by Barry Becker
Khalid turned to the chef who brought a lamb dish and a glass of orange juice to him. “Rafiq, bring me a machete and the German butcher knife right now. Hurry!”
Moritz nodded as he faced Khalid, “Sheik, I can’t wait to see you butcher Ericksen into bits of meat and bones.”
Khalid’s face was filled with anger as he yelled to his personal bodyguard, “Oskar.”
“I’m going to cut this CIA pig to pieces and take great pleasure of throwing his remains overboard to the sharks!”
“I’ll bring the viny tarp to Ericksen’s stateroom,” said Moritz.
Minutes later, the SDV Team pulled up to the port side, and once positioned beside the ship threw a hook with an attached ladder to the deck and climbed on board. They each fanned out with their M4 carbines with suppressors in two-man assault teams. The first two- man team found an armed guard by the stern of the vessel and fired and killed him. The next two-man team killed an armed guard toward the bow of the boat. They combed the lower and main decks and killed two more armed guards before one guard on the main deck discovered the team.
A few minutes later the SEAL Team in the inflatable combat boat approached from the starboard side.
The chef came back to the Bridge with the tools and handed them to Al-Bustani, when they heard several shots. Pop-pop-pop sounds were fired from the guard, alarming the crew and the terror- ists. The captain, the first mate, and Khalid stopped talking when
they heard shots. Inside the Bridge, they turned and saw Moritz run inside.
“I spotted helicopters. They’re coming towards us.”
Khalid switched the intercom on. “We’ve been boarded. Kill the infidel dogs.” The SEALs were now in a firefight as bullets riddled the ship.
Once the USS Cunningham emerged, a terrorist sighted it from the bow. He rushed into the Bridge. “Sheikh, a submarine has surfaced and is one kilometer in front of the bow.”
Khalid yelled, “Oskar, take the waiter with you to the helicopter.
Hurry, the pilot is waiting. Tell the pilot to take you to Mecca.”
A Saudi Navy Al-Riyadh Class frigate moved toward The Dolphin Prince. Khalid glanced at the sub moving closer, and in the distance, he spotted a large vessel coming toward his location. He grabbed his duffel bag and his handgun. He made his way down to the lower deck without being spotted by the SEAL teams. The ship’s first officer joined him as they passed a couple of crew members and opened the door of the engine room. They went into a utility room and went to a bookcase. There he went to the third shelf from the top and moved four books. He pushed a switch up, and the bookcase slid to the side. He placed the books back where they belonged. The two men were now inside.
Khalid pressed a button from the inside, and it closed the sliding bookcase. The hidden compartment had piped-in air conditioning, bottled water, and a box of cereal. His two-man submarine rested on the lower deck in a garage-type hold.
From the Saudi frigate, a Saudi naval officer with the aid of night vision binoculars spotted a man dressed in a dishdasha carrying a duffel bag along with another man who fit Moritz’s description boarding the helicopter. He picked up his satphone.
“Sir, I think its Khalid and his bodyguard, Moritz.”
“Take down that helicopter,” General Al-Jabr said. Two minutes later, a Saudi Special Forces operator took out a Stinger missile
launcher, placed it on his shoulder, and with the assistance of a satel- lite comms spotter targeted the helicopter as it reached one-thou- sand-feet, squeezed the handguard, and fired the missile. Within a few seconds, the missile hit the helicopter which exploded into a gigantic fireball with a loud boom. Pieces fell from the sky and into the Red Sea.
Two Apache gunships flew over the ship, snipers on the ready. Both the pilots and the snipers wore night vision sensors. The forward-looking infrared detected the amount of light released by heated objects. The SEAL teams forced the engine crew to climb upstairs to the main deck’s lounge area where they were in flex cuffs.
The main deck was now secured. Two more Apache gunships arrived, and snipers aimed their rifles at anything that moved. The CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter arrived on the scene, and the SEAL Team-Six and Saudi naval commandos fast-roped it onto the main deck. They burst into the Bridge, secured it, and tied up the captain. The naval commandos escorted three engine crew members from other mega-yachts down to the engine room. These three now oper- ated the engine room.
