Brandon beside him studied the setup and nodded. “We set a charge behind that wall and the debris will close the way forward. Four guys coming around the wall in the car’s blind spots race up either side, disable the driver, and yank Dansky from the car. We can land the helo forward of that location.”
Sam turned his attention to the compound. “When you blow that wall to stop the car, we lay down fire into the front of the compound; that forces people back. They’ll have a hard time getting fire out the front of the building without making themselves visible. Snipers pick off any who try. The helos come in, land, and the snipers fall back to egress.”
“Weather is good; visibility is good.”
Sam nodded. “Signal Bear. The mission’s on.”
Twelve
* * *
JANUARY 20
Sunday, 3:15 p.m.
Madrid, Spain
“Why don’t you sit down,” Gabriel suggested.
Darcy paced. She couldn’t sit, not while the SEALs and the SAS were going in based on her intelligence. It was a daylight raid and incredibly dangerous. The video feed was dark. “How long before we get something?”
“Would you relax? We’ll get copied on the feed. The director put through the approval personally. And we’re going to owe him favors for the next decade for it.”
“We set up the mission intel fast. What critical items have we missed?”
“Dansky is there. He was spotted leaving the racetrack and driving toward this town. Thatcher won his race; Dansky will be in a good mood. This is going to happen, and the guys on the ground know how to think on their feet and adapt if necessary.”
The live feed came on, the camera image facing an adobe wall. “Yes!” The picture bounced around. She tilted her head to the side to right the image. “Those are chocolate chip cammies and an SAS insignia. We’ve got a feed from the Brits. All right, guys.” She collapsed onto a chair in front of the set, leaned close, and tried to absorb every impression, hoping she would see Sam.
“We’ve got to get you into the field more often. You’re going four-wall crazy,” Gabe punched the Record button to capture the feed for replay.
The image shifted and looked down at the front of the compound. She wanted to be the one on the ground collecting those early surveillance pictures. “When we go after Luther, I want in on it.”
“Keep dreaming, dahlin’.”
“Do we get the U.S. feed too?”
“If there is one, we’ll get it,” Gabriel reassured. “There are at least forty specialists at Defense and NSA watching the feeds to identify people, but Chip said he’d like your best guess on IDs as well.” The DIA officer was coordinating this live transmission.
“He knows I would tell him anyway.” The pictures stabilized and telescoped in to focus on a compound some distance away. “A clear day, this is good clarity.”
The second video came up, showing images from the back of the compound area, giving a full view of the garden.
She settled in to try and identify the members of this terrorist cell as they moved from the house to the gardens and back inside. “They’re getting ready for a meal and a meeting. There doesn’t appear to be a great hurry.”
“Notice the fact they are serving themselves? There isn’t any house staff around.” One man appeared to carry what looked like a torchlight into the garden seating area.
Over the next forty minutes Darcy sighted each of the six men who were part of the Moroccan cell in the compound. “Good, everyone is there.”
The guards settled into what looked like a fairly regular security patrol of the compound grounds, containing a house and a walled-in garden with what looked like a parking area on the east side that had a higher wall around it. “Interesting that in an hour of watching, there are no signs of a phone call or radio message.”
“They’ve learned,” Gabe agreed. “Communication is face-to-face.”
“Here, we’ve got something happening.”
Two trucks arrived first, and several men bearing automatic weapons spread out to provide security. Cars, interspersed by several minutes of quiet, followed the trucks as men providing security tensed with each arrival.
“I can’t believe this,” Darcy finally said as they watched the fifth car pull away.
“Believe it,” Gabriel replied. “We were due a lucky break at some point in this war.” He had picked up the phone to check in with DIA on this unexpected turn of events. More cars kept arriving.
“This is like a convention of the terrorist who’s-who list.” She circled her finger on the screen identifying men now standing around the inside walled garden, greeting each other. “That man was behind the USS Cole bombing, those two Russians have been indicted for their embassy explosion, and the Swiss want this man for the downing of an airline last year.” The SEALs and Brits had to pull this off. This was the first major break in months.
“DIA agrees. They’re rapidly changing plans. Dansky is celebrating his horse winning, and he invited some friends over.”
“Thank you, Dansky. Who else did you invite?” She could feel her excitement building. “The war could take a major step toward being over today, and we’re watching it happen. Can they adapt to this?”
“This kind of chance opportunity has been on the CINC’s mind since this war began.”
A car with tinted windows arrived, and one of the two men guarding the house stepped forward to meet the guest. Darcy watched the back door open and leaned forward to study the picture, hoping the man would glance left and give them a direct visual of his face.
“Battihi,” she breathed. “He rarely travels outside of Egypt. He came along with the explosives?”
“I don’t think he brought an armored truck with him to be subtle about it.” Gabe grabbed the secure phone as they watched the armored truck pull into a secure area of the compound.
Darcy was on her feet. She watched Battihi look around, walk up the path, and disappear into the house. “The assault team has to wipe out that shipment. Can they take Battihi along with Dansky?”
