Easy Day for the Dead

by Howard E. Wasdin

  Major Khan took it as an insult: The general is telling me that I don’t have what it takes to finish the job by myself. What would the general say if I rejected his plan? Maybe Pistachio and Lieutenant Saeedi will try to kill me right here and now. I’d like to see them try.

  “With all due respect, sir, I think I can handle this alone,” Major Khan said.

  Pistachio and Lieutenant Saeedi shifted uneasily in their seats.

  “Are you questioning me, son?” General Tehrani asked.

  Pistachio tried to mediate. “I think Major Khan understands what a great addition we would be to the Team, sir.”

  “Shut up!” General Tehrani shouted.

  The four men sat in silence for a moment.

  “Was it the Zionists?” Major Khan asked.

  “Them, or their American Satanist overlords,” the general said. “In the village of Abadi Abad, three basiji were found murdered just before the biological weapons plant was destroyed. You will hopefully find some answers there.”

  “Is a helicopter available, sir?”

  “I can have a helicopter fly you to Abadi Abad right now.”

  “Then, if it pleases the general, I’ll take Pistachio and Lieutenant Saeedi to Abadi Abad and we’ll find whoever bombed our biological weapons plant, sir. Then we will cut them into little pieces.”

  “You’re damn right,” General Tehrani said. “The Supreme Leader and I are counting on your success.”

  Major Khan exited the room as quickly as he could. He wasn’t afraid, he was angry, and it took every bit of his willpower to not kill Pistachio and Saeedi. Instead, the three men boarded the waiting helicopter and flew to Abadi Abad. The helo landed just outside the village, where a fat police chief met them. The police chief escorted them to his police car and drove. Pistachio held a plastic cup in one hand and with his other put pistachios in his mouth.

  “Do you need something to eat?” the police chief asked.

  “I don’t think he needs anything to eat,” Lieutenant Saeedi said, utterly tickled with himself.

  “Were you talking to me?” the police chief asked.

  “No,” Major Khan said. “We’ve already eaten.”

  Pistachio spit pistachio shells into a plastic cup.

  The police chief explained about the three murdered basiji. Next, he told them about the stolen black Mercedes law enforcement SUV and the shots fired at a police officer’s vehicle.

  “Didn’t anyone try to follow them?” Khan asked.

  “At the time, we thought they were government agents, so we let them go.”

  “You pursued them because they were government agents. They shot at you. Then you stopped pursuing them because they were government agents. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “We tried to follow the tracks, but by then the wind had blown them away,” the chief said.

  The man is a disgrace. “And now you’re insulting my intelligence.”

  Like lightning, Lieutenant Saeedi punched the police chief in the side of the head and knocked him out. The chief fell over like a frozen block of ice. Lieutenant Saeedi kicked him on the ground. “Hey, fatso. Wake up. Wake up!” He kicked him again.

  The police chief stirred on the ground.

  “Don’t insult Major Khan,” Lieutenant Saeedi warned.

  “You said they were heading south?” Major Khan asked.

  “Yes,” the police chief said, groaning as he regained consciousness.

  Major Khan surveyed the area. “Whoever did this wasn’t an amateur.”

  “Who do you think it was?” Pistachio asked.

  “The Israelis,” Major Khan said. “America wouldn’t be so bold. This looks like the work of the Mossad.”

  Pistachio cracked a pistachio shell with his teeth. “Where do you think they went?”

  “No telling. Just because they drove south out of here doesn’t mean they drove south all the way. There’s nothing south of here unless they rendezvoused with an aircraft or went farther south and got picked up at sea. I don’t think they’d find many friends in Pakistan, so they could’ve driven to Afghanistan.”

  Lieutenant Saeedi became impatient. “We need to start searching south or toward Afghanistan before they get away.”

  “We can search where they went and hope to catch up, or we can think about where they’ll strike next,” Major Khan said.

  “Where do you think they’ll strike next?” Pistachio asked.

  “One of the scientists got appendicitis and was flown out to a hospital in Tehran before the biological weapons compound exploded. If I were the Mossad, I’d go to Tehran.”