On the upper deck, SEAL Team-Six searched the staterooms cabin by cabin.
“I’m in here,” shouted Ericksen. Two SEALs heard him, spotted the guard positioned outside the cabin door, and shot two bullets into his head. They shot the lock off and entered the room. Ericksen smiled. “You’re just in time.” They cut his flex cuffs with a wire cutter.
“Sir, follow us,” a SEAL said.
Ericksen motioned with his hands, “We need to find my combat boots. Follow me.” After reaching the upper deck master stateroom, they entered and checked the room thoroughly for his clothes and boots. “No luck here.” They exited the cabin and bolted to the next room, a utility room. He looked into a laundry bin against the wall and found his clothes and boots under dirty clothes. After getting dressed, he followed the SEALs to one of the inflatable rubber Zodiac boats and jumped in.
They arrived back on the USS Cunningham. Ericksen entered the
command, control and intelligence center and gave the USB flash drives to the commander.
“Director Sullivan is expecting these babies,” He said.
“Thank you, Mr. Ericksen.” The commander inserted the flash drive into the USB port of his computer and pressed Enter. He put his hand on Ericksen’s shoulder. “The Lieutenant will take you to your quarters, get you clean clothes and some rest. You have an Agency Gulf Jet scheduled for departure from Jeddah to Geneva, at1400 hours.”
The Saudi frigate arrived, and their Special Forces teams boarded The Dolphin Prince, putting the mega-yacht under the control of the joint Saudi and American Special Operations Forces. When the mega-yacht came within one mile of the terminal the frigate turned and cruised toward a naval base.
Khalid opened the hidden compartment and reached the garage hold alongside where the mini-sub was located. He opened the hatch to the two-man submarine while the first officer activated the lower deck garage, pressing the hydraulic system button. He then turned a switch that gently guided the mini-sub into the water. He heard one man from the engine room move closer to them, and he shot him with the suppressor on. He got into the sub’s other seat. Khalid guided the sub under the water’s surface to an initial depth of forty meters. Once they were one hundred meters from The Dolphin Prince, they submerged to a depth of sixty meters and moved at a four knots per hour clip. Their destination: the Fakieh Aquarium area.
The Dolphin Prince arrived at the Red Sea Gateway Terminal at 0100 hours, Thursday, September 3. The Saudi National Police and intelligence services waited for orders to board. When they reached the seawall near Al-Kurnaysh Road, Khalid maneuvered the mini-sub to the seawall, opened the hatch, reached to the top of the seawall, grabbed his duffel bag, and lifted himself onto the surface, followed by the first officer. They walked toward the Pizza Hut, just north of Suri Road. He took out another satphone and called one of his aides.
“We’ll drop you off at a shopping center. Make arrangements to meet Faisal and tell him I’ll be meeting Ignacio. He’ll understand.”
An hour later a Land Rover pulled up, and they both jumped into the SUV and drove off.
At 0800 hours the Saudi National Police and Saudi Intelligence Services placed a gangway alongside the ship and boarded the vessel, relieving the Saudi commandos and SEAL Team-Six of their duty. After inspecting the entire mega-yacht, they discovered a crew member killed and the mini-submarine missing.
62
Geneva, Switzerland
awkins’ smartphone rang at three in the morning and woke him up. He reached over the woman sleeping next to him and g
rabbed the phone. “Hello.”
“Shogun here. Timberwolf will meet you at ten in the morning. He’ll give you several passports, cash, a makeup kit, and a ticket for your one-way commercial flight to Rio de Janeiro, scheduled for Friday morning. The Feds have issued an arrest warrant for you and Spotlight.”
Dawkins’ face turned ashen-white, and he scowled in disbelief. “Will someone be meeting me when I arrive?”
