudanese public and security forces he might encounter, but I’ll give you the quick and dirty now.” He sipped his coffee. “Sudan has been in a deadly civil war for seven years, essentially between the Muslim north and the Christian south. When the Brits were here, they poured huge amounts of money into developing the north but very little into the south. That raised resentment on top of the religious divide.
“Since al-Bashir’s coup, he’s been merciless, killing off rebels and political opponents, and he made the strategic mistake of supporting Saddam Hussein’s invasion into Kuwait. That’s left him very little foreign support. The US is furious with him. He had a huge military parade three months ago to celebrate independence from British rule, but about the only dignitary who came to celebrate was Yasser Arafat from the Palestine Liberation Organization.
“That said, oil was discovered a few years ago across the line that separates north from south. That should have benefited the south, but the pipelines are being built north through Khartoum. China is investing heavily there, and with projected oil revenues, al-Bashir expects plenty of money to finance his military operations.”
Eitan sighed and crossed his arms. “So, al-Bashir’s going nowhere soon, and in fact, he not only knows about the training camps outside Khartoum, he welcomed Osama bin Laden to set them up. They share similar views about infidels and establishing a caliphate.”
“I heard,” Atcho broke in. “My wife informed me.”
Eitan nodded. “I recall that she’s great at intelligence analysis.” He shifted in his seat. “For your purposes, the result of that history is that Sudanese society is in chaos, riots and killings occur regularly, and al-Bashir’s henchmen are everywhere. To give you an idea of the danger, if Beirut is threatening to Westerners and Israelis, Khartoum is about ten times so. That’s the environment our covert operators live in.” Eitan fixed his eyes on Atcho. “That’s the environment you’re going into.”
Atcho held Eitan’s gaze. “Fine. I get that. But I’m curious: why Khartoum? I understand the interest in oil, but that’s recent. I read up a little on the area during the flight over here. From what I can see, it’s in the middle of the desert without much else going for it.”
Eitan stretched and took another sip of coffee. “It’s got the Nile going for it, and don’t let the bleakness or current situation fool you. The history is ancient and rich. Egypt ruled here for centuries, and then Sudan ruled Egypt for a while. There’s even a kings’ graveyard here, with pyramids that no one ever hears about. Suffice it to say that before the Brits gave it up, Khartoum was the Paris of eastern Africa—before Sudan descended into chaos.”
Atcho sighed. “A common theme the world over. So, let’s get down to specifics. How are
we going to pull off nabbing Klaus?”
Eitan smiled. “Two words. Think Entebbe.”
“What’s Entebbe?”
Startled, Eitan stared at Atcho. “You haven’t heard of Entebbe?”
“He was in prison then,” Burly cut in, “courtesy of Fidel Castro.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” Eitan looked sheepish, then studied Atcho. “Operation Thunderbolt was a rescue mission by the Israeli Defense Forces based on intelligence from Mossad. A group of terrorists had captured an airliner with 248 passengers, including 114 Israelis. The hijackers flew it to Entebbe in Uganda and threatened to kill every passenger if Israel did not release forty Palestinian prisoners. They wanted to free thirteen men in other countries too.”
“The operation was sensational,” Burly added. “The Israelis flew several C-130s at night, barely a hundred feet off the ground, for about 3,600 miles. They landed undetected but were eventually seen. To make a long story short, in a ninety-minute engagement, they freed most of the hostages with minimal casualties and brought them back to Israel. When you consider that they had to bring along armored personnel carriers and other heavy equipment and refuel along the way there and back, it was one hell of an operation.”
Atcho listened, entranced. “And that’s what we’re going to do in Khartoum?”
“A variation,” Eitan replied. “The planes will fly at night below radar. We have longer-range aircraft and less than half the distance to go than we did for Entebbe, but the aircraft is larger, and detection technology has advanced considerably. It’s a high-risk mission.”
He took another swallow of his coffee. “Most of our operators are already inside the country, and they’ve acquired vehicles for ground travel, but the operation is high cost. When it’s over, we’ll have blown the cover of several undercover agents and will have to take them home.
“We know where Klaus is. Two of our men are in the camp. You’ll be inserted into Khartoum a day ahead of the mission and make your way there with an in-country operator. On the night of the mission, the assault element will take care of subduing Klaus and any resistance and get him to the full extraction team. You’ll wait with the team leader. Whether or not Klaus leaves the country is on your say-so. If it’s Klaus, the entire team will bring him back to Tel Aviv.”
Atcho mulled over the plan. “What if it’s not him?”
“You and the rest of the team will leave the way you came, and the aircraft will return with just the combat-support elements.”
“What should I do between now and then?”
“Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. Our guys will tutor you. Unless you can learn Sudanese Arabic in a few days, you’ve got to look and act like a Sudanese who is both illiterate and mute.” He studied Atcho’s jawline. “You’ll need to grow some facial hair, get dirty, and start smelling like a street person. I suggest that if you take a shower tonight, it becomes your last one until mission complete.”
Atcho shot him a wan glance. “Sofia would love that.”
“One other thing,” Eitan said. “Go on a starvation diet. You need to look hungry.”
21
Sofia tossed in her bed at Isabel’s house at West Point in upstate New York. She was worried about Atcho, but even more, she felt frustration at being unable to help him. A week had gone by since he had flown out to meet Burly and Eitan in Tel Aviv. He had called the night he arrived, and since then he had gone dark. She did not know where he was, where he was going, or any details of the operational plan. With Burly also gone, she had no way of gaining information and determining if there was a role she could play. She had exhausted her sources in the CIA and State Department, and she sensed that she was wearing out her welcome in both organizations.
