The Ericksen Connection

by Barry Becker

  “I’m using EyeD4 Comm’s palm vein biometrics.”

  “Damn it!” Sheridan’s face got red with anger.

  He looked at both of them. He hurried back to the patio and opened a duffel bag. He pulled a pair of wire cutters out and came back to the living room.

  After he had cut Caldwell’s flex cuffs, he held his gun aimed at the back of her head. “Get your ass up here and log-on.”

  She sat down. Stall.

  Two minutes later Sheridan glanced over Caldwell’s shoulder and read the most recent emails. “Shit!” Jacobson sent her an email with the fucking private account numbers.

  He placed another pair of flex cuffs on her and lifted her up. “Sit down on the couch.”

  He took out his smartphone and called. Lucas answered it at his office. “Hello.” “Timberwolf speaking. We’re toast! Jacobson emailed Caldwell, Sullivan, and Treasury.”

  “Shit!” said Lucas. Then silence.

  “Now that you have the information when do you expect to release us?”

  “Who said anything about releasing you. Randy, get back outside and secure the place.”

  Silence prevailed. Sheridan aimed the gun at Delgado’s head. “Fico, it must have been you who told Ericksen about our Spin

  Bolak operation. I’m sorry.” He fired a bullet into Delgado’s head. The blast pushed Delgado backward as brain matter, blood, and frag- ments of bone splattered in different directions, some splashing on Caldwell. Sweat ran down her tense and somber face.

  “You rotten bastard!” She screamed, and shook her head, numb to the cold-blooded, brutal execution of Delgado.

  Jacobson rambled along until he came within seventy-five yards from the property. The Agency informed him that the family who owned the property next to the safe house had left a few days ago on vacation. He jumped their fence and crawled one hundred feet to the fence separating the two properties. He put on his night vision goggles.

  Then he heard a noise; something like a person moving slowly on the lawn. He saw a tall, slim man holding a handgun in his right

  hand, partially hidden by bushes along the side of the safe house. He crawled closer, aimed his Sig Sauer handgun with the suppressor, and shot off a burst of bullets into the man’s head. Randy toppled over into the bushes and died.

  I’ve got to get in there. He went around the back and spotted a dead body on the patio slumped over and leaning against the brick. He removed his night vision goggles. Moving with stealth through the unlocked kitchen door and toward the dining room with his handgun drawn, he leaned toward the living room and spotted Sheridan.

  Jacobson had him in his sights. He bolted from the dining room into the living room. Sheridan heard a sound. He turned around, glanced at a man, and in less than a split-second, Jacobson fired two shots at him: one in the shoulder and one in the knee, dropping him onto the Persian rug. He kicked his gun away and stood over him.

  “Dave, you son-of-a-bitch,” he said, groaning in pain.

  “Turn over and place your hands behind your back.” He placed flex cuffs on his wrists and left him on the ground. He grabbed a wire cutter and cut the flex cuffs off Caldwell. Then he embraced her. For a few moments, she didn’t say a word. Finally, she looked into Jacob- son’s eyes.

  “Thank God.”

  Caldwell cut Delgado’s flex cuffs, and picked up her smartphone. “Hello, Venus speaking. Get some people over to the safe house immediately. It’s an emergency. Fico Delgado is dead.”

  “The team should be there in a few minutes,” an Agency case officer said.

  Jacobson searched Sheridan. He took his smartphone from his jacket pocket and removed his sim card.

  “I would have enjoyed killing you, but a life sentence in prison will give you more time to reflect on your sordid, sick life.”

  He inserted the sim card into a sim card extractor reader, connected it to the USB port of Caldwell’s laptop, and sent the infor- mation to the CIA Counterterrorism Center.

  Beltermann finished loading the nuclear suitcases and C-4 explosives into a van on Thursday, September Third and left the Jackson Storage facility off East Sunset Road in Henderson. The address of the safe house was in the five hundred block of Hickory Street, not far from its intersection with Constitution Avenue in Henderson. He met up with Abdullah and several of his team.

