SAINT HORITZ, SWITZERLAND
Located in southeastern Switzerland in the Oberengadin, or Upper Inn Valley, surrounded by breathtaking Alpine peaks and deep valleys, Saint Moritz--Sankt Moritz in German--is one of the worlds most famous winter-sport centers. Known for its classical elegance and extensive variety of facilities, it was the majestic scene of the Winter Olympic Games in 1928 and 1948.
After visiting this magnificent village for the first time, Saeed Shayhidi had decided to build one of his vacation homes there.
Perched high on a steep hillside, the 7,8oo-square-foot chalet had wide eaves imported from Italy. Everything about it was custom made. The rooms, hallways, bathrooms, stairs, windows, spa, and doors were all oversized. It had taken an international team of twenty-seven architects, construction specialists, and interior designers the better part of a year to build and decorate the grandiose chalet.
Shayhidi and his entourage arrived shortly after 11 P. M. He promptly ordered the butler and the maid to extinguish all lights and remain inside. The two bodyguards and the butler were posted to stand watch until daybreak. Exhausted and depressed, Shayhidi retired to the master bedroom on the second floor and promptly fell asleep.
The two CIA operatives watching the chalet reported Shayhidi's arrival to the Agency, noting that the home was completely blacked out. They estimated five or six people were in the residence. One of the agents, posing as a writer for an architectural digest, had duped Shayhidi's butler into giving him a tour of the home the previous day. The agent's copious notes and detailed sketches of the imposing chalet were helpful to the special operations forces.
Less than seventy minutes after the analysts at Langley were informed about Shayhidi's arrival, the elite soldiers of Delta Force were boarding their four MH-47D Chinook helicopters at Ramstein Air Base, Germany. Two highly classified missions had been thoroughly planned and practiced. Now it was time to put the arduous training to good use. The powerful twin-rotor helicopters lifted off in the dead of night. Two headed in one direction while the other pair flew toward a second secret destination. Each mission was assigned a primary Chinook and a backup.
Other special operations forces and SOAR flight crews were launching to conduct other clandestine missions. By order of the commander in chief, the Chinooks were being escorted by helicopter gunships.
Saeed Shayhidi was rudely awakened from a deep sleep by deafening explosions and horrific submachine gunfire. Panicked, he knew who the intruders were. How did they know I was here? Have to get away or they'll kill me.
This home, like all of Shayhidis residences, had a built-in escape route. He opened the faux laundry chute and climbed in feet first, closed the outside cover, and dropped into a small room next to a tunnel. He grabbed the prepared stash of clothes, shoes, and money and quickly slipped the shoes on his bare feet.
He could hear more explosions and the staccato sound of submachine gunfire intertwined with yelling and pounding. It sounded like the chalet was being destroyed from within. He heard glass breaking, followed by a huge thud.
Entering the narrow, dimly lighted tunnel, Shayhidi rapidly covered the thirty-five yards to an opening under a small storage shed near the back of his property line.
After crawling out of the tunnel and replacing the wooden hatch, Shayhidi watched through a small window as his home was being demolished. He yanked his clothes on in the darkened shed and returned to the window. Catching his breath, he watched in shock as the soldiers of Delta Force withdrew from his badly damaged chalet.
When the darkened Chinook helicopter levitated into the black sky, Shayhidi saw lights coming on inside his home. He could see smoke pouring from the oversized windows. Most of the glass panels had been blown out. The interior of his marvelous chalet had been virtually destroyed, including the custom-made furniture, the ornate bric-a-brac, and his expensive paintings.
Soon after the departure of the Delta Force soldiers, fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, and assorted media vehicles began converging on the badly damaged residence. His neighbors joined other stunned bystanders as firemen quickly extinguished a small blaze in the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Shayhidi watched while rescue workers and medical attendants carried out the bullet-riddled bodies of the two men sworn to protect him. Unhurt, but still shaking with fear, the buder and maid were led to a police van and driven away.
