by Allan Topol
“And?”
“He said positively not. First, we don’t know for a fact that Omar is inside. Second, even if he is, the two young Frenchmen may be with him.”
“But they’re part of an assassination team. They hardly qualify as collateral damage,” Craig argued.
“There may be other civilians inside as well,” Betty countered.
“I doubt if they’re innocent.”
“Sorry, but the president was clear.”
“Suppose Omar goes outside, and we get a line on Omar alone. Can we at least hit him?” he asked.
“Worth said I should let him know. He wasn’t ready to make that decision yet.”
For the next forty-five minutes they watched the screen, but nothing happened. Finally at two minutes to six, a man walked through the front door of the castle alone. He was smoking a cigarette.
“That’s Omar,” Craig said.
“You sure?” Betty asked.
“Positive. I’ve been studying Omar’s photo for days. Let’s take him out.”
“I’ll call the president.”
“He’ll be gone by then.”
“I can’t authorize this without approval. Stand by. I’ll call you back.”
Craig was salivating at the thought of killing Omar. They had a perfect shot. No collateral damage. Surely Worth would approve it.
With increasing apprehension, Omar stood in front of the castle and looked up into the cloudless morning sky. He saw an object overhead. That must be a drone. Omar was convinced it was focused on the castle and, at this instant, on him.
Omar didn’t think the Hungarians had sophisticated drone technology, so he guessed it was Russian.
Kuznov has found me.
Omar considered his options. He could race into the castle, grab the keys to the van, and drive away. No point doing that. They would see him and fire a rocket at his van. Hiding in the castle was also futile—they would blast it to smithereens, and him as well.
Besides, those were a coward’s choices for death. Not Omar’s. He was a courageous warrior. He would die a heroic martyr’s death.
He remained calm, bracing himself, expecting the missile to come from the drone any second and kill him. At long last he would be joining his wife and daughters in paradise.
Betty was back on the line with Craig and Doug. “The answer is no.”
Craig was dumbfounded. “No, what?”
“No, we won’t take Omar out with a missile.”
“I don’t fucking believe it. Why not?”
“President Worth says Hungary is a sovereign country. It isn’t Pakistan, where we had far better reasons for taking out Osama bin Laden. If we do this without Szabo’s approval, he’ll go berserk. It’ll drive him into the arms of the Russians.”
“He’s already there.”
“Worth wants you to talk to Szabo. You can tell Szabo that we now have direct evidence that Omar is in Budapest. If you get Szabo’s approval, we’ll hit Omar.”
“Omar will be gone by then.”
Ignoring Craig’s words, Betty said, “If you need an intro to get access to Szabo, Worth will call him.”
Craig knew that Nemeth had access to the Hungarian prime minister. He decided that was the better way.
“I don’t need it,” Craig said glumly. “I have a high-ranking Hungarian military officer who can get me in.”
“Keep me posted.”
Damn politicians, Craig thought as he put down the phone.
“What can I do to help?” Doug asked.
The station chief had been so quiet that Craig had forgotten he was there. “Not a damn thing unfortunately,” Craig said angrily.
Craig took out his phone and called Nemeth. “We have to talk.”
“Same location as yesterday,” Nemeth said. “In thirty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
The missile never came. Incredulous, Omar opened his eyes. Kuznov and Szabo didn’t want to kill him. Why not?
Omar could think of only one explanation. They wanted him alive in order to interrogate him, to learn who had sent him on this mission. Omar was familiar with the Russian torture techniques, and knew the Hungarians would permit Russia to control his fate. He had no intention of letting them capture him. He would fortify the castle so well that any attack they launched would produce heavy casualties on their side. And if he couldn’t prevail or escape, he intended to die in the castle. But they would never take him alive, he vowed.
Omar went into the castle to prepare for the attack that would come—and soon.
