The MD Combat Explorer pirouetted toward the Harrier and opened fire with the .50-caliber Gatling guns. Ventana s Harrier was taking hits as he accelerated away and armed his weapons. Sonofabitch!
"Duffy--Smoke. This guy just took a shot at me, hit me in the wing! Watch your step!"
"Yeah, this clown is all over the sky."
"Smoke--Festus Ten. The third helo just turned north."
"Okay, help is on the way," Ventana radioed, as he allowed the Harrier to accelerate to 300 knots. Keeping his eyes on the MD, he tightened his turn. The helicopter was flying southbound at 200 feet directly over the interstate.
"Smoke," Ventanas wingman radioed, "he fired--just fired at me!"
"Put him on the ground."
"Roger."
Ventana waited until there was an opening in the flow of interstate traffic and timed his pass perfectly. He opened fire with his 25mm cannon and chewed the MD Combat Explorer to shreds. It crashed in a ball of flames on the side of the interstate. Traffic from both directions began slowing when the drivers saw the flames and rising cloud of black smoke.
Without hesitating, Ventana went after the third helicopter.
"Smoke--Duffy. This guy is down."
"Roger, you re at my one o'clock low, passin close to your port side. Dont do anything until you have me in sight."
"Copy."
Ventana searched the sky for a few seconds. "Duffy, do you have a visual on the third helo?"
"Negative."
Easing the power back, Ventana was frustrated. He could not locate the intruder. A call to the AWACS confirmed that they had lost contact with the gunship about two miles behind Ventana's Harrier. He snapped the airplane into a high-G turn. I'll be damned.
Sure enough, he found the helicopter, minus the crew, on the ground near a road leading to the Tubac Presidio State Historical Park. The terrified pilots, who had witnessed their CO and another squadron helicopter being blown out of the sky, had departed for another zip code.
THE WHITE HOUSE
President Cord Macklin was meeting in the Oval Office with his closest advisers about the next step to take with Mexico. The expanded war on terrorism was progressing reasonably well in the Middle East. Senior military officers were managing the well-planned campaign in a very professional manner.
Hartwell Prost caught Macklins eye. "Mr. President, the events of the last few days underscore the need to limit the Mexican military before more people are killed on both sides."
Uncharacteristically, Pete Adair interrupted brusquely. "We cant just barge in and start a war with Mexico."
"I'm not talking about starting a war," Prost shot back acrimoniously. "I'm talking about preventing a war, saving lives, saving Mexican lives by not allowing them to get into a position to be killed."
Nerves were drawn tight and tempers were beginning to flare.
SecDef started to respond. "I'm telling you--"
"Pete, let him finish," the president said firmly.
Prost glanced at Chalmers, Austin, and Dave Timkey. . "The Mexicans only have a handful of obsolete F-5 fighters--nine or ten, I believe. They're all stationed at Santa Lucia, the primary air base. If we bomb the runways and taxiways, they can't get off the ground to put themselves in harm's way."
"What if their planes have been dispersed to other air bases?" Timkey asked, in his soft southern drawl.
"We can get aerial and space-based reconnaissance fairly quickly." Prost turned to the president. "They also have sixty or seventy armed PC-7 counterinsurgency (COIN) aircraft, high performance turboprops. They operate the COIN aircraft primarily from the La Paz, Santa Gertrudis, and Zapopan air bases.
"If we destroy those runways and taxiways, and the runways closest to our border where they could operate, they're out of business. We don't have to worry about the air bases in southern Mexico because they don't have any refueling aircraft. No tankers, limited range, end of the Mexican Air Force problem."
Brad Austin voiced his thoughts. "Your idea has merit, but I would like to contact President Cardenas and tell him why we think it's necessary to ground his air force. As we know, he has little if any control over the military, and he seems anxious to work with us."
All eyes turned to Macklin. "I can't disagree; anything to keep this situation under control. Let's see if we can contact President Cardenas. Brad, you and I will talk with him."
"Yes, sir."
"Gentlemen," the president said, "let's take a break."
