The Assassins

by Oliver North

  B: “WELL SENATOR THAT'S JUST NOT SOME THING I CAN TALK”

  A: “NOW LISTEN HERE, BRIGADIER GENERAL NEW MAN I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR ANY NONSENSE HEAR. YOUR NUMBER-ONE PRIORITY HAS TWO BEE THE FORTH ONE ON THAT LIST. I'M SURE YOU KNOW THAT I ALSO SERVE ON THE ARMED FORCES COMMITTEE THAT HAS TWO CONSENT TO EVERY MILITARY PROMOTION.”

  B: “BE ASSURED, SENATOR, THERE WON'T BE ANY ‘NONSENSE’ AS YOU PUT IT I WILL ALSO”

  A: “GOOD AH JUST KNEW Y'ALL WOOD DO THE RIGHT THING, GENERAL. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME. GOOD DAY.”

  For several seconds after he finished reading the words on the piece of paper, Komulakov just stared forward, saying nothing. Finally Vushneshko cleared his throat and said, “Will there be anything else, General?”

  The older man looked at the communications spook and said, distantly, “From where do I know this name—Waggoner?”

  Vushneshko replied, “I believe he is the chairman of the Intelligence Committee of their legislature. I have seen his name many times in the past. He apparently likes to use the telephone. Didn't their press recently say that he was the man who drafted a new secret law authorizing their government to assassinate opponents?”

  “Ah yes,” said Komulakov recalling now, as a thin smile appeared on his lips. “He is sometimes mentioned as a possible candidate for president of their bourgeois government. Thank you for bringing this to me, Mikhail Vushneshko. Please let me know immediately if you come across anything else we have on either of these names.”

  “Waggoner and this General New Man?—his sounds like a code name,” asserted Vushneshko.

  “It's Newman—all one word,” replied Komulakov, “and he is a very dangerous person.”

  Headquarters, National Intelligence Directorate

  ________________________________________

  Madrid, Spain

  Thursday, 25 October 2007

  1530 Hours Local

  Roberto Calderon was a creature of habit, though it was not a quality admired by his superiors in DINA—the Spanish government's Directorate of National Intelligence. Nonetheless, as he prepared to leave for his midday meal and a short siesta, he did as his usual practice demanded and checked his voice mail before heading off to the Cabo Tiñoso restaurant. There was only one message on his machine: “Roberto, it's William from the Fellowship, please give me a call whenever you receive this message. May He bless your work.”

  That was all. Nonetheless, Calderon smiled to himself. The voice was that of his old friend William Goode. They had first met in 1981, when Goode was the “Political Officer” at the American Embassy in Dakar, Senegal—and Calderon was a junior officer in the Spanish Intelligence Service—sent to Africa to see what the Communists were up to in Guinea Bissau and Mozambique. Goode had introduced the Spaniard to the Fellowship of Believers, and they had met again during a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1990. They had sailed together from Israel back to Spain on Goode's sloop, Pescador. During the voyage, Calderon had been moved by the older man's simplicity and faith. The two had stayed in touch over the years, but it wasn't until 2004 that Calderon realized that Goode was a senior American intelligence officer.

  Within hours of the Madrid train bombings on 11 March that year, Goode had appeared at the DINA Headquarters, leading a delegation of American CIA, FBI, and Justice Department investigators—bringing an offer to help. Calderon was the senior Spanish investigator, and the two worked closely, around the clock, trying to determine who had planted the rush-hour bombs that killed 191 and wounded nearly 2,000 more, just three days before the Spanish national elections.

  The conservative government of Prime Minister José Maria Aznar insisted that the bombing was the work of ETA—the terror arm of the Basque separatist movement. But as Goode's forensic team probed more deeply it became apparent that the eleven explosive and shrapnel-laden backpacks—ten of which detonated—had actually been planted as part of a well-coordinated attack by an Al Qaeda cell.

  Less than twenty-four hours before the election, Calderon was confronted by the awful reality that what his government had been saying simply was not true. Senior officials in Madrid were telling him to lie about what DINA had discovered. He went to Goode with his dilemma: “If we tell the truth, the conservatives will be swept out of power by the socialists, and they will pull our troops out of Iraq.”