  12

  * * *

  On Friday, a week after blowing up the lab, Alex, Pancho, John, and Leila had their driver drop them off at the Armani Hotel in Kandahar. It would have been easier for them to ask to be taken straight to the airport, but doing so would also make it easy for the enemy to follow them. The SEALs and Leila stepped into the hotel and sat down for a few minutes, then stepped out again and caught a taxi. Splitting up would be more discreet, but the Taliban were still active in Kandahar and the SEALs chose safety over discretion. Their cabbie drove them ten kilometers to the U.S. military base on Kandahar International Airport. Alex paid the driver, then he and his crew walked up to the gate. The gate guard looked suspiciously at them. Alex gave the cover name of a supply unit they worked for. After thirty minutes of waiting in a visitors’ area, a geeky-looking sergeant drove them to a classified corner where JSOC was based. Inside the classified area, they left Leila with an escort at a VIP lounge while the SEALs crossed the street and entered a three-story building that looked like a porcupine because of all the antennas sticking up from the roof. On the third floor, the geeky sergeant spoke to a muscular sergeant standing guard outside one of the rooms. The muscular sergeant ran his ID through the card reader lock and opened the door, letting them in. Inside, the walls appeared soundproofed.

  Minutes later, their debriefer arrived. Alex was surprised to see Captain Kevin Eversmann, the commanding officer (CO) of SEAL Team Six—the skipper. Like half of the SEAL officers in the Teams, the skipper had been an enlisted man and risen up through the ranks to become an officer and now a CO. He knew about combat from experience. He and Alex were both six feet tall, but the skipper’s salt-white hair was cut short in comparison to Alex’s longer dark hair. The skipper was also a longtime member of Bitter Ash.

  Alex, Pancho, and John stood at attention.

  “At ease,” the skipper said.

  The Outcasts stopped standing at attention, but Alex didn’t relax. Although SEALs were fearless about most things, they feared getting kicked out of the Teams, and a skipper held the power to do the kicking.

  “How are you, Skipper?” Pancho asked, his face beaming.

  Alex wished Pancho would just keep his big mouth shut, and he was sure that John felt the same.

  “Well, Pancho, I think I’ll be fine if you can shut that blowhole of yours. You think you can handle that, son?”

  “Yes, sir,” Pancho said, all evidence to the contrary.

  “Great, I’ll tell you when to open it. By the way, I came to Iraq and Afghanistan to visit our Teammates here, but the timing is no accident—I personally wanted to debrief you on your mission. Let’s have a seat, gentlemen, and Chief Brandenburg, why don’t you begin telling me how things went.”

  The four SEALs sat down. Alex summarized the bald lieutenant colonel’s brief, losing Danny during the HAHO, rendezvousing with Leila, taking out the lab, the deadly hike through the desert, stealing an Iranian police SUV, and escaping from Iran.

  “The loss of Danny was tragic,” the skipper said. “We have a team out searching for his remains. You did the right thing by proceeding with the mission. Congratulations on blowing up the lab. The Iranian government is furious. They claim that someone bombed a pharmaceutical plant, but the world’s media outlets are reporting that Iran’s secret nuclear weapon facility blew up. Because of all the radioactivity,
the Iranian government is having a hard time going in to analyze exactly what happened. Abadi Abad is the closest village to the explosion, and they haven’t seen any significant increase in radioactivity, but they suspect a secret nuclear facility blew up. Well done, gentlemen. There’s only one piece you left unfinished.”

  Alex, Pancho, and John looked at each other.

  “What didn’t we finish, sir?” Alex asked.

  “One of the scientists, Dr. Sheema Khamenei, had appendicitis and was medevac’d out of there by helo. That was probably the helo you observed as you neared the biological weapons lab to plant your nuke. NSA intercepted email communication saying Dr. Khamenei is in a hospital in Tehran. She is one of the senior scientists there. Trained in Russia. With her alive, their bioweapons program remains alive. I need you to go in and finish the job by killing Dr. Khamenei.”

  “Yes, sir,” the SEALs replied.

