The Assassins

by Oliver North

  “As soon as you get those photos, scan 'em and send everyone on this call ‘high-res’ JPEG files so we can put out a BOLO and everyone will know what to look for,” ordered Coffee.

  “Will do,” said Mendez. “And there's one more thing, sir. The Desert Mirage had filed a ‘sail plan’—it's required by the Mexican port authorities—and according to the plan they were headed for Caracas.”

  “Same for the Gulfstream?” asked Coffey.

  “Nope,” said Mendez. “It had a flight plan for tomorrow—Sunday—for Jose Marti International in Cuba.”

  Pennecamp Rest Stop

  ________________________________________

  Highway 1, Key Largo, FL

  Saturday, 27 October 2007

  1640 Hours Local

  The sun was settling toward the horizon as Amos Skillings pulled the Suburban into the visitors center parking lot just south of Key Largo on U.S. Highway 1. They'd been driving since nine that morning and had stopped only once for food and fuel around noon. While Rachel and the children were inside using the restrooms, Skillings sat at a nearby picnic table and checked his D-DACT for e-mail.

  There was only one message—from Brig. Gen. Peter Newman, responding to one Skillings had sent him the night before, informing the general of their travel plans. Newman's message was brief: Amos—Glad things are going well. I expect you'll be in Key West sometime lateSaturday. I am grateful for your help. You are the best! Will be at work all Saturday. Call my cell when you get a chance. —Semper Fi, PN

  Newman answered on the second ring with his usual, “Newman,” then added, “Nonsecure, go ahead.”

  “Good afternoon, sir, just checking in,” said Skillings, without giving his name—a habit born of long field experience in hostile climes and places.

  Even though Skillings's caller-ID was blocked, Newman recognized the voice and responded, “Hello, Amos, how's it going?”

  Though he was sitting at a picnic table outside of Key Largo, watching an older couple walk their dog, the ever-cautious sergeant major responded, “We're taking a ‘morale and welfare break’ about three hours from our objective.”

  Having made the long drive to the beach house his wife inherited on Boot Key numerous times, Newman asked, “How are the troops holding up?”

  “They're doing fine, sir. I'll take 'em with me on a forced march any day.”

  The general chuckled and said, “You're probably doing better at this than I do.” Then, becoming serious, he asked, “How's the traffic? What are you seeing?”

  “The traffic is awful,” replied Skillings, frankly. “Lots of security stops—and in between, people are driving like maniacs. They must think that driving faster will help them get in more miles before they run out of gas.”

  “Have you had any problems getting diesel fuel?” Newman asked.

  “Nothing major,” Skillings told him. “Thankfully, both your wife and I have the new ration cards, and since we're both entitled to buy ten gallons, we have so far been able to make it between stations that are open. There have been a couple of times when we've had to drive around a good bit to find a station with fuel. But it's going OK.”

  “Are you having any problems getting food and water?” Newman asked.

  “Not much,” Skillings said. “But it's because most of them are rationing what little they have left. So when we see a store that still has something on the shelves, we stop and buy some canned food and bottled water. I think we've got about a two—maybe three—weeks' supply in the back of the Suburban.”

  “Glad to hear it. How's your ankle? Hope you aren't overdoing things. I'm going to need you, so make sure you take care of it.”

  “I am, sir. Your wife and I are splitting the driving fifty-fifty. It's working out fine,” Skillings told Newman.

  “Well...give it rest for a day or so after you arrive at Rachel's place. Then after you get them settled, I think the best thing would be to have her then take you down to the Naval Air Station. You know the one. I'll arrange for a flight to pick you up. It looks like we're going to get thrown into this mix sooner than I had expected.”

  After signing off with Newman, the sergeant major hobbled back to the car and took out the Florida highway map that was in the pocket of the driver's side door. When Rachel and the children came bounding out of the visitors center laughing and playing, Skillings had the map spread out on the hood of the Suburban.

  “What are you looking for, Amos?” Rachel said, still smiling.

  “Just checking the mileage between Boot Key and the Key West Naval Air Station, ma'am,” he replied.