She got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make coffee. There, she found Isabel sitting alone in the dark, already sipping a freshly brewed cup. The warm aroma took the edge off the tension. Sofia flipped on a soft light over the table.
She greeted Isabel with a hug. “You can’t sleep either.”
“No. Grab a mug and help yourself. There’s plenty.”
The two sat in silence for a time, each with her own thoughts. Then Sofia eyed Isabel with curiosity.
“Do you do this often? Get up to have coffee by yourself in the dark?”
Isabel gave her a distant smile. “More often than I’d like to think about.” She sighed. “Bob’s teaching assignment at West Point was supposed to be a break for us, but he’s constantly gone. All I know right now is that he’s in South Korea doing some kind of special study he can’t talk about. He’ll be gone a few weeks.” She laughed without mirth. “I’m surrounded by people who can’t talk to me about what they do. You can’t, Dad can’t, Bob can’t, his associates can’t. And there’s the not knowing what’s going on with family members. Bob might be in danger. I don’t know. Dad seems always in danger, I don’t know where he is, and you’re here because your home is threatened.” She suddenly seemed on the verge of tears. “I admire you, Sofia, I really do, but I don’t know how you do the things you do, and that’s just the things I know about.”
Sofia reached across the table and clasped Isabel’s hand. “You have a daughter, our granddaughter—if I’m allowed to think of Kattrina as mine.”
“Of course,” Isabel murmured through teary eyes. “She loves you. I do too.”
“Being a great mother is every bit as important as the things Atcho and I do. I’m falling down in that department. I know it.” She sniffed as her eyes moistened. “If you weren’t available to fill the breach, I’m not sure how I’d take care of Jameson in this situation.” She squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Never forget that our families are why we do the things we do.”
“You’re a wonderful mother,” Isabel broke in.
Sofia sighed. “A lot of people think I’m a know-it-all bitch.”
Isabel leaned forward and grasped her hand. “You’re not. You’re a very capable woman who loves her country and has put her life on the line over and over in its defense. And you’re a wife and mother who will fight for your family with everything you’ve got. I wish I could be more like you.”
Sofia wiped away a tear. “Being a mother is the best job I’ve ever had,” she said, dropping her eyes, “but under these circumstances…” She brought her hand to her face and rubbed her forehead. “I took an early retirement package to be with Jameson, and I love taking care of him. But now this…” She sat quietly, her expression conflicted. “I’m a threat to him just by being around. I can’t let that go on forever.”
She sat quietly a moment. “I want to be a real mother to him,” she continued, her voice catching. “I’m torn between staying put while Atcho and the others handle things…” Her voice trailed off as she struggled with her thoughts. “But I’m trained and good at what I did in my past life. I couldn’t live with myself if something terrible happened because I didn’t do everything I could.”
The two women sipped their coffee in the quiet morning. Isabel broke the silence with a chuckle. “It’s hard to think of Jameson as my half-brother—we’re nearly thirty years apart. But you’re so capable of defending him. If someone broke through my door—”
“You’d do whatever it took to protect your daughter. Do you have a gun?”
Isabel nodded.
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes.”
“Keep it handy. My role, your father’s role, and Bob’s role is to widen the safety perimeter, to go after the bad guys before they get to your door. Between us and you are our military and police forces. Someone has to make sure the kids are warm and fed. And if the bad guy gets inside your door and we’re not there, it’s up to you. Otherwise, what we do is for nothing.”
A look of horror crossed Isabel’s face. “Sweet Jesus! You’re scaring me.” She crossed herself.
“I’m sorry. That’s the reality of what we live in. It’s better that you’re prepared.”
Isabel acquiesced with a nod, then looked tho
ughtful. “One thing I don’t understand is why you go off on your own so much. I don’t know a lot of details, but I overhear things sometimes, and you have a reputation for going rogue. You go off without telling the rest of your team.”
Sofia laughed. “Guilty,” she exclaimed. “I guess I’ve done that a few times.”
“Why?”
Sofia was slow to respond. “It started when I met your father, although the instinct developed several years earlier.” She paused, and the hurt in her eyes expressed her reluctance to continue.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Isabel said.
Sofia shook her head. “It’s better that you know. I never want you or Kattrina or Jameson to think that I put anything above my family.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “My first husband came home from a covert operation in a body bag. The funeral was closed casket because he was so mauled, but the CIA would never give me a straight story about what happened.
“When I started dating your father years later, I could tell something was wrong. He was so strong and noble, and people loved him, but he pushed everyone away, even me.”
“I remember,” Isabel interjected. “I thought he was crazy.”
Sofia smiled. “My intel instincts kicked in. I went to Burly for help, and as things turned out, Atcho was being coerced to be a sleeper agent for the Russians, and he was resisting by doing the only thing he could—becoming a recluse.”
“But he got out of that.”
“True, but he almost got killed in the process, and a year later, the president wanted to send him into Siberia with no support. I was furious when I heard about it. We were engaged to be married, and I refused to accept that I might lose another man I loved to a spy mission. I was trained and capable and had some ideas about what to do. As things turned out, what I did helped.
“We had two more missions where I saw things that others didn’t and felt like I had to act. Some people thought I was careless. I saw it as using the skills I had trained for and the experience I had gained to protect those I love most, your father and our family.” She sniffed. “That might seem like an emotional approach, but”—she shrugged and laughed—“I’m a woman.”