  “We’ve given Leila an Army uniform to help her blend in while she’s on base. We asked her to help us out on this one, too. Go ahead and clean your kit, eat some chow, then meet me back here in two hours for the brief.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said.

  The skipper left.

  The three SEALs went to the armory and cleaned their weapons. Alex made sure his AKMS was unloaded and on safe before removing its bolt carrier group. Sand grains spilled out onto the wooden table in front of him.

  As Pancho cleaned his AKMS, he turned to Alex and said, “I heard the BUD/S XO asked you to become an instructor there.” Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) Training was what began the transformation from sailor to SEAL. The executive officer (XO) was second in command, under the CO.

  “Where do you hear all this stuff?” Alex asked.

  “People talk,” Pancho said.

  “When do people have so much time to talk?”

  “Is it true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  Alex thought for a moment.

  “You have to think about it,” Pancho said.

  “We have to eliminate Dr. Khamenei.” It was officially a capture-or-kill mission, but Alex rarely captured anyone, and his superiors already knew that.

  “We’re brothers, man. You can’t break up the family.”

  John stopped cleaning his rifle. “Alex is a big boy. He can do what he wants.”

  Alex didn’t know whether to thank John for defending him or complain that John was trying to get rid of him.

  They finished cleaning their gear, then went to the chow hall. Alex almost didn’t recognize Leila wearing an Army uniform and sitting by herself eating dinner. The trio joined her.

  After the four finished dinner, Leila went to take a rest in the VIP lounge while the SEALs returned to the soundproofed room where the skipper briefed them for their next mission: “You’ll assume new identities and take separate military flights from here to Germany, Azerbaijan, and France.” Alex spoke German fluently, and he often used the cover of German businessman, so he guessed he’d be going to Germany. John spoke fluent French, so France seemed the natural choice for him. Pancho spoke Spanish, but the Spanish airlines didn’t fly to all the countries that German and French airlines did—besides, it would be easiest to send the bulk of their gear via military aircraft.

  The skipper continued: “Alex, after taking a military flight from here to Frankfurt, you’ll go undercover as a German businessman with your assistant Leila and fly via Lufthansa to Azerbaijan. Pancho will take most of your mission gear and hop on a military flight from here to Azerbaijan. John, you’ll fly from here to Paris, then, posing as a French-Canadian minister, fly from Paris on Air France to Azerbaijan. In Azerbaijan, the four of you will link up with the Azerbaijan Navy’s Tiger unit, made up of its top members from the 641st Special Warfare Unit. The Tigers will take you via fastboat across the Caspian Sea and insert you just north of the Iranian coast, where you’ll swim to the beach. From there you’ll rendezvous with our agent, who will escort you to a safe house in Tehran and update you on Dr. Khamenei’s current location. Then you will capture or kill Dr. Khamenei. Finally, the Tigers will extract you by sea.”

  “I’m assuming there’s a good reason for us using a similar insert-and-extract method, sir,” Alex said.

  “Yes,” the skipper said. “Right now the Iranian government isn’t too popular at home or abroad, so they’re executing people just for sneezing—as frogmen, the water is your best chance for getting in and out. Intelligence has found a number of weaknesses along the Iranian coast, and you’re going to take advantage of those weaknesses.”

  After the briefing, Alex cleaned up and helped Leila prepare for her role. Early Saturday morning, they wore dark blue Armani suits and carried dark brown leather satchels. Disguised as a German businessman and his assistant, they boarded a military flight to Frankfurt.

  While sitting in the airport lounge, Alex’s eyes followed Leila’s long black hair from the top of her head to below her shoulders. His eyes followed down her skirt, tracing her dark blue curves. His eyes continued past her hemline. She had firm thighs, and her calf muscles were athletic, yet feminine. She reminded him of Cat. Alex needed someone to trust—someone he could ask whether he should stay in the Outcasts and Team Six or take the XO’s offer to become a BUD/S instructor. Cat was someone he could trust and ask about such things, but work in the Teams had divided their paths, and she wasn’t here. Through the years before he met Cat, there’d been other women, but again, they gave up trying to compete with the Teams. Even if Alex got to know Leila, she would give up, too. Alex didn’t blame them. He was the one who chose the Teams over them.