President Macklin was pleased with the conversation he and Austin had with President Cardenas. When Prost, Timkey, and Chalmers returned to the Oval Office, Macklin turned to Austin. "Brad, would you bring everyone up to date?"
"Happy to, sir. Although President Cardenas was initially surprised by our suggestion, he endorsed what we feel is in the best interest of both countries. His primary concern is for the safety of everyone involved, not the infrastructure." A hint of a smile crossed Austin's face. "He even went so far as to tell President Macklin that he wouldn't mind if we put the fear of God in his generals and admirals. Hes a man reaching for a life ring, and he trusts our integrity and professionalism. He knows we arent a threat to him or to Mexico's sovereignty."
Macklin picked up. "The most striking aspect of the conversation is a renewed feeling of trust. The more time we invest with President Cardenas, the more visibility at the top, the stronger his base will become. Bottom line, he has given us his blessing on whatever we have to do to protect our country and our citizens."
Austin cleared his throat. "President Cardenas requested a conference as soon as possible. We re in the process of making arrangements to meet him, hopefully in the next day or two."
The president placed his hands on his desk. "It s time to call it a day. Let s plan on meeting here tomorrow at eight A. M."
Chapter 28.
CRETE, GREECE
Elounda Beach Hotel & Villas is a distinguished luxury resort situated on the island of Crete between two quaint bays. The spectacular vacation destination caters to the rich arid famous who demand the ultimate in tactile pleasure. Services include limousines, helicopters, yachts for hire, and Leaijet charters.
Saeed Shayhidi reclined on an oversized settee in the roomy Imperial Penthouse Suite at the hotel complex. The suite included a well-equipped gym, personal fitness trainer, private pool, movie theater, masseuse, butler, pianist, and chef.
Ignoring the sage advice of his longtime friend Essam Afzal, Shayhidi contemplated his meticulous planning thus far. His new executive assistant, Gamaa al-Harith, had booked the suite under a fictitious name and paid cash. At this level of opulence, no one asked questions about cash or required a credit card on file.
Al-Harith had also leased a small out-of-the-way villa near Elounda Beach under an assumed name, again paying cash for the thirty-day rental. Gamaa al-Harith had no idea about Shayhidis background or his real identity. But the important-sounding tide, along with the generous salary and benefits Shayhidi offered, were better than anything he had ever dreamed of.
Shayhidi had instructed al-Harith to invite two business associates to an early morning breakfast meeting. When the guests arrived, al-Harith was to explain that for privacy and security reasons the venue had been changed to a villa near the hotel complex.
Shayhidi left his suite and took a limousine to the remote villa while al-Harith waited for the businessmen. When the men arrived at the lavish suite, they were disappointed that the prosperous shipping mogul was not waiting for them. Al-Harith apologized effusively for the inconvenience and explained that Mr. Oscar Palante was anxious to introduce them to his other important guests at the villa.
They went to the villa in transportation supplied by the hotel. When they arrived at the restored home, the well-dressed men stepped out of the van and approached the villa. As he was instructed to do, Gamaa al-Harith ushered the businessmen inside. Then, as ordered, he returned to the hotel suite and waited for further instructions.
Sae
ed Shayhidi was sitting in a large leather wingback chair in the corner of the living room. He smiled to himself when he heard the front door open and then gently close.
After the men walked down the short hallway, they found their host sitting alone. They were surprised and slightly uncomfortable, but they tried to conceal their feelings. A large divan sat in the middle of the room, facing the host.
The strange man made no effort to get to his feet or even offer a handshake to his guests. He was not anything like they had expected. Inexpensive rumpled suit, scuffed black work shoes, a strange-looking straw hat, and a large pillow on his lap. The shipping tycoon was certainly eccentric.
"Have a seat," Shayhidi said, in a deep, scratchy voice. "We have a lot to discuss and not much time to kill"
Both men eyed him curiously.
The shorter one spoke first. "Aren't we supposed to be having breakfast? Where's everyone else?"
Shayhidi spoke again in the deep voice. "I don't think you're going to have much of an appetite. Sit down."