Craig couldn’t let Szabo know that Peter Toth was the source of his information about Omar’s location. So he developed a cover, which he told to Nemeth, about how he learned the information from an anonymous source in Paris. Craig then described the location of the castle for Nemeth by drawing a map of his own, a copy of Peter’s map from memory.
Craig added, “I passed the info along to my friends in the CIA who put a satellite and drone in the air for surveillance. Before I called you I was looking at video feed in our embassy. I made visual confirmation of Omar. I wanted to take him out with a missile.”
“In which case, I’d still be sleeping.”
“That’s right. The powers in Washington decided they wouldn’t do it unless Szabo gave the US prior approval. President Worth intends to respect Hungarian sovereignty.”
“Very polite of him,” Nemeth commented. “The US doesn’t always operate that way.”
“Personally, I disagreed,” Craig said.
Nemeth laughed. “I’m not surprised. But since you were overruled, you called me to gain access to Szabo.”
“That’s right.”
Without hesitating, Nemeth took out his phone. For the next couple of minutes, he was engaged in a spirited conversation in Hungarian. Craig had no idea what he was saying or who he was talking to. Nemeth was frowning. When he put down the phone he told Craig, “I spoke to Szabo. He won’t see us until eleven.”
“Eleven? Omar could have left the country by then.”
“That’s what I said, but Szabo told me that if Omar leaves the castle, your people will track him from the sky. The fact is, Szabo doesn’t want to look like he’s doing the bidding of President Worth.”
“Who, by the way, is trying to save his life.”
“Look Craig, you know Szabo’s not one of my favorite people. Now let’s go have some breakfast. After that we can come back here and plot an operation to capture the castle with ground troops, just in case Szabo doesn’t approve a drone attack.”
Nemeth obviously felt Szabo would nix the drone attack. Craig got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. This would not go well.
Craig always formed snap impressions of people. After only two minutes with Szabo and Nemeth in the prime minister’s large and stately office, he viewed Szabo as a “disgusting little man.” Szabo, five foot two with thick gray hair and a high forehead, leaned back in his black plush chair, feet up on a green leather topped desk, puffing on a cigar while Craig repeated for Szabo the story he had told Nemeth earlier about the anonymous tip from Paris.
At the end, Craig said, “I’m here, Mr. Prime Minister, at the request of President Worth to obtain your approval to kill the notorious Chechen terrorist, Omar Basayev, with a missile from a drone. We now have direct evidence Omar is in Budapest, and we know his location. We will, of course, do our best to ensure that no one else is injured.”
Before the words were even out of Craig’s mouth, Szabo said, “No.”
“No what, Mr. Prime Minister?”
“No, you can’t do it.”
“Can I ask why?”
Szabo puffed on the cigar and put it down. “First, only the Hungarian government carries out operations on Hungarian soil and in Hungarian airspace. Second, I want this terrorist captured alive. We will interrogate him to find out who sent him. We have people who are expert at this type of interrogation, and we don’t have some of the restraints that the US has
.”
Craig thought about his visit when he had been the director of EU Counterterrorism to a museum on Andrassy Boulevard in Budapest known as the House of Terror. It portrayed not only torture in Hungary conducted by the Gestapo and the Russians, but also by AVH, the Hungarian secret police, who Stalin’s puppet government unleashed and whose brutality was a factor in leading to the 1956 revolt. So repugnant were AVH’s actions that during the early days of the revolt before the Russians had taken control, numerous AVH agents were lynched in the streets and hung up by their feet from trees and lampposts.
Craig wondered whether Szabo suspected that Peter had hired Omar and wanted to prove it. And there may be something else motivating Szabo, Craig thought. After his people were finished with Omar, he could turn over to Kuznov what was left of the terrorist for his own interrogation, thereby currying favor with the Russian leader.
Szabo turned to Nemeth. “Since I’ve ruled out an attack from the air, I want you to develop a plan for capturing Omar in a ground operation.”
“I’ve already thought of that, Mr. Prime Minister,” Nemeth said, his tone respectful.