  “Perhaps,” said Goode. “But I have to look myself in the mirror when I shave in the morning. It's much easier to do if the person looking back at you isn't a liar. I suggest that you read Paul's first letter to the struggling church in Corinth—chapter 10, verse 13. It's been my experience that He rewards those who do what's right.”

  Late that night Calderon made the official announcement—the train bombings had been the work of Al Qaeda. The Socialists were voted into power and his superiors threatened to have him fired. Instead, he was promoted—though much to his chagrin, Spain's 1,300 peacekeepers were indeed pulled out of Iraq.

  On 3 April, little more than three weeks after the election, seven Islamic militants blew themselves up as a joint DINA-Guardia Civil Special Operations unit moved to arrest them at an apartment in Leganes, a small town just outside Madrid. A video—made by the terrorists as they planned their suicide—was found in the wreckage of the apartment. The video contained an Al Qaeda ultimatum for “the immediate withdrawal of Spanish troops from Muslim lands” issued by a Tunisian, Sirhan bin Abdelmajid Fakhet. Calderon's investigators also found sketches of New York's Grand Central Station and several computer discs in the rubble. As a way of saying “thanks” for encouraging him to do the right thing, Calderon quietly made copies and sent them to Goode.

  Though Calderon had not seen Goode for more than three years, the sound of the older man's steady voice on the answering machine brought back warm memories. He checked his watch, calculated that it was a little after 0930 in Washington, picked up his cell phone, and dialed the number his friend William had given him more than a half decade before.

  The phone rang twice and Calderon heard a familiar voice say, “Goode. Nonsecure. Cell phone. Go ahead.”

  “William, it's Roberto, returning your call.”

  “Ah, mucho gracias, mi amigo,” said Goode. Then continuing in English he asked, “Do you remember my friend Jonathan at the American Embassy?”

  “Certainly,” replied Calderon, remembering the CIA Station Chief from several years before.

  “Well, Jonathan has been reassigned,” Goode continued. “But I have another friend there in that same capacity named Francis. Would it be possible for you to go by to see him on a rather urgent matter? He will be expecting you.”

  “Of course,” Calderon answered. “I shall go there right away.”

  A half hour later Roberto Calderon was seated in the office of Francis Fernandez, the CIA Station Chief at the U.S. Embassy in Madrid. Fernandez had received a FLASH precedence, personal message from the CIA Operations Director ordering him to greet Calderon at the front door of the embassy and escort him to a secure telephone—a clear “deviation” from established protocols.

  Though the sign on his door said “Cultural Attaché,” Fernandez wasted little time on pleasantries. After pouring the DINA officer a cup of strong coffee, he said, “Mr. Calderon, my instructions are to put you on this secure phone with my boss in Washington, Mr. William Goode.”

  With that, Fernandez punched in a number on the keypad of a strange-looking phone situated atop what appeared to be a safe, positioned behind his desk. After a few seconds he said, “This is Madrid. I have Mr. Roberto Calderon for Mr. Goode.” Then a few seconds later he said, “Yes, sir, he's right here…Yes, sir, I certainly agree this is very unusual, but these are unusual times. I'll put him right on and I'll be next door in Tom Simmons' office.”

  Handing the receiver to the DINA officer, Fernandez said, “I'll be right next door, Mr. Calderon—just hang up when you are finished and I'll come right in.” With that, the CIA Station Chief left the room.

  Calderon spoke into
the mouthpiece, “Hello, William, what can I do for you?”

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Roberto,” Goode said through the secure link. “There is a matter of great urgency and sensitivity on which I hope you can be of help.”

  “Certainly,” replied Calderon. “If it is possible for me to do, it will be done, my friend.”

  Goode got right to the point: “We have reason to believe that the group that overthrew the Saudi government has seized a number of the royal family's aircraft and oceangoing vessels. The Saudi royals called 'em ‘yachts,’ but most of these ships are more than thirty meters long. The aircraft range in size from Lear jets to 767s and Airbus 320s. We believe that these ships and aircraft are going to be used to bring nuclear weapons into the United States.”