  Then, suddenly serious she said, “Peter wants you back, doesn't he?”

  Skillings looked at the woman whose life he had saved years before in Cyprus and said, “Yes, ma'am. We have work to do.”

  Presidential Commission Townhouse

  ________________________________________

  5 Jackson Place, Washington, DC

  Saturday, 27 October 2007

  1700 Hours Local

  After signing off with his sergeant major, Newman placed the cell phone back in the clip on his belt and turned back to the work on his desk. He had started the day with a lengthy DIA intelligence briefing at Boiling Air Force Base, followed by several more hours in meetings at the Pentagon. By the time he arrived at his office on the top floor of the Presidential Commission townhouse, the day was almost over.

  As Newman entered his secured space he turned on the lights, and then he noticed a Post-it note in the middle of his otherwise uncluttered desk. He walked over, set down his jacket and briefcase, and read the note: Folder is in the safe.—Major Bowes.

  Maj. Ed Bowes was a Pentagon liaison officer whom Secretary of Defense Dan Powers had assigned to Newman when Skillings was injured. Bowes would stay with the Special Unit for at least a year. “Ed's the kind of guy who can read minds,” the SecDef had told Newman when he made the offer. “He's intelligent and resourceful—the kind of guy you need to keep you sane when twenty things are happening at once.”

  So far, Bowes had proven himself well. Newman had been able to communicate with the major at all times of the day or night, by way of e-mail and IM on his D-DACT unit. Bowes was always available and seemed on top of things. Whenever Newman asked for something, it appeared. When he had questions, there were answers or options almost instantly. Newman also appreciated the way that Bowes—as Dan Powers put it—“can read minds.” Even before being asked, Bowes took the initiative and got things lined up, waiting only for his superior's approval.

  Newman inserted the major's 3 x 5 yellow Post-it note into the shredder and walked over to the four-drawer, high-security safe in the corner of his office. He punched a six-digit number into the keypad and then pressed his right forefinger against the shiny, reddish-brown rectangle about an inch by three-fourths of an inch in size, on the front face of the top drawer. There was a barely-perceptible clunk as the locking mechanism disengaged and Newman opened the safe.

  Inside the second drawer was a red-bordered pocket file labeled “Top Secret” with his name on it. Inside were a single sheet of paper and two envelopes. Newman put the envelopes on the top of the safe and read what was typed on the sheet of paper. It was a memo from Maj. Ed Bowes.

  Sir:

  1. LtCol Hart called from Nellis AFB at 1300. He said to tell you that we will get three “Predators” and five “Hunters,” and that the Nellis people have promised the use of a “Global Hawk” as long as you don't use this one like the last one they gave you. Not sure I understand that, but LtCol Hart said you would know what they mean.*

  2. At 1410 Senator James Waggoner called and asked, “When will the Special Unit commence operations?” Since he was on a nonsecure line I told him that he would have to call the SecDef with such an inquiry. He said “I'll have your rear end for this,” and hung up. Not sure if he meant yours or mine.

  3. At 1525 Commissioner Russell Bates arrived and requested the file on Samuel Mubassa. Fifteen minu
tes later he returned the file and told me that he had “updated the location information on Mubassa,” and departed at 1550. The Mubassa Target Index is now back in the folder labeled ‘Hit Parade’ in your safe and I've flagged the info Mr. Bates provided so that you're aware of what's been added.

  4. At 1600 the CIA courier delivered the enclosed sealed envelopes from Mr. William Goode. I signed for same.

  5. 1630. Am going home to have dinner with my wife. If you need me back here for any reason, please call or send msg on D-DACT.

  Very respectfully, E. J. Bowes, Major, US Army

  *Refers to Mission Compromised by authors where in March 1995 Newman used a Global Hawk with munitions to attack a meeting in Tikrit, Iraq, with Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden. The aircraft was lost when the mission was compromised and Newman's aircraft was shot down over Iraq.

  Newman walked back to his desk with the folder and the two envelopes. Both had identical labels: “From: W. P. Goode; To: P. J. Newman.”