Shayhidi decided to wait until things calmed down before leaving his hiding place. A half hour after the firemen and police officials left his home he slipped quietly out of the shed and walked several blocks to the Suvretta House. He checked into the mansionlike hotel under a different name and made arrangements to travel incognito to a safe haven. His identity would be closely guarded in his permanently leased suite in France at the La Reserve de Beaulieu.
AUBURN, WASHINGTON
Pauline Garretson sat in the dark hushed room in the Seattle Air Route Traffic Control Center and concentrated on her radarscope. The screen was growing more congested as the afternoon push was getting under way. Like many other air traffic controllers, she was still on edge after the devastating aerial attacks of recent days. In the recesses of her subconscious, the King Air tragedy in Delaware was Paulines worst nightmare come true.
Garretson, aware she was responsible for hundreds of lives, felt she was working much harder than usual. The notice to airmen (NOTAM) prohibiting flight operations around all nuclear power plants and refineries added another layer of stress to the already demanding job. She was trying to balance her patience with her desire to keep pilots on course and away from potential hazards.
Working a Convair 580 cargo flight originating in Kalispell, Montana, bound for Bowerman Airport adjacent to Hoquiam, Washington, Garretson was surprised by a female voice with a Middle Eastern accent, but quickly discounted her concern. In growing numbers, women were continuing to join the ranks of commercial pilots, aviation technicians, air traffic controllers, and flight attendants, and a small percentage of the newcomers had not mastered the English language. Garretson cleared the Convair to descend and handed the aircraft off to the Terminal Radar Approach Control, or TRACON, in Seattle.
Jared Matus, comfortably ensconced in his chair on the fourth floor of the main terminal building at the Seattle-Tacoma international airport, gave the Convair 580 a vector to avoid other aircraft. "Direct Express Three-Twelve, fly heading two-one-zero for traffic."
"Two-hun-zeeraw, Diweck Express Thee-Hun-Two."
Hearing the voice, Matus had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. It slowly faded when the pilot complied. After the Convair was clear of conflicting traffic, Matus cleared the flight direct to Bowerman Airport. Shortly thereafter, the pilot canceled her instrument flight plan. She was instructed to squawk 1200, the code for visual flight rules. With other traffic to manage, Matus did not follow the flight of the Convair.
Hameeda Nashashibi, a Saudi-born dissident and fervent follower of Saeed Shayhidi, guided the 56,000-pound cargo version of the twin turboprop toward Runway 24 at Bowerman, an airport with no control tower. The veteran airliner-cum-cargo-tramp was loaded with jet fuel, high explosives, steel beams, and nineteen drums of fuel oil. Having accumulated a total of 29,968 flying hours, the rugged Convair was making its farewell flight. Nashashibi lowered the flaps and landing gear and then said a prayer for guidance and focus.
Nashashibi had been the second woman to attend the Salman Pak terrorist training camp near Baghdad. Along with eight male members of Saeed Shayhidi's terrorist network, she had trained to be a pilot at the secluded Sabzehar School of Aviation in Syria. After her initial training, Khaliq Farkas personally made arrangements for Nashashibi to receive intensive Convair 580 training in South Africa. Now the young woman who despised America was at the controls of a powerful weapon.
Near the approach end of Runway 24, she added power, turned off the transponder, and raised the landing gear and flaps. Remaining low and gaining speed, the 580 flew over the uncontrolled
airport and made a gentle right turn to fly north along the scenic Washington coastline. She worked diligently to set maximum power so she could concentrate on flying the tired cargo airplane.
The Convair 580 thundered over Copalis Beach, Pacific Beach, and Cape Elizabeth and then continued to hug the coast to Elephant Rock. Nashashibi made another easy right turn to skirt up the west side of the Olympic Mountains. She cleared the top of Mount Olympus by thirty feet, banked to the right again, and eased the nose down. With the big Allison turboprops screaming at full power, Nashashibi fixated on her target and continued to trim the airplane as it rapidly accelerated.
