Battlecraft (2006) s-3

by Jack Terral

  "What did you do?" Koenig asked. "Fall in love with her or something? Is that why you brought her out with you?"

  "No," Mike said. "I brought her along as an asset. She's prob'ly fucked half the terrorist leadership in the Middle East. Not all of them guys are devout Muslims, know what I mean?"

  "Way to go," Carey said. "She's staying with Lieutenant Rivers right now."

  "Let's get her down here," Paulsen said. He glanced at Mike. "Take a break, guy. You've done a great job."

  "All in a day's work."

  .

  1000 HOURS LOCAL

  CAREY, Paulsen and Koenig looked up as Lieutenant Rivers came into the ready room with Hildegard Keppler. Veronica introduced the men to the Gierman woman and they shook hands with her in a friendly, respectful manner, inviting her to take a seat. Veronica had no need-to-know regarding the interview, and made a hasty exit so they could settle down for an intimate tete-a-tete with the woman.

  Hildegard, sunburned and haggard from exhaustion and exposure, did not look her best, but she was still attractive. The trio of intelligence men appreciated what they saw in her femininity. Paulsen began the proceedings with a simple question. "Would you tell us your name, please, and where you're from?"

  "I am Hildegard Keppler and from Germany I am," she said. "I was bom in the East in the city of Dresden "

  "And you were in the employ of Sheikh Omar Jambarah?" Paulsen inquired diplomatically.

  "Ja," Hildegard said, her sunburn hiding the blush that crept across her face.

  "You performed your duties aboard a yacht called the Sayih, I believe."

  "Ja."

  "Do you know who owned the ship?" Koenig asked.

  "Somebody told me the Saudi government."

  "I understand from Mike that you had the opportunity to meet a lot of Arab men aboard the yacht," Carey said. "Is that true?"

  "Ja."

  Koenig took a folder off the desk and handed it to her. "Here are some photographs of some Middle Eastern gentlemen. Would you look at them, please, and tell us if you recognize any?"

  Hildegard took the photos and started to look at them; then she glanced up at the three Americans. "A good woman I am! After united was Germany, we had no work in the East. I did what must I do to get by."

  "Of course you did, Ms. Keppler," Paulsen said in a kindly tone. "We understand perfecdy. We are all men of the world, do you understand?"

  "Ja, danke--thank you," Hildegard said. She began going through the photographs, carefully studying each one. When she finished, she had separated a half dozen from the group. "On the yacht come these men."

  Paulsen tried not to grin at the Freudian slip. 'Thank you, Ms. Keppler. What do you know of the gentlemen?"

  "They with the sheikh had many dealings," Hildegard said. "Always big meetings they had with much talk. Arrangements of many kinds, but the things they planned I do not know."

  Koenig was extremely happy with the six identified photos. Four of them were Saudis who were suspected of working closely with terrorists while putting on a facade of friendliness toward the United States. Diplomacy and sensitivity in certain areas had made outright accusations imprudent. That situation was now changed. "You have been most helpful, Ms. Keppler."

  "I am happy" she said. She hesitated, then said, "My friend Franziska Diehm murdered by the sheikh. Will you arrest him, please?"

  Carey leaned forward. "Why would the sheikh murder her?"

  "Certain I am not," Hildegard said. "I know that pregnant she was."

  "Actually," Paulsen said, "we're planning on doing much more than simply arrest Sheikh Omar Jambarah."

  Hildegard smiled through her chapped lips.

  .

  WHEN Mike left the ready room, he went directly to the wardroom, where Lieutenant Bill Brannigan and Lieutenant Jim Cruiser were drinking coffee as they went over some of the scheduled maintenance that had to be done on the ACV. The rest of the detachment was out on the flight deck getting the kinks worked out by double-timing up and down the length of the ship. Senior Chief Buford Dawkins ushered them through the activity with rude remarks punctuated by loud shouts of criticism.

  Mike snapped to in front of the skipper. "It looks like I'm officially back with the detachment, sir."

  "Right," Brannigan said. "How're you feeling, Assad? It must have been pretty rough out on that whaler boat."

  "It wasn't so bad, sir," Mike said. "I'm ready and raring to go."

