by E L Russell
Sen patted the buttons of his shirt and then ran a finger through each pocket looking for his sunglasses. When he remembered they were sitting on top of his head, he reached for them only to be distracted by his wristwatch. Only one more hour. Removing a curved silver flask from a back pocket of his cream colored slacks he toasted the island with the world’s best single malt Scotch for helping to make his dream reality. Excited by what he was about to do and not concerned that the Scotch would put him to sleep, he ceremoniously toasted the memory of his extended family and thought of their untimely deaths.
He clicked his wrist for his schedule and marked his arrival and toasts as completed tasks. The next item on the list required him to send the code.
He slowly entered the seven-character code on his wrist and waited.
No response.
Perhaps a typo? He examined the tiny screen. No, that is the correct code.
He sent the code once more.
No response.
He wiped the gathering sweat from his face. After jerking his head around looking for something, anything that might strengthen the signal, he held his wrist high and waited.
The device dinged. Code Accepted.
He re-patted his forehead dry with one side of a neatly folded handkerchief. Shielding his eyes, he stretched on the lounger resuming his scan of the North side of the coast for any sign of their arrival. This spot, the highest place close to the airport with a clear overview of the Gulf of Aden, was perfect for his surveillance. He knew that only minutes ago, after receiving his code, ten modified Reaper drones, all painstakingly pieced together from scrapped components stolen from departing American troops, had taken flight from a hidden base somewhere in southern Yemen. Now they flew low over the Gulf of Aden directly toward his lounge chair on a precipice of the northern edge of the small island of Socotra.
Excited, he had convinced Katya to deliver him to this place two hours ahead of the drone’s scheduled flyby. He took turns staring though his oversized binoculars toward the distant shoreline of Yemen and at his wristwatch, anticipating the defining moment of his life.
When he heard the distant low din of approaching drones, he stood shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight for a visual sign of their arrival. Only flashes of sunlight reflecting from their wings marked the first leg of his armada completed. Then, as they suddenly shot low overhead he held his hat and turned with the roar of their passage. With his free hand he held his flask held high and saluted himself for doing everything else.
Subash Sen, Ph.D., now sat alone in his rented beach chair atop Hajhir, elevation 4449 feet, overlooking the northern coast of Socotra with a warm feeling of ease accompanied by the warm glow of Scotch he so desperately wished would end his pain.
She whispered in his ear. “How do you feel now that it’s done?”
“Katya, I cannot see you. Where are you?”
“I am with you, Subash. I wanted this moment to be yours alone, but I am concerned that you might be conflicted about what you did for your family.”
He pushed himself taller in the lounge chair looking around for her. “But why can’t I see you?”
“What are your thoughts for the thousands that will soon die here?”
His face contorted in a painful expression. “No, I said I did not want that, but you made me—”
Her voice softened. “Yes, I made you.”
He could feel the touch of her hand on his shoulder and pulled away.
She continued. “You did this for your family and the millions of other families who have been murdered or soon will die from the senseless fighting in this part of the world. You did this to make them stop centuries of conflict.”
He returned his eyes to the ocean below. “Why . . . me?”
“Remember, Subash, this is your destiny. You are the only one smart enough to create the perfect final solution.”
He shook his empty flask and tossed it aside. “And what we do next will make that possible?”
“Yes, and only you can make them understand. You are the one. Rest and remember. When you step into the helicopter, everything will feel better.”
He closed his eyes and imagined his fleet of drones flying in perfect formation below Yemen and Socotra’s radar, expertly dodging cargo ships and any large craft. All in perfect formation for his perfect retribution. Their deafening roar had broken over him like a tsunami. He remembered when they neared the coast how they suddenly rose from the surface of the ocean below and up the face of the steep rise toward his outstretched arms.
They were like a flock of pelicans approaching his hill top nest bringing the meal of his salvation.
He sat in the helicopter, satisfied his plan had worked to perfection and reviewed the next unchecked item his wrist’s checklist. It told him everything he needed to know. The word is Airport. He couldn’t wait to wake the helicopter’s sleeping crew. Soon, Dr. Subash Sen would awaken the entire world.
22
What We Want to Know
Early May, Somewhere in Yemen’s desert - Meret’s first Field Work
Meret slid her thumb across the icon raising Ring’s power levels and matched Steve’s concern. “I heard the guard chamber his weapon. So did Ringo.”
What the hell does—”
The screen’s display of a rapid ascent followed a loud roar of a high-pitched whirring associated with model airplanes.
Meret laughed. "Yahoo. Zhen told me this might happen. He programmed the beetle bots to take immediate evasive action when threatened. Ringo heard the bullet hit the chamber at the same time I increased his power levels. Damn, I would've enjoyed seeing the guard's reaction. I'm surprised he didn't shoot. It wouldn't matter he reacts to high-speed intrusion. In theory, according to Zhen, any shot taken more than two meters away can be avoided. After all, Ringo's small enough to be missed if standing still.”
She held the screen so Steve could see and high-fived with her free hand. “Ringo lives to fight another day.”