BANGOR NAVAL SUBMARINE BASE
Located on the east bank of the Hood Canal thirteen miles north of Bremerton, Washington, Bangor Naval Submarine Base is the home port for a squadron of Trident submarines. The base is 155 nautical miles from the Pacific Ocean, which requires a slow and potentially hazardous trip through the Strait of Juan de Fuca to reach open water. The 560-foot Ohio-class boomers are an extremely important part of the nations nuclear deterrent triad--land, sea, and air.
Petty Officer Second Class Carlos Navarro was kneeling on the broad hull of the USS Nevada SSBN 733 repairing a connection that provided shore-to-submarine electrical power. In the picturesque background west of the strategic base, the Olympic Mountains rose high above the calm water and lush trees.
On the aft section of the mighty hull, close to the waterline, a bevy of sea lions nonchalantly sunned themselves on the deck. Over the many years, the playful sea lions and their plentiful offspring had learned that the U. S. Navy was a kind and benevolent innkeeper. A good share of the large-eared seals even had their favorite submarine and reluctantly migrated to other boomers when their boat went to sea.
Carlos Navarro did not so much hear the deep-throated sound as sense something strange. He looked around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary; no obvious threat loomed. When some of the lounging sea lions began skittering into the water, Navarro stopped and concentrated again, this time on the sound.
He glanced behind him at the Olympic Mountains and froze. Practically scraping the trees on the gently sloping hills, a Convair 580 was roaring at full power and descending at an unbelievable speed. Navarro could see the airplane was headed straight for the USS Nevada. Astonished, he stared at the Convair for a moment before his mind reacted.
Navarro jumped into the cold water on the side of the hull away from the oncoming airplane and began thrashing through the water in an attempt to evade the aircraft. The remaining sea lions made a hasty departure and dove beneath the surface.
To the startled bystanders on the pier, the Convair looked like it was going to plunge into the water 200 yards away. When the planes nose abruptly snapped up to a level position, the paralyzed sailors turned and ran for their lives. The 580 s huge propellers were kicking up spray as it bulls-eyed Nevada's sail, known on prenuclear submarines as the conning tower, and exploded in dramatic fashion.
Flaming wreckage and thousands of parts showered USS Alaska SSBN 732 and its many crew members. The damage was catastrophic. The USS Nevada was destroyed, sinking in only eight minutes. Carlos Navarro and eleven other sailors died in the initial explosion.
Chapter 18.
NATIONAL AIRBORNE OPERATIONS CENTER
Aboard the E-4B Night Watch, President Macklins primary physician had just completed a mini physical on the commander in chief. U. S. Navy Captain Royal Fortenberry was jotting a note in Macklins medical chart while the president dressed. Dr. Fortenberry, who had earned the reputation of being a worrier, placed his pen down and turned to Macklin.
"Mr. President, may I speak frankly?"
"Certainly, R. F. Find something wrong?"
Fortenberry closed the medical jacket. "No, you re in great shape, but Fm concerned about the effects of being encapsulated in a pressurized environment for an extended period of time." He explained the possible effects of deep vein leg thrombosis.
The president thought it over for a moment. "I dont see that I have much choice at present, all things considered."
"What about Cheyenne Mountain?"
"You re really concerned, arent you?"
"Yes." Fortenberry removed his glasses. "Lack of proper exercise, poor sleeping pattern, and being inside this pressurized environment are not good. The mountain would be better for your health, not to mention the well-being of your staff."
"Fll think about it." Macklin slipped into his lightweight jacket. "Thanks, Doc."
"You bet."
When Macklin entered the conference room he knew something was wrong when he saw the look on Pete Adair's face. Hartwell Prost and Les Chalmers's expressions mirrored the SecDef.
"What now?" the president asked, taking his chair.
Adair spoke first. "We just received the news a few minutes ago." He explained the disastrous circumstances surrounding the terrorist attack at the Bangor naval base.
Macklin was incredulous. "It doesn't make sense. How could this have happened at a Trident submarine base?"
Adair was on the defensive. "Sir, we dont know yet. The plane came in undetected until the last few seconds. It happened before anyone could react."
"Dammit!" Macklin exclaimed. "We have to get a handle on this. Its beyond ridiculous."
"Yes, sir," Adair said. He turned to General Chalmers.