  Inside the first envelope he opened, Newman found $25,000 in U.S. currency. He noticed that all of the bills appeared to have been in circulation for some time. The second envelope contained a blue U.S. passport with Newman's picture, but the name “Peter Oldham” inscribed on the first page. There were also fifty business cards identifying Oldham as the Vice President of “Petro-Research, Inc.,” with an Oklahoma City address and phone number; plus three credit cards in the same name, a map of Oklahoma City, and a sheet of paper with a fifteen-line “bio” for Peter Oldham. There was also a handwritten note from Bill Goode: “Peter, herein, the paperwork you will need for any upcoming travel. Please memorize and destroy the ‘legend.’ Before you leave on any vacations, be sure to talk to me about local points of interest and accredited tour guides. Sincerely, Bill.”

  Newman was still smiling at Goode's note when the secure phone beside his elbow warbled, insisting that it be answered. Picking up the receiver, he heard the whoosh and ping as the encryption systems synchronized and then said, “Newman.”

  “Pete, this is George Grisham. Secretary Powers just got off the phone with Senator Waggoner, who is apparently ballistic over the fact that the Threat Mitigation Special Unit has yet to ‘whack anyone’—as he put it. The SecDef tried to explain that we're dealing with some fast-moving events here—and the very strong possibility that terrorists are trying to get nuclear weapons into the country at this very moment.”

  “That's very interesting, General, because Waggoner also called here earlier today—in the clear—and then Commissioner Russell Bates dropped in to ‘update’—as he put it—the location information on Samuel Mubassa. He's among the top three on our ‘hit parade.’ Mubassa's apparently on a protracted, ‘UN-sponsored visit’ to Caracas,and staying with his friend President Valdez, the thug who's running Venezuela.”

  “Caracas,” said Grisham after a brief pause. And then, almost to himself, he asked, “Why does Caracas keep coming up so often nowadays?”

  “Sir?”

  “Nothing, Pete. Just thinking out loud.” Then he asked, “How soon will you have your ‘travel teams’ up and ready to go?”

  “I just received my personal stuff from Bill Goode, and the ‘document specialists’ at ISA say that they will have ten more sets here by tomorrow,” Newman replied. “That should give us enough to send out a ‘Recon & Survey’ team as early as Monday. But I'm still not certain where we want to send our first team. Most of the ‘targets’ found guilty by the Commission seem to be spread all over the Middle East—in Egypt, Sudan, Palestine, South Lebanon, Syria, Iran, and of course, Saudi Arabia.”

  Grisham was silent for several seconds and then said, “I understand that's where most of them are—but Bill Goode believes that the immediate threat is much closer to home. He's pretty well convinced me and the SecDef that there's a lot going on in Venezuela.”

  “You mean this guy Mubassa?”

  “Not necessarily Mubassa,” responded Grisham. “More likely Valdez—or people connected to his regime—perhaps in cooperation with the Iranians. I'm going to talk to the SecDef again here in a little while. In the interim, take a look at how you would move eight or ten of your boys—and some special equipment—to Venezuela.”

  “If all they will be doing is a site-survey on how to take out Mubassa or a few other individuals, they won't need much equipment,” said Newman.

  “Well, I'm thinking your boys may have to do some double-duty,” Grisham replied. “We're flat running out of Spec Ops units, chasing around after all these missing Saudi ships and aircraft. Three of the four that we've recaptured were apparently headed for Caracas, and all of them had compartments installed to hide nukes—but no nukes. There's no doubt that something bad is going on down there.”

  “How much and what kind of special equipment do they need to take?” asked Newman, taking notes.

  “Not completely sure yet,” replied Grisham. “I have some guys looking at the availability of portable, Passive Millimeter Wave imaging equipment and some of the new Gamma-Neutron Particle detectors. I'll get the cube and weight of what we're talking about and get back to you after our next meeting with the President. Meanwhile, you get a team ready to head for Caracas. That way we can get Waggoner off our backs and have some good people in place just in case Valdez is running a really dark domain.”