  Calderon simply said, “¡Mi Dios!”

  “Es verdad,” replied Goode. He then continued, “We think that one or more of these aircraft and vessels may have been brought into Spanish ports or airfields for repainting and reregistration—perhaps in the Belaric Islands—on Majorca or Minorca, or maybe even to Cartegena, on the mainland. We're looking for help on determining whether that's the case—and if it turns out to be so, keeping those planes from leaving the ground or those ships from leaving port.”

  “Are the nuclear weapons already aboard?” asked a horrified Calderon.

  “The truth is,” said Goode, “we don't know. But personally, I doubt it. I think—and this is just my opinion—that the weapons are going to be placed aboard somewhere else—shortly before the ships and aircraft are sent to their targets in the U.S.”

  “How many ships and aircraft are we talking about?” asked Calderon.

  “Well, I'm embarrassed to tell you, we don't know that either. The International Ships' Registry, maintained by Lloyds, lists forty-three vessels owned by members of the Saudi royal family. But we have also learned that in their quest for secrecy, many members of the Saudi royal family didn't register their vessels. Same for aircraft. Many seem to have been ‘self insured,’ as it were. There may have been as many as forty-five to fifty large, oceangoing ships in all.”

  “May have been?” asked Calderon.

  “Yes,” replied Goode. “We know that at least nineteen of them have been destroyed—either in Saudi Arabia or other ports when terrorists tried to seize them.”

  “How about aircraft?” asked the DINA officer.

  “Again, the same problem with the registry records,” said Goode. “We're guessing that there may have been as many as sixty-five transcontinental-range aircraft personally owned by Saudi royalty before the shooting started.”

  “So how can I help you?” asked Calderon. “As you no doubt understand, the current government here in Madrid doesn't want to do anything to offend the Islamicists. They bend over backward to appease them, hoping to avoid anymore incidents like the train bombings. I do not think my government will be of much assistance. But I will help in any way that I can.”

  “Thank you,” said Goode. “This afternoon, I will have Mr. Fernandez deliver to you photographs and registry numbers for every Saudi ship and aircraft for which we cannot confirm a location. Please do what you can to see if any of them are in Spanish territory—perhaps being repainted or renumbered. If you find any, please notify me right away, using the phone number you called an hour ago. If for some reason I do not get back to you immediately, please contact Mr. Fernandez. He will give you a number.”

  “William, I must ask,” said Calderon, “if I find some of their ships or planes here in Spain, what will you do?”

  Goode paused a moment before answering, then said, “We will take care of it with minimum loss of innocent life.”

  Oval Office

  ________________________________________

  The White House

  Thursday, 25 October 2007

  1410 Hours Local

  It was the third time in as many days that Secretary of State Helen Luce had served as “simultaneous” translator for the Presidents of the United States and France. Dan Powers, the Defense Secretary, and the Vice President were listening silently on extensions next door in the presidential study.

  “No, of course not,” said the President, standing behind his desk, a pained expression on his face. “We don't intend to disregard your sovereignty. We'd simply like to have your cooperation in this search.”

  Luce translated the words into French and then listened for the reply. She held her hand over the mouthpiece before saying, “He's still ranting, Mr. President. He says you're trying to bully France.”

  The President nodded and when there was a lull in the diatribe, sought again to engage the French leader. “Please just listen to what I'm trying to tell you, Mr. President. The United States has credible intelligence that leads us to believe that there are several aircraft and large oceangoing vessels that are being refitted, renumbered, and repainted in your country in preparation for transporting nuclear weapons to the United States. All I am suggesting is that our two countries work together to stop them,” the American President said firmly.

  Luce translated again, and listened again as the French leader dug in his heels. “He says, ‘You have called wolf once too often. You did not find the weapons in Iraq, so now you think France is hiding them?’”