“A man will be waiting for you when you clear customs. He’ll have a sign up there saying ‘Diego Iron.’ Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Jurgen Reiter closed the door to his mansion located on Chemin de Ruth in Cologny, an expensive suburb of Geneva. He walked toward
the circular driveway to his Maserati sedan. When he started the igni- tion, the car exploded, engulfing Reiter and his car in flames.
At nine in the morning, Sheridan lifted his cup of coffee in his hotel room in Geneva. His secure smartphone rang. “Hello.”
“Shogun here. Is everything okay?” “Yep.”
“Caldwell, Delgado, and Jacobson should all be at the safe house this evening. Jacobson will have the evidence with him.”
“What about the Swiss Federal Police?” asked Sheridan.
“The Swiss aren’t going to divulge any private bank numbered accounts held by foreigners unless our government provides evidence the account holder committed serious illegal activities. If our government doesn’t have the contents of our numbered accounts, I believe we have a good chance of not being caught.”
In the background, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony played. “Termi- nate them; otherwise we’re toast!” Lucas directed.
“Randy and I will take care of everything.”
Scharz and Jacobson arrived at the Swiss Federal Police headquarters building on Nussbaum Strasse 29 in Bern at four in the afternoon. After an hour they placed the thirty-two-gigabyte memory card filled with images into a photo printing computer hookup. A few minutes later many photos of men and women appeared on the monitor, along with a reference number affixed to each picture. The reference number tied to each private account number should confirm Reiter’s system.
To check their theory, they inputted Ericksen’s private numbered bank account: BMR0534986JR/1, the passcode prompt appeared, and he entered: VikingMercerIslandDK. Mark Ericksen’s name appeared and File #244 and his photo. Swiss Federal Police Director Muller ordered Scharz to wait until he returned at six this evening before releasing the information to Jacobson.
They scanned the files and the photos and matched them up:
• • •
The Ericksen Connection259
BMR7073385JR/1; passcode: IronFist = The Conestoga Fund. F#202: Photo of Shane Dawkins – listed eight million Swiss francs in the account.
BMR7073642JR/1; passcode: Bermuda60 = Palm Financial Holdings. F#225: Photo of Steve Campbell – listed four million Swiss francs in the account.
BMR7073388JR/1; passcode: Timberwolf = Saber Recon Fund F#205: Photo of Nate Sheridan – listed five million Swiss francs.
BMR7073380JR/1, passcode: Shogun = Opal Stream Foundation. F#190: Photo of Rupert Henry Lucas – listed twenty-five million Swiss francs.
BMR0534986JR/1; passcode: VikingMercerIslandDK. F#244: Photo of Mark Ericksen - listed thirty-three million Swiss francs.
Muller arrived and spent the next twenty minutes going over the files. “The note you found in his top drawer could be used to indict Campbell, Dawkins, Sheridan, and Lucas. The fact that Lucas requested Reiter to transfer all his funds to Waldmann and Tessier Private Bank in The Cayman Islands on Monday, August 31 made me suspicious. Lucas must have calculated if we audited the bank after he had liquidated all of his Swiss account holdings, there would be no record to indict him. The same holds true with the other conspira-
tors: Campbell, Sheridan, and Dawkins,” said Muller.
“Perhaps they assumed once the funds were transferred Reiter could pose a problem for them. They didn’t waste any time. He was blown to bits,” Jacobson said.
“Sir, we discovered a file referenced to Dawkins which mentioned
Pulaski and Huntington at various times. I wouldn’t be surprised if their funds were merged amongst these four conspirators’ accounts,” Scharz said.
Jacobson nodded. “Dawkins murdered Pulaski, and Huntington died last year in a small plane accident.”
Muller looked at Jacobson and leaned toward him, “Okay, Herr Jacobson, take whatever intel you need. I hope your government prosecutes and convicts these criminals.”
Jacobson downloaded the information to a USB flash drive. He sat down by a desk and opened his laptop computer, did the log-on, and placed his USB flash drive into the port. A few minutes later he emailed Director Sullivan with the information, with a copy to the Under Secretary for Financial Intelligence and Counterterrorism and Caldwell.