“Describe it for me in detail.”
Wonderful, Craig thought. Another civilian head of state who wants to micromanage a military operation.
Nemeth then presented the plan he and Craig had developed. It meant taking over an abandoned castle a hundred yards away to use as a staging area. “We expect to be able to launch our attack by two o’clock this afternoon,” Nemeth said.
While Nemeth was talking, Szabo frowned. When he had finished, Szabo said, “I don’t like it.”
“Why not, Mr. Prime Minister?”
“We have to assume that Omar and his people will be heavily armed. Am I correct?”
“You are,” Nemeth replied.
“During daylight our casualties will be too great. I want you to get your forces in place in the nearby castle but wait for nighttime. Launch your attack at midnight.”
Craig refused to remain silent any longer. “With all due respect, Mr. Prime Minister, Omar will undoubtedly realize we are setting up for an attack. Waiting until midnight will give him plenty of time to fortify his castle and to strengthen his defenses. As a result, our casualties will be increased. Also, there will be a greater chance of Omar escaping.”
Szabo was red in the face. The man wasn’t used to being challenged and certainly not by a foreigner. “How dare you question me?” he spat.
“With all due respect, sir, I’ve had considerable experience in matters like this.”
“I don’t care what you’ve had. This attack will take place at midnight.”
Szabo was so adamant that Craig tried to think of his motive, apart from wanting to be in charge. It struck Craig that Szabo might not want to disclose an attack on his life in the media and believed that if the fighting took place at night, he’d have a better chance of keeping the incident quiet.
“And one other thing,” Szabo said, pausing to light another cigar, “you can help General Nemeth in planning, but I don’t want any US troops or other personnel involved in the actual attack in any way. And that includes you. Is that understood?”
“Understood.”
“Finally, let me emphasize that I want Omar captured not killed. Is that understood by both of you?”
“Understood,” they replied.
Leaving Szabo’s office with Nemeth, Craig considered appealing Szabo’s decision on the drone and midnight attack to Washington, but he assumed the prime minister would dig in and Craig would be blocked from participating. The home team makes the rules, after all. But Craig wouldn’t be sidelined. He didn’t care that Szabo told him he shouldn’t participate in the attack or that Omar should be taken alive. Craig had no intention of following those orders. He was working on his own agenda. He would storm the castle with the Hungarian troops, and the instant he saw Omar, even if the Chechen was in custody, Craig intended to kill him. It was payback for Amos Neir. Also, Craig couldn’t risk Omar telling Szabo that Peter had hired him, for Nick’s sake.
As soon as Omar got back into the castle following the drone attack that never came, he assembled Shamil and the two Frenchmen, Muhammad and Yassir, in the living room.
“An attack may be coming,” Omar said, “but we have an advantage.”
“What’s that?” Yassir asked, sounding frightened.
“We have to fortify and booby-trap this castle. It won’t matter how many men they send. We’ll drive them off.”
“And after that?” Muhammad asked.
“I have a second hiding spot. Once we’ve driven off the attackers and it’s dark, we go there.”
Omar could tell that the two Frenchmen were nervous, but they knew he had killed Rachid. They were too frightened to defy him. They didn’t want Omar to kill them, too. That suited Omar. Obedience was what he needed from them.
Craig was fuming as he worked with Nemeth and ten Hungarian soldiers, including two medics, to develop a plan for the midnight attack on Omar’s castle. If they moved now, Omar wouldn’t have had much time to prepare. Thanks to Szabo, that advantage would be lost.
As Craig and Nemeth spoke about operational details, the Hungarian general told his troops that they would have to follow Szabo’s orders, emphasizing the need to capture Omar alive. Craig’s instinct was that Omar would be likely to expect a frontal assault, would station more of his men behind the front door to the castle, and would strongly fortify that entrance. As a result, he told Nemeth they should break in from the back or side door, which they had seen from air recognizance, or through windows, but avoid the front door. Craig’s assumption was that Omar wouldn’t want to booby trap all the doors in case he had to escape.