While they were conferring, Prost gained the presidents attention. "Sir," he said in soft voice, "we have an update, good news, on the destruction of Shayhidi's assets."
Macklins features remained impassive. "Let's have it."
"Another two tankers have been disabled, including his new supertanker Cape Bender. They'll be out of commission for the better part of a year."
"Great news."
"There's more, much more. The cargo ships Emily Martelli and Isabella Estrada have gone to the bottom. The Martelli crew suffered three casualties and four seriously injured."
"We knew that could eventually happen." The president leaned back. "Sinking ships with innocent civilians on board is not something any of us are proud of."
"Least of all the sub crews," Prost said.
Macklin glanced at the detailed physical world chart on the wall. "What about the rest of Shayhidi's fleet?"
"Most of his remaining ships have docked at their nearest port. Some of the facilities, for security reasons, have refused entrance to any of Shayhidi's ships."
The president nodded. "We'll take all the help we can get."
"From what we understand, one freighter captain and his entire crew abandoned ship in the middle of the Arabian Sea. They were taken aboard another freighter."
The president's eyes reflected his pleasure. "Where's the ship now?"
"It's adrift approximately two hundred miles southwest of Bombay. We have a sub, Connecticut, closing in as we speak."
"Our new Seawolf-class boat?"
"Yes, sir. The skipper is an old friend, a good man."
"Well. it would seem to me the Shayhidi ship is a hazard to navigation; cant have that."
"Youre absolutely right," Prost said, a twinkle in his eye.
"Lets give your friend some work to do: Sink the ship."
"Yes, sir." Prost turned to Adair and Chalmers, quietly conveyed Macklins order, and again faced his boss. "The downside to our progress is that Shayhidi got away, vanished into thin air."
"The CIA had a positive ID on him, didnt they?"
"Yes, sir." It was evident that Prost was off stride. "They swear its true--had him tagged. Two agents identified him with night-vision binoculars, and no one left the premises before the special ops people stormed the place."
The president flexed his jaw muscles. Tm sorry, Hartwell, but that just doesn't make sense. It doesn't compute."
"I know, but the Agency swears he was in the chalet."
"What exactly did Delta Force find?"
"Two armed guards, who were quickly dispatched, and Shayhidi's domestic help. Nothing else."
&nbs
p; "Did they check the attic and basement?"
"Yes, sir--thoroughly--in the short time they were there. Shayhidi's bed in the master bedroom had been slept in, but he'd simply disappeared into the night."
Macklin glanced away for a moment and then cast his eyes toward Prost. "Something's missing here. I want the CIA, whatever resources it takes, to inspect that house inch by inch."
"Yes, sir."
"Tell them to take it apart board by board to find the answer, if they have to."
"I'll take care of it."
The president reached for a cigar and offered Prost a smoke. "What about the other homes, his primary residence in Geneva?"
"The house in Geneva has been gutted, but we had two people wounded, one seriously." Hartwell paused when an aide stepped in to deliver a message to the secretary of defense. "It could have been much worse if the Army Pathfinders had not done such a superb job of scouting the Shayhidi compound."
"How so?"
"They worked a local stool pigeon for intelligence about the house, the grounds, and the security measures. The guy delivered groceries. The place was guarded like a fortress, including shoulder-fired SAMS and an unknown number of land mines."
"Land mines? You re kidding."
"No, sir," Prost answered, lighting his cigar. "The stoolie told them he thought there were probably ten to fifteen people guarding the place. Some were new hires from a local security firm. He possibly-- probably--saved some lives on our side."
The president caught Adair's imploring look. "Hold on a second, Pete."
SecDef nodded.
"What about the other homes?" Macklin asked.
"The chateau in the south of France and the villa near Cartagena will undoubtedly be listed in the fixer-upper section of the real estate brochures."
"Excellent," Macklin said, and turned to Adair. "From the look on your face, I guess I'd better prepare myself for more bad news."
SecDef's voice betrayed his tension. "Two more passenger trains have been attacked--blown off their rails like Matchbox toys."
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