"Amazing. What's Ringo doing? Returning on his own?"
She grinned. "The Mission Complete icon will bring him to this room. Watch, when he enters the warehouse, hold out your palm. That's his first choice. Otherwise, he'll find a corner or some other hidey-hole in this room."
“Smart.”
“While you are doing that, I’ll arrange my notes. What’s next?”
"After we secure the trace that, ah, Ringo obtained and got it checked out, you and I need to prepare for a short transfer in a helicopter to our desert field station.
* * *
After her experience her marathon on the corporate jet, Meret looked forward to a quick transfer in a helicopter to somewhere in the desert. The little geography she knew of Yemen put that hidden base somewhere between the U.S Embassies in the Yemen cities of Sana'a and Aden. Approaching the base, the squat white cinderblock building she saw resembled the third world airport control facility she'd imagined. Behind and to each side of the control tower, semi-circular aluminum ribbed metal hangars protected helicopters, Humvees and other assorted gear she didn't recognize. Farther away were a series of dirty tan field tents for the troops. Maybe the top floor of the control tower wasn't so bad after all.
An escort met them beyond the copter’s rotating blades and took her and Steve to the first floor of the control tower. It was larger than she first thought and she calculated the white cinder block building housed twenty small rooms. She wiped the sweat from her cheek, feeling air conditioning would be nice.
After clearing security, they were escorted by fully-armed security through double doors that led a set of stairs spiraling down three flights to a large room full of wall monitors and rows of computers. And air conditioning. The hum of equipment and low voices spoke of the serious business.
A red metal door with a secure keypad lock graced one wall, and a security man swiped and keyed them into a chilly room with dark gray furniture arranged on a worn white linoleum floor. A projector hung from the cei
ling pointing toward a screen flanked by two smart boards.
Two sets of five chairs sat opposite the middle of a long gray table that ran parallel to the screen. Steve motioned for her to sit next to him with their backs to the screen to face a large two-way mirror. Their escorts returned to the red door and silently stood guard completing the security cliché. Within minutes, a middle-aged man in a black suit entered without a word and set a monitor opposite them.
The screen flickered, and Director Davie's face morphed from deadly serious expression to one of welcome. He seemed genuinely pleased to meet her.
"Special Agent Fairchild, I the DNA you and Dr. Mather gathered tell us that We have no evidence that SA Hawking died at the hotel. The trace belongs to his asset, Yasser, who body hit the concrete far from the wall must have been thrown from one of the top two floors. I know you are itching to get into the field and find Granger and I appreciate you taking time to ramp up our new special consultant. He turned his gaze back to her. And thank you, Dr. Mather, for taking time away from your new company to help us on this mission."
Meret lowered her chin in acknowledgment. This all had a vaguely familiar feel to it. She had no time to dwell on her thoughts.
The Director ended the chitchat and got straight to business. “What more have we learned?”
Meret glanced at Steve as he answered. “I've sent you a complete report on a new technology Dr. Mather proposes we use to support our efforts to locate and rescue Special Agent Hawking. We field-tested it on Granger's asset’s crime scene in Aden without detection or collateral damage and extracted vital information. With your approval, we'll move forward with this new technology."
The Director nodded and made a quick note. He raised his head. “Dr. Mather, how will your company support us?”
As you know, we shipped dozen beetle bots. I am not aware of the location. As Special Agent Fairchild can attest, the training required to pilot them is minimal. We have not had time to deploy and field-test the explosives, but our confidence in the Nitrogen Octaiodide as its bang-bang is high, based on their history working with other military efforts. I believe, with its built-in facial and DNA recognition capabilities, we can ID Granger. Special Agent Fairchild assures me his guys can then pull him out.”
Without comment on the summary, the Director moved directly to the next step. "Fairchild, get your extraction plan to me within the next four hours. Great work, the both of you."
The monitor went black.
"You guys Skype?" Meret said. “How can I help with your extraction plan?”
He stood and stretched. “I'll arrange for some sandwiches and coffee. There'll be a team of six meeting here shortly."
* * *
After a short break, Meret and Special Agent Fairchild met with four other agents in the same room. Before Steve began, a middle-aged man in a black suit entered and without a word set a monitor opposite them and hit the power button. Once again, Director Davies' face appeared.
“Good, I see the people I need to talk to are already in the room. What do you have Special Agent Fairchild?”
“Back channel INTEL informs us that several trucks have been observed delivering suspicious objects, possibly salvaged drones, to a compound in the desert next to a road suitable for launching said drones. Our source has observed at least six deliveries over as many weeks. We have no visual support either by satellite or ground cameras. Our latest message gives the following location: 18 degrees 14’ 31.96” N by 45 degrees 32’ 21.34” E. Altitude 3130 feet. From the satellite photos of the compound, we see a possible touchdown position for a Blackhawk about a half-mile to the south behind a ridge of hundred-foot high sand dunes. I recommend we send in a few boots on the ground backed up by Meret's monitoring beetles ASAP."