  Abdullah, Beltermann, and Ryzhkov arrived at the Henderson safe house. They entered through the garage of the home where he began programming the clock timers for the two suitcase nukes. He locked in the date: Monday, September 7, at twelve o’clock noon.

  Two cell operatives pulled up in their SUVs; Beltermann got into one and Ryzhkov the other vehicle. After a thirty minute drive, they arrived at Las Vegas International Airport. Both men took their carry- on luggage and fake passports with them and received their boarding passes for the flight to Houston.

  CIA Counterterrorism Center

  The CTC director handed Sullivan a number. “The last number sent to Dawkins’ smartphone came from 8649 Old Dominion Drive in McLean. The number is 703-555-0148. The other calls to Reiter also came from the same number.”

  “Old Dominion Drive,” Sullivan said and returned to his office. His chief of staff entered the office and handed him the email and attachments from Caldwell. “Wow! Swiss, Dubai, and Cayman Islands private numbered accounts.” We finally have the evidence to indict all of them. Lucas and Sheridan, you sons-of-bitches, you fooled us.

  64

  Friday, September 4

  yzhkov and Beltermann arrived at the safe house on the 2100 block of Old Legend Drive in Sugarland, Texas. Ryzhkov completed the programming of the clock timers

  on the two nuclear suitcases set to go off at 2:00 pm, September 7, 2009. They closed the garage door to the entrance of the laundry room. Cowboy and his two team leaders went over the plans again with Beltermann. Ryzhkov got into the back seat of a Mercedes SUV for his ride to the airport to catch his flight back to Europe.

  Sullivan, Geiger, FBI agents and Virginia State Police staked out the area that abutted Lucas’s estate. At six in the morning, he opened his garage and drove his Porsche SUV from the driveway and passed the security guards before he was surrounded by the law enforcement teams.

  “Rupert Henry Lucas, we’ve retrieved your Opal Stream Founda- tion private numbered account transactions. Unfortunately, the

  twenty-five million Swiss francs in your bank won’t help you where you’re going,” Sullivan said.

  Geiger butted in, “You’re under arrest for fraud, tax evasion, corruption, money laundering, and being a co-conspirator for the murder of several US Army soldiers.”

  Lucas sat in silence.

  “I’m sure we can prove your culpability in the murder of Jurgen Reiter too,” said Geiger, as he adjusted his tie.

  Sullivan shook his head in disgust. “We have all of your numbered bank account records and your calls to Dawkins and Reiter. We discovered you ran Alpha Group from 2002 to 2005 while you were the director of DIA and continued as Undersecretary of Defense for Intelligence.”

  “Do we have that right, Hank?” said Geiger. ‘By the way, we just received word that last night your buddy Campbell took the cowardly way out and killed himself.”

  Lucas looked stunned. His jaw dropped a bit and shook his head a few times.

  “Handcuff him, read him his rights, and take him away.” The FBI agents led Lucas away.

  Saturday, September 5, 2009

  At 6:00 pm, Geiger, Sullivan, and senior FBI, DOE (Department of Energy), and Homeland Security staff were seated in the conference room at FBI Headquarters. The Deputy Director of the FBI stood up. “Three-days ago we received actionable intelligence from the Agency identifying the two safe houses; one in Henderson, Nevada, and the other in Sugarland, Texas, where the nuclear suitcase bombs and C-4 are stored. Those sites have been under surveillance for the past forty-eight hours. Director Geiger will now fill you in on your task.”

  Geiger walked up to the
podium. “Experts from the Department of Energy are set to disarm the nuclear suitcases once the FBI’s HRT (the Hostage Rescue Team is the counterterrorism unit of the FBI),

  The Ericksen Connection269

  takes control. The operation will commence at 0300 hours Monday morning Pacific Time, and 0500 hours Central Time, respectively. He looked around the room, and continued. ‘You know the drill: neutralize the nukes, kill the terrorists, and take no prisoners. We only have a five-second window once we burst through. Please synchronize your watches. Thirty-six hours to launch time. Your aircraft departs in two hours. Good Luck.”