  Being a BUD/S instructor would demand a lot of time, but it wouldn’t demand as much time as operating in the SEAL Teams. In the Teams, for months he trained individually at Professional Development/Schools (PRODEV) before returning to his troop for months of Unit Level Training (ULT). Then Alex and his Teammates would fly to one of the hot spots around the globe and fight bad guys for six months or more. After that, he’d return to the States and begin the cycle again with PRODEV. In contrast, as a BUD/S instructor, Alex would be able to return home almost every night. If he met a woman he liked, he would have time to share with her. Alex had enjoyed his work with Team Six and the Outcasts, but now he wanted something more.

  Leila saw Alex looking at her, and she smiled.

  He remembered the smile of the woman in red in the supermarket and how she blew through him like an Indian summer.

  If Alex asked Leila, she would probably tell him to take the BUD/S instructor position. Cat would tell him the same. So would his sister Sarah. In that moment sitting in the Frankfurt airport, Alex decided: After killing Dr. Khamenei in Tehran, I’ll go to Coronado to become a BUD/S instructor.

  Soon Alex and Leila boarded their Lufthansa flight and flew to Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan was strategically located, with Iran to the south, the Caspian Sea to the east, Russia to the north, Georgia to the northwest, and Armenia to the west. Although predominantly Muslim, Azerbaijan led other Muslim countries in its openness to other cultures. In 1920 the Soviet Union invaded Azerbaijan, and in 1991 Azerbaijan took back its independence. Its people spoke Azerbaijani, similar to Turkish, and held a close relationship with Turkey. Azerbaijan also held a strong relationship with the United States and had supported America and its allies fighting in Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq. In addition, they worked closely with the U.S. Navy on security issues related to the Caspian Sea.

  Early in the afternoon, an Azerbaijani wearing a civilian gray wool beret met Alex and Leila at the airport. “Welcome to Azerbaijan.”

  “Good to be here,” Alex said. Their exchange seemed natural, making it ideal as a coded exchange to verify identities.

  “The car is waiting.”

  “Great.”

  The man in the gray beret drove Alex and Leila in a civilian sedan twenty kilometers southwest toward Baku, where the Azerbaijan Navy base was located, but instead of stopping at t
he base, the driver continued south.

  “I thought we were stopping at the naval base,” Alex said.

  “No, this way better,” the driver said in broken English.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Neftcala.”

  “Do the others know this is where we’re going?”

  “Your SEAL friends go same place. No one else need know.”

  The change in plans made Alex uneasy, but the skipper was no dope, so Alex trusted that the skipper had put him in the proper hands. He tried not to worry about it.

  They traveled south more than 150 kilometers before arriving at the port of Neftcala. The driver pulled into a parking lot on the pier and stopped. The other vehicles in the parking lot were civilian—no sign of military anywhere. Alex stopped trying to be calm—now he was nervous. He looked around for weapons of opportunity and paths of escape.

  The driver escorted Alex and Leila into a warehouse. Secluded, it would be a good place to torture them or kill them. Being on the wharf, it would be easy to hose off blood and other body fluids, removing any evidence of what had happened.

  Inside the warehouse, Pancho and John sat on a couple of crates next to their duffel bags. John read something, probably reviewing his cheat sheet about the mission or rereading his Bible. Next to Pancho were bags of the SEALs’ gear. Pancho laughed it up with one of the Tigers. The Tigers were dressed in civilian clothes, and on the deck around them rested stuffed civilian duffel bags and backpacks.

  The inside of the warehouse wasn’t really a warehouse; it was a covered slip with a fastboat sitting in the water. Day or night, the fastboat could be docked ready to go, yet remain undetectable by satellite or prying eyes.

  Alex breathed more easily. When the Tigers noticed Alex, they stood up. Alex appreciated the respect, but he felt embarrassed by it. Normally such a courtesy was only for a commanding officer in a formal setting—Alex was far down the totem pole from commanding officer, and this was a real-world operation, not a formal dog-and-pony show. “Please, relax,” Alex said.