  “No...not France. Terrorists—either working out of Iran, or others who may be working with Iran as part of this Islamic Brotherhood,” the President said, trying to curb his frustration.

  Again Luce translated the reply. “Now he says, ‘Take the matter to the UN. And this time, do not blame us. We do not make up crimes and look for someone to charge with them.’”

  “What the heck's that supposed to mean?” the exasperated President asked.

  Luce shrugged and politely asked the French president to clarify his response. After listening, she put her hand over the mouthpiece again and said, “I think we're at an impasse, sir. He sounds like he's reading from prepared remarks. It's all too rehearsed.”

  “Ask him once more if we send his government photos and satellite imagery, will he check out these suspicious ships and aircraft in Marseille, Lyon, Nice, Monaco, and Toulon? Remind him that at least twenty-seven members of the Saudi royal family—including eight children—were assassinated on French soil. Doesn't that prove that this is a serious matter?”

  Luce nodded and asked the French president the question posed by the U.S. Chief Executive. There was a pause. Then she grimaced and said, “Merci, monsieur Presid—” but she didn't get a chance to finish. The French president had hung up on them.

  When he hung up the phone, Powers and the Vice President rejoined Luce and the President in the Oval Office. As they walked into the room Powers said, “My advice is to have our Station Chief in Paris deliver the photos and registry information to the DGSE right away. My guess is that the French Service will quietly make an effort to check 'em out. The government is paralyzed because more than a quarter of the French population is now Muslim. But their security services know they can't take any chances that there's an impending nuke attack and they didn't look for it.”

  “Maybe…” said the President, “but sometimes you can't reason with an angry, stubborn man. He seems to act as though his lot in life is to keep the United States ‘in its place.’ I don't think we ought to assume they're going to do it—like my mother used to say, ‘If you want something done right, y'all better do it yourself.’”

  “What exactly are you suggesting, sir?” asked Helen Luce.

  “Well, we've got some Navy SEALs checking out some boats in Spanish waters because Spain won't do it. Let's just add these locations to their list,” suggested the President.

  “That'd be too much for only two Spec Ops teams, sir,” Powers said. “I don't think we can spread ourselves that thin. I'll push SOCOM to see if they can scare up another SEAL team or two to check out possible targets in France. But we'll have to be careful—two of those sites are heavily secured French airports. Checking the ships is on
e thing. Getting inside those airports covertly will be a real magic act.”

  “But can we do it?” the President asked.

  Powers looked at his boss and said, “If we have to, we will.”

  Until now the Vice President had been silent, but now he interjected, “I agree with everything you and Dan just said, Mr. President. But what you just went through with that arrogant fool in Paris is symptomatic of our larger problem—we're on defense, we're reacting—our enemy has the initiative and we're behind the curve playing catch-up. We've got to find a way to get inside our adversary's ‘decision-making loop’ and throw him off balance—make him respond.”

  The President, still standing behind his desk, nodded and said, “You're right, of course. That's always been the problem for democracies in general—and the U.S. in particular. How to do that without making a terrible mistake, hitting the wrong target, causing all sorts of collateral damage—those have always been our challenges.”

  “I understand and accept that, Mr. President,” said the SecDef, gravely. “So the question is, how far will you let me go in pushing the Iranians, this Islamic Brotherhood outfit—and maybe even the Russians—into thinking that we're about to act, in hopes that one or all of' em will tip their hand?”

  El Mirage Flight Test Facility

  ________________________________________

  El Mirage Dry Lake, California

  Friday, 26 October 2007

  1530 Hours Local

  “I know what your orders are, Colonel, and I understand what FAAD One means— ‘presidential brickbat’ is what we call it out here,” said Len Katz, the civilian Flight Test Supervisor to Lt. Col. Dan Hart. “But just before you got here, I received a superceding FAAD One order from the same place you got yours—the Secretary of Defense. He's directing me to immediately make everything here that's flyable, ready for some special mission loads. I got the same order for the big birds that the Air Force has at Nellis, over by Las Vegas. I'm sorry you came all the way out here, but as it stands right now, I can't let you have any of these birds.”