  Sunday, September 6

  General Al-Jabr arrived early in the morning and conducted a search and recovery operation to gather any bits of the helicopter and burnt bodies. The Saudi Navy recovered body parts and one of the officers turned to the General.

  “It will be difficult to make any ID, sir.”

  Ziad’s body had been recovered on Saturday by a Saudi Coast Guard vessel twenty miles due west of Jeddah. General Al-Jabr was saddened by the death of his best spy who played a huge role in helping eliminate a major threat to the Royal Family and the United States.

  Monday, September 7

  Scharz and two Swiss Federal police officers entered Steiner’s office in Zurich.

  “Herr Steiner, I’m with the Swiss Federal Police. You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, nuclear weapons procure- ment, terrorist arms financing, and money laundering,” said Hans Christian Scharz.

  “You…”

  Monday, September 7

  The FBI’s HRT unit conducted surveillance on the houses in Henderson and Sugarland using thermal imaging cameras. At 3:00 am sharp, PDT, they raided the house killing all the terrorists. DOE people rushed into the garage and disarmed the nukes. At 5:00 am sharp, CDT, the HRT unit raided the house in Sugarland killing ten terrorists, and the DOE experts swiftly neutralized the nukes there too.

  CNN reported on a breaking news event. FBI Director Geiger addressed the public in front of the cameras and made an announce- ment: “Earlier today, the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Teams killed several terrorists in both Henderson, Nevada, and Sugarland, Texas, who were planning attacks on the United States. The terrorists were members of the Red Sea Brotherhood. We are looking for the following individuals [their pictures appeared on the television screen]: Wolfgang Beltermann, Abdullah Al-Suhaimy, and Sergei Ryzhkov. These people are dangerous and armed. Please notify law enforcement immediately if you know their whereabouts. There is a reward of five million dollars on each one of them.”

  65

  Director of National Intelligence Sullivan’s Office

  resident Porterfield entered Sullivan’s office on November 10th, followed by his Chief of Staff and his National Security Advisor. CIA Director Norstad, FBI Director Geiger, Cald-

  well, Jacobson, and Ericksen stood next to him and greeted President Porterfield. After the greetings, the president looked at everyone present and spoke.

  “The CIA’s Hummingbird Operation delivered critical intelli- gence, and your efforts stopped the terrorists from executing a nuclear attack on our homeland, as well as working with Pakistani intelligence in stopping the shipment of a nuclear warhead on a container ship en route to the Port of Long Beach. I thanked the Pakistani President for ISI’s efforts in retrieving the nuclear warhead and arresting members of the Pakistan Taliban and Dr. Gull. Saadi Al-Fulani escaped, and there is an ongoing manhunt for him. ‘I want to personally thank all of you for your heroic task in stopping the planned attack by the Red Sea Brotherhood. Our nation owes you all a great debt of gratitude.”

  Everyone nodded their heads and smiled. President Porterfield smiled and continued.

  “Unfortunately, none of you will have that honor publicly, but it’s fair to say your dedication to your country and its citizens have served our nation honorably.”

  Then the president gave each of them a presidential pen and portfolio. He shook everyone’s hand and left Sullivan’s office, followed by other staffers and FBI Director Geiger.

  “I received my reward. Khalid is dead,” said Ericksen.

  “Let’s hope it’s true,” Sullivan said. He thought General Al-Jabr said a two-man submarine was on the ship when SEAL-Team Eight assaulted the vessel. When the ship arrived at the terminal, it had disappeared. Did Khalid make an escape from The Dolphin Prince?

  He sighed, looked at Ericksen, and smiled. He thought his son Ryan was a lot like Ericksen, sterling character, integrity, discipline and love of country. In a way, Mark was like a son to him.

  “We’ll soon be talking with the Treasury and Justice Departments and the Swiss government in seizing all the assets from the Swiss private numbered accounts belonging to Dawkins, Campbell, Sheri- dan, Lucas and your account,” said Sullivan.

  “Hopefully, with your help our government can donate some of the Swiss bank proceeds to several veterans charity organizations like The Wounded Warrior Project, The Special Operations Warrior Foundation, and The Navy SEAL Foundation,” said Ericksen.