The directive to capture Omar precluded the use of grenades, but Craig had persuaded Nemeth to use tear gas and to outfit his soldiers with gas masks.
Their plans were set by three in the afternoon, and the next nine hours of waiting were interminable. The soldiers ate and some slept while others smoked and played cards.
Craig paced in the castle. He called Elizabeth to tell her he wouldn’t be back until quite late. “Please don’t wait up and don’t worry.” Even with an encrypted phone, he didn’t want to tell her any more than that.
Finally, at fifteen minutes before midnight, the Hungarian soldiers gathered their equipment and picked up their guns. Craig’s plan was to be in front of the onrushing troops, then cut to the left, to the side door. He wanted to be one of the first in the castle in order to kill Omar before he was captured.
At midnight as they waited outside the castle, Nemeth gave the signal. Craig was out in front running toward Omar’s castle, which appeared to be completely dark inside. The ground was rocky and uneven. With only a sliver of a moon and clouds in the sky, Craig had to use the flashlight he had in one hand to avoid losing his footing. He had a gun in his other hand, and Nemeth was running beside him carrying a tear gas gun.
While the two of them ran toward the side door, Craig noticed one of the Hungarian soldiers heading straight for the front door of the castle. Damn fool didn’t believe in following orders. One of Omar’s men opened fire from an upstairs window, mowing him down.
As Craig reached the side door, he heard an explosion from the front door of the castle. He had been correct. It was booby trapped.
Craig smashed in the side door, and Nemeth immediately fired tear gas into the darkened castle. While Craig paused at the door and looked around, three Hungarian soldiers entered the castle through the back door. They took heavy gunfire from Omar and his men.
In seconds, it was chaos in the castle with guns firing in every direction.
Craig saw a bearded man rushing toward the back door carrying a duffel bag. Certain it was Omar, Craig raised his gun and screamed, “That’s Omar. Stop him!”
Before Craig had a clear shot, Omar wheeled around and fired in Craig’s direction. Craig ducked. The bullet hit Nemeth in the chest, and he went down.
To
reach Omar before he escaped through the back door, Craig would have had to make it through the crossfire. He would have tried, but he couldn’t leave Nemeth. The general was bleeding profusely. Craig dragged him into a side bedroom, tore a sheet off the bed and bandaged him. The shooting was dying down.
Craig went out to the main room and cried, “Medic!” One of the Hungarians rushed over. The firing had stopped. Craig surveyed the scene. All three of Omar’s men were dead, as well as five of the ten Hungarians.
Craig returned to Nemeth.
“I called for an ambulance,” the medic said.
“What do you think?” Craig asked.
“A serious wound.”
Craig gave the medic his phone number. “Please call and let me know how he is.”
Realizing there was nothing else he could do for Nemeth, Craig had to try and find Omar.
A Hungarian soldier tapped Craig on the shoulder and said, “Omar?”
Craig pointed to the back door.
The soldier nodded and said, “Dogs.” Then he took out his digital radio, calling for reinforcements and dogs to help in the search.
Craig wasn’t about to wait for the dogs. With a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other, he raced out the back door.
Shining the light into the thickly wooded area, he couldn’t see a damn thing. He listened carefully. Up ahead he heard twigs snap. He gave chase in that direction, firing at the source of the noise as he ran. Then he stopped and listened. He didn’t hear anything. He shined his flashlight on the ground, looking for footprints. Nothing. Trying to figure out which way Omar had gone was hopeless. The Chechen had too much of a head start.
Despondent, Craig returned to the castle and waited for the dogs. Thirty minutes later, Craig and two Hungarian soldiers followed the dogs into the woods.
Elizabeth lay in bed at the Gresham Palace suite trying to sleep, but she was too worried about Craig. She was tossing in bed when she heard a tapping on the door. She sat up with start and turned on the lamp.
“Who is it?” she called out.