There was some concern in their eyes, but they sat down on the wide divan. Both men felt a growing sense of uneasiness.
"How's my business doing?" Shayhidi asked, in his normal voice.
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by an eye-bugging, mind-numbing panic.
"Speak up. How's my business coming along?"
Their shocked looks turned to raw fear as Ahmed Musashi and Hafiz al-Yamani tried to come to grips with reality. This funny-looking man was, in fact, Saeed Shayhidi, completely transformed.
Smelling the visceral fear, Musashi started to get up and flee.
Shayhidi pulled his 9mm handgun from under the pillow and fired at Musashi s feet, hoping to scare him. Shayhidi's aim was off slightly, and Musashi howled in pain as he collapsed on the divan. The round had gone through the center of his left foot. He took off his shoe awkwardly and held his bleeding foot.
"Excellent idea," Shayhidi said, with a smile of pleasure. "Take off your shoes, both of you."
Musashi quickly removed his other shoe while al-Yamani, trembling with fear, did the same.
Al-Yamani twitched and squirmed when Shayhidi waved the weapon toward him. Then he closed his eyes and balled his fists.
"Getting jumpy, weasel?"
Shaking uncontrollably, al-Yamani was afraid to say anything. Ahmed Musashi had categorically told him that Saeed Shayhidi was finished. The Americans had him under tight wraps and he would not be seen again. He would be in prison or, more likely, he would be put to death. Saeed Shayhidi would never rise again. He would never have any power again.
Al-Yamani gritted his teeth and mumbled.
"Speak up, weasel!"
"He--Ahmed--told me you were dead."
Writhing in searing pain, Musashi snapped his head around. "I never told you that, you lying little--"
Boom! Shayhidi shot al-Yamani in the right foot. He fell on the floor and began holding his foot and rocking back and forth, groaning the entire time. "I didn't do anything wrong," he said, in a small, whimpering voice. "I just did what I was told."
Shayhidi gave al-Yamani a cold, hard stare. "Look at me, you two-faced weasel. Look at me or I'll shoot you again!"
Almost in tears, his lips trembling, al-Yamani looked up.
Shayhidi flashed a menacing grin. "One more lie from either one of you and you'll die a slow, agonizing death."
Recalling the anger, the absolute rage he had felt when he left Phnom Penh, Shayhidi lowered his voice and looked at Hafiz al-Yamani. "Why didn't you return my calls and answer my e-mail?"
There was a long silence.
"Answer me or 111 blow your other foot off!"
"Musashi told me he was taking control of the company and he would make me an executive. I had to be faithful to him."
Shayhidi turned to Musashi. "The two of you have really been faithful to me after everything IVe done for you, haven't you?"
Neither man said a word.
Musashi was reeling in pain when Shayhidi fired a shot into the divan between his thighs. He leaped straight back and then fell sideways.
"So, let me understand this. I was a liability to my company-- your company, that is--and you had to terminate me."
Musashi was bathed in salty sweat. It trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them and causing tears to well.
Shayhidi continued in a relaxed voice. "As I recall, you said I was an international fugitive--with no money, no access to money, and no access to power--and no lawyer would associate with the likes of me. My life was over and you were going to make sure it stayed that way." He pointed the 9mm at Musashi s face. "Is that about right? Speak up, or 111 finish you off right now!"
"I was only trying to help you and save your business for you after things calmed down. I swear that's the truth--"
Boom! Shayhidi shot Musashi's other foot, prompting a spasm of howling and cursing.
Shayhidi smiled and then chuckled. "You lying piece of trash, trying to play in the big time. But the game is over--finished, done, the end--and so are you."
Hafiz al-Yamani began sobbing. "I was going to keep you informed about everything--I didn't trust what was going--"
Boom! The other foot was useless. Al-Yamani screamed at the top of his lungs, but it made no difference. No one outside the villa could hear anything.
Shayhidi leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and smiled with pleasure. "Do you want to be buried alive or the alternative?"
"Don't do this," Musashi begged. "I'll do anything you ask, anything you want. Just give me a chance to prove myself."