  "Good," Brannigan said. "I'm going to put you with the Command Element as a rifleman. That way you'll be handy to fill in when needed."

  "Great, sir," Mike said. "I'm anxious for some recon with Leibowitz. I really missed that son of a bitch when I was an acting mujahideen."

  "You seemed to have done all right in that outfit," Cruiser said with a wink. "Did you make much rank?"

  Mike thought a moment, then a devious thought flashed through his mind. "Oh, yes, sir! As a matter of fact I was a general. I assume the Navy will pay me in that rank for the time I spent in al-Mimkhalif. Actually, I was in command of an infantry division, what with all those tanks and cannons. Twenty thousand men. Oh, yes, sir! A lot of responsibility being a general. I should be compensated accordingly, right?"

  Brannigan scowled good-naturedly. "If you keep that shit up, you'll be lucky to get paid in your regular grade of E-five, Assad."

  "I understand, sir," Mike said. "How about per diem pay? I had to eat, y'know."

  "No problem," Brannigan said. "Put the paperwork in and I'll sign it. Of course, DJMS will forward it to al-Mimkhalif for the funding. Any more questions?"

  "Shit, sir!"

  "I didn't ask for comments, Assad, I asked for questions!"

  "No questions, sir."

  "Dismissed!"

  "Aye, sir!"

  "And get rid of that long hair and beard, goddamn it!" Brannigan growled, "You look like one of those fucking hippies from the nineteen-sixties."

  "Aye, sir!"

  Mike wasted no time in heading belowdecks to the area where the detachment was billeted. He had had only sporadic contact with those guys who meant more to him than his own life. Now he wanted to settle back into the Brigands as quickly as possible.

  With no USMC personnel aboard the Dan Daly, the SEALs had more than enough room to make themselves comfortable. By the time Mike reached the area, the Brigands were back in after the long period of PT administered by Senior Chief Dawkins.

  His best buddy, Dave Leibowitz, like the others, was stripping down for a shower, and spotted him coming into the compartment. "Hey, Mike, are you completely debriefed yet?"

  "Yeah," Mike replied. "They wrung me dry. By the way, where's the ship's barber on this tub? The skipper told me to get a haircut and get rid of the beard."

  "There ain't one," Dave said. "If there was Marines aboard, they'd have a full ship's complement, but the Dan Daly is understaffed right now."

  Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson walked by, overhearing the exchange. "We've got a field barber kit."

  "Yeah," Dave said. "Arnie Bernardi has been doing a pretty good job with it. He gave us all haircuts last week." He looked down the row of racks. "Hey, Amie. You got time to give Mike a haircut?"

  "You bet," came back the call.

  Within five minutes, Mike was seated on an empty ammo crate while Bernardi took the hand clippers and began running them down through his beard. Amie asked, "How you want your hair? Long enough to comb?"

  "Naw," Mike said. "Take her down to the scalp. Believe me, after weeks and weeks of this shit, it'll feel good to be a cue ball."

  "You got it, buddy," Amie said, applying the squeaky instrument to the task.

  Chad Murchison, with a towel wrapped around his waist and a soap dish in his hand, walked up. 'Tell me something, Mike. How does one manage to go off on a recondite mission into the ferity of the Middle East, then return with a pulchritudinous woman?"

  "Damn it, Chad!" Mike snapped. "Will you fucking speak fucking English?"

>   Dave laughed. "I think he wants to know how you managed to go off on an undercover operation and come back with a good-looking woman."

  "Oh, her," Mike said. "I met her on the yacht."

  "On the yacht!" Dave bellowed. "What the fuck were you doing on a yacht?"

  "Oh, God!" Mike moaned. "It's obvious I'm back among the peasantry, so let me explain. I'll speak in simple terms so you poor bastards can understand me. I was on a luxury yacht complete with stewards and beautiful women."

  "You son of a bitch!" Dave growled. "Here we were all worried about you being off on a dangerous mission, and you were in the lap of luxury."

  "Mmm," Mike mused. "I suppose you would really get pissed off if I mentioned my harem, huh?"

  "Hey, Amie," Dave said. "How about cutting off his head with them clippers?"

  .