He called Sullivan’s direct number, and it routed him to voicemail: “Emergency, please check your email. Wolverine.”
He stopped for a quick dinner on the road to Lausanne. His watch displayed 2100 hours. I can’t wait to celebrate tonight with Caldwell and Delgado.
63
Bussigny, Switzerland
he CIA safe house was on a one-acre plot of land with views of the mountains and Lake Geneva. The two-story Tudor home on the Rue des Alpes blended in with other charming
homes. Caldwell and Delgado were in the living room watching a movie on television from the comfort of a couch. One Agency secu- rity man guarded the front of the home. He hunkered down in a lounge chair on the front porch and could see and hear anyone who approached the house from the front.
Randy had conducted a brief recon and surveillance on the prop- erty using a small UAV earlier in the day. At 2130 hours he had spotted the security guard. He approached from the side of the prop- erty and when he came within twenty feet of the security man, fired two shots into the man’s head with his Glock. The suppressor he used significantly reduced any noticeable noise.
Sheridan wore a camouflaged outfit and moved closer to the safe house. He managed to enter a neighbor’s property that backed up to the safe house, climbed the six-foot fence and jumped down on the
lawn. He approached the property, cut the landlines, and employed communication jammers.
Sheridan looked into the window and observed Caldwell and Delgado watching television. He cut the window glass by the kitchen door near the back patio. He placed his hand on the deadbolt lock and opened the door. He bolted into the living room from the dining room and aimed his Makarov 9mm handgun at them.
Delgado and Caldwell saw a flash of a man burst out of nowhere.
Their eyes were glued to him in shock.
“Get your hands up.” Sheridan threw a pair of flex cuffs on the floor.
“Caldwell, cuff Delgado.”
“What’s this all about?” Delgado asked. “Where’s Jacobson?”
“He is in Bern.”
“Then we’ll just wait for him. Get down on the floor and lay on your stomach with your hands behind your back.”
Caldwell followed his orders. After he had cuffed her hands, he lifted her up and placed her next to Delgado. He opened the door and looked at Randy. “Drag the guard’s body to the back of the house. Jacobson should be coming within the hour.” Sheridan stepped out of the safe house for a minute.
CIA Counterterrorism Center
“The secure smartphone number we intercepted belonged to Jurgen Reiter. He also had six other smartphones listed on his phone bill,” said the CTC Director.
“What’s the number?”
“The number is 41-22-919-8816. The last two intercepted calls were placed on the hour, and we heard chimes from a grandfather clock in the background.”
“Have the scientists do a voice analysis. Also, have NSA pinpoint
the GPS origination of the calls.” Sullivan picked up a phone in the CTC and made a call.
“Wolverine”, said Jacobson.
“Pha
ntom speaking. I tried calling Venus and Tampa’s satphones as well as the landline a few minutes ago. No one answered. I just got off the phone with the Bern station chief, and they’re going to dispatch a team in a few minutes. Be careful.”
Sullivan called another number. “Gold Eagle,” Ericksen said. “Phantom here. Where are you?” “I just cleared customs.”
“Did you catch the breaking news this morning?” “No.”
“The Saudis made it official and released a statement on Al- Bustani’s death. Al-Jazeera reported ‘Saudi mastermind terrorist killed by Saudi commandos last night.’”
“Apparently his body vaporized upon impact. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
“Just got off the phone with Wolverine. He is near the safe house.
Be prepared for trouble.”
CIA Safe House
Sheridan came back into the house. “Where’s your laptop?” “In my trunk,” Caldwell said.
He opened the front door and saw Randy. He threw the car keys to him. “Open Caldwell’s car trunk and bring me the fucking laptop computer.”
Randy retrieved the computer and handed it to Sheridan. Sheridan plopped down on a dining room chair and placed the laptop computer on the table. He powered it up, and the prompt asked for a passcode.
“What’s your passcode?” asked Sheridan.