Director Davies response was decisive. “If Meret’s drones have the range your mission requires, use them. This part of the operation must be covert, or these criminals will go underground and wait for their next chance."
Steve stood. "Here are the latest satellite views of those coordinates." He pointed at the smart board using a laser. "I’ll point out our tactical options for making a recon of this compound. You can follow this on the one-page handout.”
"Special Agent Holcombe has volunteered to be the team's third set of eyes and hands. Our mission is straightforward and simple. Follow it, and everyone might come home." They all laughed but Meret. He noticed her reaction and raised his hand for them to settle. "Meret has never heard the last words of a Director Davies' mission pep talk before." He glanced at her and tampered his laugh to a smile. "He ends every mission speech with that phrase."
After sliding copies of the plan across the desk to Meret and Dave, Steve clicked on the overhead projector's screen dissolving the CIA logo, replacing it with current satellite imagery. He aimed a laser pointer at a desert compound to support his narrative. "Several lanes of packed sand run from the small compound toward the more substantial road to the east, shown here by the blue line. The satellite shows no heat signatures from equipment or men in the area. Of course, we'll monitor for activity, should it appear.”
He cleared his throat. “After the initial low dark approach from the west, we'll touchdown behind the high dunes directly south of the compound. The copters will remain on the ground, feathered, and will maintain contact with base operations that is monitoring the region. This mission looks like your basic creep and peek operation. Dr. Mather will find a secure spot on the south side of the high dune to launch and control her mini-drone remotely, while it sniffs for biologicals. Dave and I will cross the open area to the large building and begin our search for tech residue. We only expect the unexpected." He looked at Meret. "And that is how I end every mission speech."
Meret looked forward to the relatively short two-hour helicopter ride.
23
What We Discover
Early May, Somewhere in Yemen’s desert - Armed and Dangerous
Meret looked forward to the relatively short two-hour helicopter ride. A perfectly clear night, the new moon provided just enough light to navigate on the ground without feeling like a spot light was on them. Not used to field gear, she found the helmet and boots awkward. Coupled with the realization of possible consequences ahead, her level of anxiety rose. Knowing she may be called upon to give supporting fire, Steve had thoroughly checked her out on the 19. She liked the comfort of its grip. As a left-handed shooter, she especially enjoyed the ambidextrous magazine release. Steve had also fitted the 19s with unobtrusive Trijicon night sights, Meret mostly missed more firing time before this mission. Back in Houston she hit the range at least twice a month with her personal Glock27 and felt confident the transition to the 19 wouldn’t be a problem.
Steve had selected the 19 for the unit based on his experience as a former Marine Corps Special Forces Operations officer. Its presence diminished but didn’t erase her fear of sudden death.
* * *
Their approach to the compound came from the southwest, flying parallel and low behind the rolling high dunes of the desert. With satellite driven INTEL confirming the region about the compound appeared clear, the copter maintained it best stealth mode that included a last second nose-up forty-five degree flare and a sudden, quiet feather down of its props behind the ridge of high sand dunes.
Before they left the copter, Steve reminded Dave and Meret, “The blades will remain spinning throughout the mission so exit and enter close to the ground at the foot of the dune line. We’re using a low range communication channel that is good for only a mile, but keep the chatter to a minimum. Keep a low profile on the dunes and move fast. Meret, you’ll need to go east along the copter side of the dune for one hundred meters. Your cell screen will act like a beacon of light so keep it from being observed. Make your run to the large building as soon as it has been clear and report only if you see something of interest or danger. Otherwise, stay put in your position behind the dune, Dave and I will handle the rest. Copy?”
�
�Yes.”
He patted her on the helmet saying, “Let’s go.”
The three ran in low-profile for several yards and then split with Meret continuing on the copter side of the sand dune ridge while Dave and Steve scrambled toward the top.
Once clear of the rotors, Meret angled and ran toward toward a slight saddle-like depression in the top of the sand dune. Before her head cleared the ridge, she dropped and belly crawled to the top, scooping the sand in front of her to form a recessed platform to support her smart phone and forearms. After removing the beetle, Ringo from her shirt pocket, she cupped it in her hand and gently placed it in the sand recess next to her smart phone. Her finger heisted over the screen. Shit Ringo, I hope you still work. A check of the screen showed it had a ninety-seven percent charge. She made a superstitious tap on her other pocket to ensure Ringo’s backup was still with her and then launched Ringo. He vanished from sight.
Thinking she had lost him, she started to swear, but remembered and lifted her chin. Ringo hovered, two meters from the top of the sand dune, his short fat wings humming with confidence. Pride in the small part she had in his design she smiled. Game on, motherfucker.
Her attention focused on the cellphone’s display of a virtual cockpit from Ringo’s POV. Her fingers began to dance on the screen and she aimed him toward the large building in the compound. Ringo flew a beeline . . . hell no, he made a beetle line toward it. Hearing a noise, she looked around for the source and realized it, came though her smartphone from Ringo’s mic. Crap, use the freaking ear buds. Lowering the volume to a comforting background hum, she continued piloting him toward the compound.