Hidden Threat

by Anthony Tata

In the headset Matt heard one of the pilots say, “Large group of personnel moving south along the eastern bank of the river.”

  “Roger, I called the conventional forces, and they have confirmed they have no friendly forces operating in this area. Prepare to engage.” Rampert’s voice was crisp and sure.

  “We’re taking fire. We’ve got tracers coming at us,” the pilot calmly announced. Matt felt the aircraft bank, do a quick zigzag in the air, and suddenly he saw a heavy volume of tracer fire screaming across the field of his night-vision goggles.

  Everyone with a weapon in the helicopter returned fire at the enemy.

  “General, don’t you think we’d be better off on the ground fighting these bastards?” Matt asked.

  “Can’t risk it. I’m calling for air support right now.”

  “General, if they’ve captured Zach again, we might be firing into him. Maybe we should back off.”

  A moment of silence passed.

  “Okay, I’ve told the pilots to break contact and asked Van Dreeves to get the Predator over these guys.”

  The aircraft suddenly listed to the right and bolted skyward on its hour-long flight back to the air base.

  ***

  Back in the headquarters they linked up with Van Dreeves. Walking from the flight line to the headquarters, they all let out a few expletives at not being able to find Colonel Garrett, but mostly at having some general eight thousand miles away cancel a mission. The “eight-thousand-mile screwdriver,” as Rampert termed it.

  “Looks like you killed a few of them, sir,” he said to General Rampert.

  “Good.”

  “See this bunch here?” Van Dreeves said, pointing at the large video display. “They are treating wounded and trying to drag bodies.” He punched a button and another screen came up on the display. “These guys here are still moving along the Kunar to the south. Looks like they’re still looking for Colonel Garrett.”

  “Still the right call to wave off. There was no way to tell,” Eversoll said. “At least we killed some of them.”

  “Roger,” Rampert said. “Matt, let’s think things over for a minute.”

  Matt followed Rampert into his office.

  “Coffee?”

  “No thanks. Got enough adrenaline in the system right now.”

  They each sat down in hard wooden chairs. There were no luxuries here in a combat zone.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s alive, and he’s still on the run.”

  “I agree,” Rampert said.

  “We’ll find him.”

  “If we all still have jobs in the morning.”

  “That, too.”

  Rampert paused, taking a sip of coffee from a cup that said “KILL THE ENEMY” in big block letters.

  “You ever sometimes think all this shit ain’t worth it?”

  “Worth what?” Matt countered.

  “You know, we’ve got your brother out there running for his life, we’ve had I don’t know how many soldiers killed lately, and all these dumb-ass politicians and appointees just spanking the monkey.”

  Matt looked away. He didn’t like to think about the worthiness of what they were doing. There were too many questions, too many decisions that didn’t pass the common sense test.

  “I never really think about all that. I’m afraid if I ever stopped to really consider it, I’d be too disgusted.”

  “And then who would do this,” Rampert said, waving his hand.

  Van Dreeves poked his head in the door. “We’re getting some special intelligence here, sir. Listen to this.”

  Van Dreeves played with a small box that looked like a radio but was actually a highly classified signals intelligence platform. He was able to intercept certain types of communications.

  “This is the man we call the Scientist. It’s Mullah Rahman, the one who has the flash drive.” The voice was ranting a continuous stream of Arabic, interrupted occasionally by another voice that was distinctly different, yet still in Arabic. Van Dreeves, fluent in the language, was writing furiously. They listened to the diatribe for close to five minutes when the voices stopped.

  They gave Van Dreeves a minute to finish writing. He ran his hand through his blond hair and said, “Holy shit.”

  “What?” Matt asked.

  Van Dreeves looked at Matt and then at Rampert. The calm operator was more excited than usual. He began speaking, using his hands to emphasize certain points.

  “The Colonel escaped and killed at least two of their men. They lost him around the Kunar River.”

  “That was them.”