  FORTRESS MIKNBAYI

  NOON LOCAL

  SHEIKH Omar Jambarah, Kumandan, and Hafez Sabah had just finished a Western-style lunch of grilled-cheese sandwiches, potato chips, and Coca-Cola in the sheikh's office. An air of seriousness hung over the trio, who had been busy formulating the preliminary plans to get al-Mimkhalif back on its feet.

  "I do not wish to change the subject, but there has been something in the back of my mind for several days now," the sheikh said. "What has happened to Mikael Assad?"

  Hafez Sabah had a view on the subject. "To tell you the truth, I am not sure exactly how smart or dull-witted Mikael really is."

  "I am wondering about that too," Kumandan said. "I recall that when he first came to Camp Talata, he appeared to be quite slow. He stumbled with his Arabic lessons and did not impress anybody with any great show of intelligence."

  "Perhaps he appeared to be not too bright because of the way he spoke our language," the sheikh suggested. "I conversed with him in English, and while he did not give the impression of having a university education, he seemed to be a clever fellow."

  "I will concede him that," Kumandan said. "It was very cunning the way he escaped from the American Embassy. We know that as a fact."

  "Mmm," Sabah said with a nod of his head. "Could it be that he was a spy for the CIA?"

  "We have irrefutable evidence that he was recruited in a mosque in Buffalo, New York," Kumandan said. "He arrived in camp with several other men who had been there with him. And the letter from the cleric had his name in it."

  "There is another thing," Sabah said. "If he were a spy and wanted to escape from here, why would he take the German woman? She would be a burden to him."

  "He was a young man raised in America," the sheikh said. "His physical wants got the best of him. One of the women on the yacht said the German told her they were going to sneak away on a picnic. Odds are that after they took the boat, something untoward occurred since he could not handle it properly. They may have drowned."

  "Well," Kumandan remarked, "we'll have to forget Mikael Assad for the time being."

  "I agree," the sheikh said. "I do have some good news at last. I received word via the communications center that fifteen million dollars from my sheikhdom treasury is being laundered through Saudi banks even as we sit here. The high price of oil is providing great benefits to our cause."

  "Ajib!" Sabah exclaimed. 'Things are not so bad! Fortress Mikhbayi is a strong place with a force of loyal and well-armed men. This is the perfect haven while we reorganize and restart al-Mimkhalif."

  "However, we are at risk," Kumandan said. "The women on the yacht are a threat." His outspokenness came to the fore and he glared at the sheikh. "You are a fornicator! It is written in the Holy Koran that one must not go into fornication. It is an indecency and an evil way. Al-Mimkhalif might be punished for your sins. It is also written that the fornicator should receive a hundred stripes of the whip. This is found in the Holy Koran."

  Sheikh Omar was only barely able to contain his fury at the bold insolence. "And who will scourge me with a hundred stripes?"

  "Renounce your ways and Allah will forgive you," Kumandan said. "And He will bless our jihad for Islam. The women on the yacht must die."

  Sabah summoned the courage to say, "I agree, Sheikh Omar. You must atone for you sins. I asked my cleric if I sinned when I took one of the women. He said I could go to Hell, but since I was not sure if it was a sin with an infidel woman and was truly sorry, that Allah would grant me pardon."

  The sheikh took a deep breath and was thoughtful for several moments before speaking. "Very well. I will see to it that they are poisoned. Their corpses shall be taken out and fed to the sharks of the Indian Ocean."

  .

  WASHINGTON, D. C.

  THE STATE DEPARTMENT

  1 NOVEMBER

  0900 HOURS LOCAL

  HUSAAM Sakit, a special envoy from the Sultanate of Oman, glared incredulously over the desk at his host, Carl Joplin, Ph. D. This American Undersecretary of State had just given him some information that was completely illogical and unbelievable. Such a thing could not possible be true!

  "All the money for the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron was funneled through the Wusikh Marahid Bank in Riyadh," Joplin had said. The African-American career diplomat referred to his notes as he continued. "The flagship called the Harbi-min-Islam and the Swedish attack boats were financed through that same account."

  'This cannot be!" Sakit insisted. "The Oman Navy has no such units. The naval squadron at the Taimur Naval Base is no more than a few secondhand British coastal patrol boats. Their objective is to stop smugglers. Modem attack boats are not needed when one's adversaries are no more than wooden dhows propelled by wind and old engines."