“Chip, it’s Gabriel. That last guy is Battihi. Yes, we’re confident. Can they adjust to try to take that shipment of explosives that just came in?” Gabe stayed on the phone as the military planners sorted out options.
The second image covering the back of the compound showed the men beginning to move and sit down. “The meeting is starting. Battihi must have been the last expected guest.”
“Thanks, Chip.” Gabe hung up the phone. The second image zoomed in tight and brought Battihi’s face into focus. “The guys on the ground have word he’s there. He’s on the list of prioritized targets to take out. This mission is on the clock now.”
The camera focused there for about thirty seconds and then pulled back and began to review the entire area in a systematic sweep. The men she knew that were part of the Moroccan cell were not part of the meeting but were standing as security at various points within the compound. The camera moved to a wide view and stabilized.
She watched as discussions, some of them animated, continued among the group. “I would love to have a few bugs in that compound.”
“Same here.”
Gabriel watched the growing list of people being identified. “This is a coordinating meeting between different terrorist groups. They are finally deciding isolation makes it harder to act. They don’t realize just meeting together also makes them all vulnerable.”
“We’ve been financially squeezing the groups individually; they have to work together to survive.” Men began to rise to their feet. She tensed. “The meeting is breaking up. They’re going to be leaving any moment.”
“A few minutes yet. It’s becoming social, and now the real power brokers will be talking in small groups.”
Darcy leaned forward to try and see who was talking with whom. She blinked at a sudden movement of white across the screen. The house blew up, imploding from the inside. She jerked back. “What was that?”
“Justice,” Gabriel replied coolly. A second flash appeared in the dust cloud. He studied the two different angles of the compound as rubble began to appear. “The building collapsed in on itself. A crater marks the remains of the garden. Notice the compound wall absorbed the blast wave and toppled outward? It looks like minimal damage around the area. You wanted to know what the CINC would do given the unexpected guests. There’s the answer. Two smart bombs hit the house and grounds and took them all out.”
“It’s cold.”
“They’re combatants in a war they declared, and they’ve spent their lives killing civilians. My only regret is that we didn’t stop them months ago,” Gabe replied.
“The armored truck was just buried in the rubble. It didn’t explode.”
“The problem with smart bombs is sometimes they don’t do enough collateral damage.”
“What will our guys do?” Darcy asked.
“My guess is they were falling back long before that missile hit. I wouldn’t want to be across the street when it came in. They’ll get out while the Moroccan police try to figure out what just happened. If that shot came from offshore, the missile may not have even shown up on radar.”
Darcy hoped he was right, that everyone who had gone in for this mission was safe. She watched the images from the observation perches tilt as they were moved and caught a glimpse of soldiers kneeling and methodically breaking down and packing equipment before a steady hand turned off the camera. The movements from the soldiers on the ground weren’t desperate or hurried as if they were dealing with trouble. They were packing up after a job accomplished.
“We just put a huge crimp in Luther’s group.” Gabe pushed himself to his feet, pausing to make sure his legs would take his weight. He ejected the tapes and put them in his safe. “Go lock up your office and grab your keys. We don’t have Dansky to interrogate for information, but I’ll take this exchange. That strike probably permanently eliminated some planned operations for the first anniversary of the World Trade Center attack. The fallout of this is a problem for tomorrow.”
“I want to wait until we get the after-action reports.”
“They aren’t going to come for several hours. CIA will go in quietly with the police to collect whatever documents they can from those crushed vehicles and make sure that the armored truck and its contents are secured. I’m guessing we’ll have weeks of work ahead of us going through all the intelligence collected.” Gabriel held the door open for her. “The interesting part of this will be how cells around the world react. There’ll be internal battles for leadership happening in numerous cells over the next weeks.”
“Luther is going to be annoyed,” she said, understating the obvious. And Vladimir. Luther’s impenetrable wall had just been breached. If they could get to Dansky, Luther knew he himself was at risk. There would be a reaction from him, movement, something that could be tracked.
“We’ll get him,” Gabe promised. “After tonight, it’s inevitable.”
Thirteen
* * *
Four Months Later
MAY 21
Tuesday, 11:22 a.m.
Little Creek Naval BASE / NORFOLK, VIRGINIA
It felt good to be back on U.S. soil. Sam slipped on his sunglasses as his eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness of a gorgeous day. The military base was more than just home port; it was home. And the Stars and Stripes were flying in welcome.
“Gear.”
Sam leaned down and caught the strap of the bag Wolf lifted up. Unpacking a submarine meant everything came out of a hatch. The sailor assigned to help the SEALs unload their equipment reached to take the bag from him.
“It’s heavy, son.” Sam released his grip. The sailor staggered a bit as he took it. Sam reached down for the next bag.
He was tired, but it was a good tired. There was a lot to do during this return stateside—a trip to South Dakota to surprise his folks and an expedition to find Darcy. He’d heard through friends that she and Gabe were back in the States. He was taking her out for lunch somehow. It was time to collect on at least one of the favors he was due.