  “Wait. They just put a five-million-dollar price on Colonel Garrett’s head.” He paused. “Around the world. A Fatwah.”

  Matt looked at Rampert. The team fell silent, considering the ramifications. Al Qaeda was a global operation with unlimited funding. Even if they got Zach back alive, they would have to be very circumspect. Maybe even hide him for a while. But first things first.

  “We’ve got to find him,” Matt said.

  “Roger.”

  “Wait, there’s more,” Van Dreeves said, finishing some scribbling. “Something about a suicide mission on military bases. He gave guidance to stand up the network.”

  Rampert scratched his chin. “That could be anything, anywhere. We’ve got to make sure we tighten up our gate guard checks and other procedures. We’ve got a hell of a lot of local nationals that work on this base.”

  “Well, the first priority is to find Zach, so we’ve got to get our network going also,” Matt emphasized.

  “Consider it done,” Rampert said. “VD, get me the team. We’re going to full alert here.”

  “What are we hearing from Yemen and Dubai, VD?” Matt asked.

  “The message board is active. Almost like a chat. Rahman’s telling Yemen and Dubai that Colonel Garrett escaped. Dubai asked if that compromises anything. Yemen wants to know if he’s seeing anything else with the master plan to withdraw from the border region. Dubai is the one who said that Rahman needs to produce Garrett to get his money. There’s your five-million-dollar Fatwah,” Van Dreeves said.

  “General I recommend we do three things. First, we move the 101 Airborne to the border to see if they can find Zach. Second, let’s get Predators over Dubai and Yemen and see what we can find out and destroy those targets. Third, we need to get our asses back into the fight. So either drop my ass from an airplane into the middle of this thing or let’s get another helicopter moving.”

  Rampert looked at Matt then at Hobart and Van Dreeves.

  “You heard the man, let’s get moving. VD tell CENTCOM we need Predators over the two grids for Yemen and Dubai. Hobart let’s get the Nightstalkers turning now. I’ll call Art Griffin, the commander of the 101 and tell him what we need,” Rampert said. “If we put the Screaming Eagles on the border, all the helicopters flying around will feed into the deception plan that we’re attacking, too.”

  Matt stared at Rampert. The time had come for full disclosure.

  “Here’s the breaking news. Who said anything about deception?”

  The command center went quiet.

  “What are you saying?” Rampert asked Matt.

  “I’m saying that General Griffin with the 101 already has orders to do a major air assault into Pakistan. The plan on the flash drive was more than an illusion. The best deception feeds into what the enemy already believes. We’ve got this stupid withdraw timeline. We’ve got the closed base from the Korengal. The enemy is seeking nukes. So we wrapped that all together to get them moving toward the border, which we see is happening. Now we are going to put massive boots on the ground in Northwest Frontier Province and Waziristan behind them while we seal the fake mine we sent their fighters into. This is the moment of truth for this war.”

  It was Rampert’s turn to stare at Matt.

  “You son of a bitch,” Rampert barked. “You frigging used us? JSOC? Your own brother?”

  “I didn’t use anyone, General. This
is a major opportunity. The president recognizes it. Pull your head out of your myopic ass for a second and think about it. We’ve got the main AQ operative in Pakistan unglued and we know where he is. We’ve got the financier in Dubai and a mystery operator in Yemen. We’ve not had an opportunity like this to disable Al Qaeda since just after 9-11 when Tommy Franks couldn’t find his ass from a hole in the ground and didn’t have the stones to put a hellfire missile on bin Laden. Now we’re wasting time, so let’s get moving.”

  Matt had always believed in the dictum, “When in charge, be in charge.” He knew that he didn’t have actual command authority over Rampert or any of the military in Afghanistan, but he had the legitimacy and the extended authorization from the National Command Authority.