  Situation Room

  ________________________________________

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Saturday, 27 October 2007

  1930 Hours Local

  “I know you don't want to leave, Mr. President,” said Dan Powers emphatically, “but everyone here is adamant that you and the First Lady at least spend tomorrow night and Monday at one of the relocation sites.”

  The President looked around the small conference room at the other six members of his “Crisis Core Group”—the small team of advisors he had come to rely on the most as the Saudi crisis wore on. The Vice President, Joint Chiefs Chairman Gen. George Grisham, Secretary of State Helen Luce, Bill Goode from the CIA, National Security Advisor Jeb Stuart, and Bruce Allen, his Chief of Staff, were all nodding their heads in agreement with the Defense Secretary.

  “Bill,” said the President, turning to Goode, “how serious is this threat that these jihadists will try something Monday?”

  “Well, sir, based on all this ‘numerology’ that appears to fascinate the Islamic radicals, the day after tomorrow is one of those days that adds up to eleven,” answered Goode.

  “But I thought you said that 11 November is the highest threat day in the near future—and that places like New York City—with eleven letters—are at highest risk,” challenged the President.

  “That's true,” interjected the Vice President, “but why take the chance? The Secret Service can take you out through the tunnel over to Treasury, put you in a low-profile motorcade over to Marine One at Anacostia NAS, and have you at Camp David, Mount Weather, or even down to A. P. Hill inside of forty minutes. Besides,” he added with a smile, “somebody other than me needs to inspect some of these ‘undisclosed locations.’”

  “All right,” the President reluctantly agreed. “We'll go to Camp David at ten p.m. tomorrow night—and hope that the press doesn't pick up on it. But if everything stays quiet, I want to be back here at first light on Tuesday morning. Now, before I have to go face the First Lady with this news, give me the latest. How many of those missing Saudi ships and aircraft have we located or captured?”

  “Six—four of the yachts, and two planes,” the SecDef replied. “All of them were modified to hold nuclear weapons—but there were no weapons aboard.”

  “That's terrific. Details?” asked the President, looking at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

  General Grisham said, “In addition to the two repainted Saudi ships taken by Navy SEALs off the coast of Spain last night, we have a ship and aircraft impounded in Mexico, and about twenty minutes ago I was informed by SOCOM that we got some help from South Afr
ica taking down a Saudi in Johannesburg. Three men of ‘Middle Eastern appearance’ and a Russian were working on the plane in a hangar. They were all killed in the assault on the plane. No U.S. or South African casualties. At about the same time, we intercepted another Saudi yacht in Lisbon Harbor—once again a SEAL team handled it. There were five terrorists aboard, but this time we lost two men and one SEAL was wounded when those aboard began using grenades in an effort to take out the SEAL team along with themselves. All five terrorists died—one of them was a young woman in her twenties. All of the vessels and aircraft had been repainted and modified with lead-lined steel boxes to accept and conceal a single nuclear weapon. It also appears from the most recent reports that all of them had wiring installed to command detonate the weapon once it was installed.”

  At this point Bill Goode interjected, “Mr. President, we're also checking on reports of other Saudi ships and aircraft in the Azores, the Canary Islands, Cape Verde, Brazil, Trinidad, Barbados, the British Virgin Islands, Aruba, the Dominican Republic, Venezuela, and Cuba. Of course we're not getting any cooperation at all from those last two.”

  “Everything seems to be focused on the U.S. East Coast,” observed the President.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Goode. “And I continue to believe that Caracas is the key. The Valdez regime, as you know, has had a growing relationship with Iran and Castro and has become very hostile to us. Unfortunately, we haven't had any decent reporting out of Caracas since they threw out our Military Advisory Group back in 2005.”

  “What do you make of the Russians who have popped up on these captured Saudi ships and aircraft?” asked the President.

  Goode glanced at Powers before answering. The SecDef nodded and the CIA Operations Director continued, “I have to admit that my assessment isn't widely shared in the intelligence community, but I still believe that the Iranians are providing the ‘muscle’ for this ‘Islamic Brotherhood.’ But I think that the ‘brains’ behind it—and the nuclear weapons—are Russian, and most likely controlled by this man Komulakov.”