“Cougar.”
“Sorry.” He reached for the next satchel.
Wolf climbed up the ladder after passing it up.
“You’ve got lipstick on your collar,” Sam felt obliged to point out. Jill had marked him good.
“Why in the world they would let wives come for joyous reunions and then turn around and say you’re on duty another three hours to unpack is beyond me. I’ve never seen more distracted men in my life.”
Sam laughed. “For two weeks’ liberty in a few hours, I’ll put up with first-year kids stumbling over their own feet. What time are you and Jill taking off?”
“Six. We’ll probably go as far as North Carolina tonight, just as long as I’m far enough away I can’t be found easily by phone. You?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably head north.”
Wolf laughed. “Have you even called her yet, or are you just going to go?”
“I’m still debating.”
“Team Two said they’d handle the gear in the dry deck.”
“Nice of them.” Sam picked up their scuba gear.
“Would you go call her? I’m not taking off until I know you’ve at least got plans for your two weeks off.”
“Just because you’re not going to be around to keep me out of trouble . . . ,” Sam replied and ducked Wolf’s good-natured shove.
MAY 21
Tuesday, 11:42 a.m.
Central Intelligence Agency / LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
In the months since the World Trade Center attack, Darcy had taken up running as a way to maintain her sanity and stay in shape. The music contained by the earphones was Big Band at full volume. She ran without counting the laps she made of the path that wove around the 225-acre complex looping around the CIA headquarter buildings and parking lots to the woods by the power plant. She was thinking. She would stop running when she was done thinking or her legs gave out.
The off-duty dog from the bomb squad running beside her crashed through a pile of dried leaves, then circled around to do it again, barking at the fun. She pushed back the earphones and jogged in place, laughing at him. “Henry, they’re dead.”
He rolled in the leaves and then scrambled back toward her. She picked up her pace again.
How was it possible for Luther and Vladimir to simply go quiet and stay quiet? She hadn’t even caught a glimmer of a bank account transaction in the last four months. The places on earth she couldn’t snoop were so few they could be numbered on one hand. Even China and North Korea were under constant electronic surveillance. Tracking down Ramon Santigo had been much like this. Chasing something she couldn’t see. It was making her mad.
Luther and Vladimir had both gone to ground. Even the contracted killings of agents in Europe had stopped as suddenly as they began. Where would Luther hide? And where was his money?
They were four months away from the anniversary of September 11, and the stress in the pit of her stomach was growing. They didn’t have a year to chase this man. They needed Luther and his money wiped off the map so it couldn’t be used to spawn any more evil.
She was under no illusions. The loss of key leadership in so many terrorist groups would make retaliatory actions by followers more likely than not. Without the infrastructure behind them, the attacks would be less organized, less destructive, but there would be something to mark the anniversary. She needed Luther and his source of capital taken out sooner rather than later.
She worried about Luther learning the names of those in the assault teams. The next months hunting Luther and Vladimir would be the most dangerous of the entire fight. He knew he was vulnerable, and you didn’t back an angry cat in a corner and leave him means to strike back.
Lord, I can’t take more civilian deaths happening on my watch. What am I missing? You’ve opened doors and provided leads in the past, given wisdom to put together the pieces. What has to happen next
to break this case open? I’m stuck; I need help. The pressure of her job was burying her under weight that never eased up.
In one of his few letters to reach her Sam had pointed to 1 Peter 5:8 about their adversary, the devil, prowling around like a roaring lion as his way of putting what was happening in perspective. She wished she had the ability to put into words the reassurance Sam found so easy to do. She knew the verses, but at times it was hard to transfer what she knew to what she felt. She had to daily seek the peace that God was in charge, whereas it seemed Sam lived under that reassurance all the time.
Her nerves were stretched to their limits as the months passed without a good lead to work. She was getting beat by Luther, and she hated that feeling. She hadn’t lost a fight in her years with the CIA, but this was beginning to feel like defeat. Some days she felt like she was trying to run away from the burden. She was clinging to the verse: “Cast all your anxieties on him, for he cares about you.”
“Darcy!” The security guard at the main gate got her attention, and she removed her headphones. “Your partner is looking for you. You’ve got a call he thinks you’ll want to take.”
She changed directions to stop by the security station; it would be a ten-minute run to get back to her desk. Kevin slid open the door for her from the inside. “Line four,” the guard directed, pointing out the phone.
“Thanks, Kevin.”
She snapped her fingers for the bomb dog to settle down near her feet. “This is Darcy.”
“It’s good to hear you’re still alive.”
She nearly dropped the phone. “Sam?” She laughed, delighted. “Where are you?”
“Little Creek. You want to have dinner tonight? I can be in your neighborhood in four hours.”
She looked down at the sweats and the beat-up tennis shoes. “I’d love to; only I’ve got a late afternoon meeting that may drag out. Can we do it late, say eight o’clock?”
“Eight it is,” he promptly agreed.
“Find a pen; I’ll give you a refresher on the directions.”
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