  “I think, VD, you’ll find that we’ve had Global Hawk over both Yemen and Dubai for a couple of days now. The financier is none other than a respected Dubai citizen, Jamal Mohammed, whom AQ calls the Technician. He is going to die very soon. Probably his family, too. We’ve had a more difficult time identifying our friend in Yemen. He’s got medical problems apparently, because a van arrives everyday at nightfall and two men get out of the van carrying assorted medical equipment. One day it was a doctor’s bag, another day it’s a dialysis machine. So who knows?”

  Again the command center fell silent.

  “But that son of bitch is going to die soon also. And we’re going to wait until the medical personnel are there so that we know he’s in there. So they’ll die too. All of that is in the works. I’ve got two teams prepared to do night jumps to extract and confirm the bodies when we decide to pull the trigger. Could be tonight, could be next week. I will provide the best recommendation to the president on when and how to do this. If you’re nice to me, maybe the five of us can jump in and go get this guy. And now my first priority is to go get my brother, who risked his life to make all this possible.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Matt turned and walked out of the headquarters.

  CHAPTER 48

  Spartanburg, South Carolina

  Monday (Eastern Time Zone)

  Melanie Garrett walked through her dining room, running a moisturized hand along the reflective sheen of the wood. Nina Hastings leaned her aging but agile frame against the portico that separated the foyer from the dining room.

  “Whatcha gonna do?” the mother asked with a toying smile. The relationship was too complex to be characterized as mother-daughter, teacher-student, or squad leader-soldier. Co-dependent was too simple a phrase that failed to capture the multiple linkages and twisted interrelationships between the two. These women were sociopaths who carved out their own niche in this world, this survival of the fittest existence.

  They acted without conscience and without mercy. The ends always justified the means.

  “I’m thinking things are going just about right, Mama.”

  “Well, you need that paperwork signed.”

  “Amanda will sign it tonight. She has to be scared. Everything but us has gone to hell in her life.”

  “Heard Dwyer died.”

  “No, unfortunately. They forgot to hook up her machines or something, but she’s as good as dead as far as we’re concerned.”

  “So, what next?” Nina Hastings, dropping bread crumbs along the path she wanted her daughter to follow, smiled at her own manipulation.

  “Amanda comes home, we call the military, and they process the paperwork.”

  “How you going to do that without Dwyer’s signature?”

  “Oh, I’ve got that already.”

  Nina raised a pencil-marked eyebrow. Had the warrior outdone the general? Melanie smiled. She had forged enough insurance checks to buy a new car, just a little bit at a time so no one would get alarmed. And, she had forged Zach’s signature on so many checks and documents that she had been able to, without concentrating, imitate his signature at will.

  “Practice makes perfect.” She showed her mother the document, which she had retrieved from Amanda’s room.

  “Gonna tell her that Dwyer signed it at the hospital?”

  “Yep. Went over there today, spoke with her briefly, and she agreed. Unfortunately, she fell unconscious after that, but thank God that we can move on.”

  “Gotcha.”

  They turned their heads when they heard the car door slam in the driveway.

  “Let me handle this, Mama. I’ve got it under control.”

  ***

  Amanda pulled into her mother’s driveway after having left Jake’s house. She stopped the car and sighed heavily. She leaned over, pulling at her hair, banging her forehead on the upper leathered portion of the steering wheel.

  “What is wrong with me?” she screamed inside her nearly soundproof Mercedes. The advertisements championing the heavy doors and airtight fit were all true. An outside observer would see her moving her mouth, but be unable to hear anything unless they were directly beside the vehicle.

  She pulled herself together and walked through the front door entryway, seeing Nina leaning against the doorjamb as if she were hanging out at the soda fountain, twirling a toothpick in her mouth. Next she saw her mother standing in the dining room. What were they thinking?

  “Hey, baby, how are you?” Nina Hastings was instantly upon her. While Melanie’s need was money, Nina’s was attention, manufactured or not.

  “Fine, Nina. I mean, not really. There’s some stuff that’s happened.”

  “Want to tell me what you’ve been up to?” her mother chirped from the dining room.