"I don t want you to do anything. I have lots of things to do today. Which will it be? Dead or alive?"
Shayhidi waited a few seconds and smiled. "Time's up. I've made the decision for you. Buried alive is a better way for two real weasels to leave this planet. Next question: Who goes first?"
A few more seconds passed. "Time's up. Al-Yamani goes first so the person who tried to steal my company can watch."
"Please don't do this," Musashi said, bathed in sweat and blood. "You've taught me a real lesson."
"What about you, weasel?"
Hafiz al-Yamani could barely talk above a whisper. "I feel the same way. I'll never doubt you again, I promise."
Shayhidi belly-laughed. "I had you two going, didn't I? You'll think twice next time before you screw me, right?"
Al-Yamani closed his eyes and sobbed. "Right--that's right."
"Yes," Ahmed Musashi said, with a deep sigh of relief. "We just want to be faithful to you and to the business--your business."
"Well, that's certainly the right attitude. Glad to know you're back on board," Shayhidi said, and then shot both men in the head.
He put them in body bags and placed them in the deep graves he had hired a transient to dig. Next, he broke the divan into pieces and picked up the bloodstained throw rugs. He buried them on top of Musashi and al-Yamani and then covered their graves with dirt and tree limbs. Shayhidi went inside, washed his face and hands, rested for a few minutes, and then called the hotel. The duty limousine would pick him up in ten minutes.
GULF OF MEXICO
The stars were still shining brightly when the attack submarine USS Scranton rose from the depths to fire four Tomahawk cruise missiles. The weapons were aimed at the Military Air Base Number 1, located at Santa Lucia in the state of Mexico. Flying low at a speed of 550 miles per hour, the Tomahawks would take thirty-four minutes to reach their target. After the first missile exploded, the others would arrive in staggered order.
Seventy-three miles south of Scranton, the attack submarine USS Newport News was in the process of launching four Tomahawks at Colonia Federal Air Base southwest of Santa Lucia. The flight time to the target would be thirty-six minutes. Both submarines returned to deeper water to await further orders.
In the Pacific Ocean off Baja California Sur, the attack submarine USS Jefferson City was in the process of launching four Tomahawks at
the Zapopan Air Base. The flight time would be nineteen minutes.
Off the coast of Baja California Norte, the USS Columbus launched two Tomahawks at the El Cipres Air Base and then launched two missiles at the La Paz Air Base. They also launched two missiles at the Guaymas Air Base. One of the Guaymas missiles malfunctioned as it cleared the surface, forcing the submarine crew to fire another Tomahawk.
A total of six U. S. Navy surface combatants, equally divided between the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico, launched a dozen Tomahawks at the Santa Gertrudis Air Base, the Culiacan Air Base, the Chihuahua Air Base, the Monterrey Air Base, the Hermosillo Air Base, and the Tampico facility.
The results were good, but not 90 percent as hoped. Space-based assets indicated that Santa Lucia was now inoperable and two of the F-5E Tigers had been destroyed. Another F-5E had been heavily damaged, and the runway was going to need extensive repairs. Most of the other airfields were badly damaged, but a few could still support air operations.
Owning the skies over Mexico, U. S. Air Force and Navy fighter/ attack aircraft quickly finished the assault on the air bases with a variety of precision-guided missiles and bombs. The Tijuana Air Base was spared, barring any attempt to use it for hostile purposes.
Unfortunately, eight people were killed during the attacks and another twenty-one were injured, three seriously. The news flashed around the world in a matter of minutes, causing rioting and anti-American demonstrations in many distant countries and cities. The entire country of Mexico was in a state of calamity, and angry mobs were taking to the streets to burn American flags. U. S. citizens were fleeing the country as quickly as possible.
The U. S. embassy in Mexico City was a central target of the irate crowds. Located on Avenida de la Reforma, the fortresslike building was locked down and barricaded. Two companies of U. S. Marines had been flown to Mexico City prior to the destruction of the Mexican air bases. They reinforced the embassy security team already in place.
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