  “Mark, we’ll do our best to make that happen.” “Thanks, sir.”

  “When are you planning on getting back to work?” Sullivan asked.

  “Dave and I are taking a week off and going deep sea fishing on Maui.”

  “Sounds great.”

  CIA Director Norstad walked up to Elizabeth and smiled. “We finally have you back at headquarters. Effective today, you’ve been promoted to director of the clandestine service’s European Division, and it comes with a big salary raise.”

  “Thank you, director.”

  Sullivan turned to Jacobson. “I am appointing you to become the Director of the National Clandestine Service, effective December 1.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  The next day Ericksen drove out to Charlottesville, Virginia. He went to the cemetery and visited his wife’s grave. He placed a bouquet of flowers and knelt down. He glanced at his wife’s head- stone and thought Karen; I will always remember the love we had for each other. I’m finally ready to move on with my life.

  That evening, he enjoyed the company of Elizabeth Caldwell. After a nice seafood dinner at the Market Street Grill and Bar, inside the Hyatt Regency in Reston, the waiter brought over a dessert menu. The waiter smiled. “Have you decided on dessert?”

  Caldwell looked at Ericksen and smiled. “No, thank you. But I would like a Drambuie.”

  He glanced over the menu again and looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have your carrot cake and the Galliano Ristretto liqueur.”

  She shook her head and chuckled, “Better watch it, or you’re going to lose that hot bod of yours.”

  He extended his hands to her, and she placed her hands on his. “Elizabeth, I’m going to miss working with you.”

  “Me too.”

  “If you ever have business on the West Coast, please call me in advance so we can plan an exciting get-together. We’ve shared a lot of history together. I think you know what I mean.”

  She smiled again. “Yes, I do.”

  66

  Wednesday, April 8, 2010

  t five in the morning, an Air Force pilot focused on his computer console/monitor along with his sensor operator at Creech Air Force Base in Nevada. He received a live feed

  through a video link via the satellite from a Reaper Drone flying high over Yemen. The time in Yemen was 1500 hours, and their targeted house was located ten miles west of the city of Tarim, in the Hadra- maut Mountains of Yemen. Ryzhkov got out of the SUV and met Abdullah, Faisal, Beltermann, and Al-Fulani. Six security guards armed with AK-47s left their SUVs and stood to watch outside.

  In the Communications Auditorium of the National Intelligence Building in Virginia, Bill Sullivan, the Director of National Intelli- gence, CIA Director Susan Norstad, and the Director of National Clandestine Service, Dave Jacobson, looked in front of a series of large television monitors viewing the live satellite video footage over Yemen. The camera on the drone zoo
med in as everyone entered the house. Both Sullivan and the drone operators at Creech Air Force Base were in communications.

  “Officer, fire the missile now!” ordered Sullivan.

  “Yes, sir.” A few seconds later, a white flash occurred on the screen the moment the Hellfire missile hit the house and exploded. The screen dissolved into a cloudy picture.

  Sullivan made a call at noon to Ericksen from his office in McLean, Virginia.

  “Hello.”

  “Phantom here. I have good news for you. Four hours ago a Hell- fire missile took out Abdullah, Ryzhkov, Faisal Al-Bustani, Belter- mann, and Al-Fulani.”

  “Fantastic! That’s the best news I heard in a long time. Perhaps you can help me on another subject. I was going to place a call to Langley to reach Elizabeth but realized that wasn’t her real name. I think about her a lot.”

  “She resigned in November. She’s helping her brother and sister- in-law with their Alpaca business.”

  “Can you give me her forwarding address and telephone number?”

  “I’m sorry, Mark, I can’t. She’s in treatment for PTSD and doesn’t want anyone to contact her.”

  “I understand. Give her my best.” “I will. Are you still in therapy?”

  “No. My meditation and daily exercises have reduced those memories substantially. Thanks for asking.”

  “That’s good to hear. I have one other bit of news for you. Last month we brought Jannan’s wife and children and Bashir’s daughter, Laila, to Fremont, California. They’re living rent-free for one year in a condo rental provided by an old Afghan friend of the Agency.