  Yes, Melanie Garrett to Nina Hastings was daughter to mother as Goebbels was to Hitler. Who was more evil? Hard to tell. Each was capable of independently operating for her own purposes, but they were so much better together. The whole was greater than the sum of the parts.

  She wasn’t sure when she had reached this conclusion, but Amanda stared at her mother and grandmother, debating with herself the course of action she had entertained on the drive back from Jake’s. Their visit had been brief, the electronic bracelet around his ankle a visible reminder of what they faced together. Nonetheless, her thinking had crystallized after their short conversation. It was all starting to make sense, and she had a plan. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  “Well, Mom, you know it has just been one of those weeks. You-know-who is dead. Jake’s in jail. There’s a half million dollars out there for the taking. So, you know, cut me some slack, please.”

  Melanie Garrett tapped her foot, covered in an Italian leather pump, then softened considerably. Be tough, then loving; keep her off balance. Never be predictable. These were her operating credos. Amanda was beginning to see through the smoke screen that was intentionally laid in front of her.

  “Speaking of the money, Amanda, we need to talk.”

  Amanda held up her hands. “Mom, it has already been a long day. I know what you want me to do, and I will do it. The problem is that the original that was signed by you-know-who is still with Miss Dwyer.”

  Melanie paused and decided to let Amanda continue. The copy she had made from the version Amanda kept in her lockbox was nearly perfect. Yet, the raised seal was not present; not that she couldn’t fix that in a hurry.

  “So, let me go see Dwyer tomorrow at the hospital, if she wakes up, and we’ll get this done.” Jake had received the news that Riley Dwyer was still alive and had passed that much on to Amanda. Amanda knew she needed to start taking responsibility for her actions—an alien concept to her—but she thought she might know how to begin.

  “I’m told she’s in a coma, almost died,” Nina said, speaking up for the first time.

  “Well, can we just deal with it tomorrow? I want that money just as much as anyone. I know it will do us some good. I’m on the team, so don’t sweat it.”

  The two older women stared at their protégé.

  “Okay, then, but first I want you to take a drive with me,” her mother said.

  “Mom, please—”

  “Amanda, you’ve been out o
f it the past few days, both mentally and physically, and I need to show you something.”

  Amanda recognized this as her “no negotiation” voice. Some days she was bewildered by the way her mother and grandmother would seem to be out of synch, one nice, the other mean as hell. She loved them, for sure, but at times she could swear that they were almost working her.

  “Amanda, why don’t you do what your mother says,” Nina urged sweetly. “You haven’t had much time with her, and I think this whole ordeal has been harder on both of you than either of you realize. If there were ever a good moment for some mother-daughter time, this is it.” Open the steam valve just a bit, release some pressure from the situation. She was a master.

  Sighing, as if to vent, Amanda muttered, “All right, but I need to catch up with some schoolwork.”

  CHAPTER 49

  The Cliffs at Keowee, South Carolina

  She found herself completely disconnected from reality as she sailed along in the passenger seat of her mother’s Mercedes, top down, on this beautiful spring day. Quickly she saw that they were on South Carolina Highway 11, and she knew intuitively that they were heading toward Lake Keowee. Her mother had been obsessed with buying a home in that area for years, as if it was what she lived for.

  Her hair whipping in the Cabriolet’s slipstream, she tried to use the time to sort out the colliding emotions, thoughts, and actions of the last week. She had just a few days until her eighteenth birthday and her emancipation as an adult. Memories of her father, long forgotten or erased or suppressed, she wasn’t sure which, had come crashing back into her life with the force of a battering ram against a secured medieval castle door.

  They traveled mostly in silence, her mother appearing lost in thought as well. Amanda’s infrequent glance was a mere turn of the eyes as she rested her head against her hand, elbow propped against the passenger door. Her jade and copper flecked eyes carried a scorn deep within that somehow she could not control.

  In short, she was going out of her mind trapped in the car with her mother. She’d had momentum. She’d had an idea and the energy to follow through, which was now being stifled by her mother’s banal diversion.