  "I suggest you investigate Taimur" Joplin said coldly. "You will find a modem naval base and as I mentioned, a flagship which is a British Province-class missile vessel." He cleared his throat. "Ahem! And you'll also discover a few overpaid officers and sailors as well. They and their families enjoy an excellent standard of living far beyond that of the rest of your nation's armed forces."

  "If what you tell me is true, then Captain Mahamat, who commands, will be in serious trouble."

  "Captain Mahamat evidently promoted himself to the rank of commodore sometime ago," Joplin informed him. "But you will not find him there. He was executed at the headquarters of al-Mimkhalif for losing a battle with an American vessel. A beheading, I have been informed. At any rate, they did shoot down two American F/A-18 Hornet aircraft and attacked a hovercraft of the United States Navy. All our protests will be kept under wraps and the President of the United States will not call in the Oman ambassador. But please inform His Excellency that we expect the situation at the Taimur Naval Base to be rectified. You should also let him know that all this information has now been supplied to other international intelligence agencies. Thank you."

  Still confused and mentally reeling, the Oman envoy got unsteadily to his feet and walked slowly to the door.

  .

  1030 HOURS LOCAL

  DR. CARL JOPLIN slowly drank a cup of coffee as he waited for his next caller. He had made notes of his meeting with Husaam Sakit from the Sultanate of Oman, organizing them into a file on the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron. This was now an official document of the State Department.

  A slight rapping on the door caught his attention, and his aide, Durwood Cooper, stepped into the office. "The Saudi envoy is in the outer officer, Dr. Joplin."

  "Did they send Hasidi as I requested, Dur?"

  "Yes, sir," Cooper answered.

  "Great!" Joplin said. "I'm looking forward to a chat with him."

  Cooper went to the door, opening it to admit Jaabit Hasidi. The Saudi was a large, corpulent man with a short-cropped beard. His bald head reflected the overhead fluorescent lights as he walked into the office. He showed a half smile, saying, "What can I do for you today, Dr. Joplin?"

  Joplin didn't bother going through a useless shaking of hands. "Sit down, Mr. Hasidi." He waited until the large man had wiggled himself in between the arms of the chair designed for normal-sized people. Joplin had chosen th
e piece of furniture so his caller would be physically uncomfortable. This was one of those times when it didn't pay to be a congenial host. Joplin began his presentation, stating, "I am representing the President of the United States on a grave matter. It is so serious that you may consider this a protest, although the details of it will not be released to the public nor sent through international channels."

  Hasidi sighed. "We are not going to discuss the exaggerated subject of teaching hate of the West in our schools, are we? I believe we have already--"

  Joplin interrupted in a most undiplomatic manner. "I am not offering you a game of three guesses, Mr. Hasidi. I have a statement. May I continue? Thank you. The government of the United States objects to the overt aggression brought against our armed forces through the direction of a Saudi citizen. The gentleman of whom I speak is Sheikh Omar Jambarah, who is heading up the al-Mimkhalif terrorists using the nom de guerre Husan."

  'This is preposterous," Hasidi said. "I personally know Sheikh Omar. He is from an old desert clan that has shown great loyalty and respect to our royal family."

  "He is financing an Oman naval squadron to carry out war at sea for al-Mimkhalif. The sheikh is also brazenly maintaining a headquarters base and various camps for al-Mimkhalif. He has suffered a setback and now he sits in a fortress on the border between Yemen and Oman, licking his wounds."

  Hasidi held up his hands in a gesture of astonishment. "Why do you Americans insist we Saudis are your enemies? The kingdom is among the staunchest and truest friends your great republic has."

  Joplin continued to ignore the protests. "The President of the United States expects King Fahd to take appropriate action to put an end to this outrageous activity."

  "How can His Majesty take action against a phantom program that does not exist?" Hasidi asked.

  "I shall report to the President that the Saudi government rejects his protests and warnings," Joplin said. 'This leaves him no alternative but to see that appropriate actions are taken. Thank you, Mr. Hasidi. Good day."

  "Good day to you, Dr. Joplin," Hasidi said struggling from the chair to his feet. "My fervent hope is that the President of the United States acts prudently and cautiously, lest this situation gets out of hand. That is my advice to him."