Element 94

by Kleiner Jeffries

  C.J. felt totally dejected. The only measure of comfort had been that his captors did not seem aware of one vital piece of intelligence – that his capture would be readily identifiable to his colleagues at the agency. The tape adhered to his suit was now gone, but not until after he had been brought on board. The fact he was a hostage was therefore probably still unknown to his enemy, but what use was it now? he wondered despondently. There seemed little hope of a rescue if they left this ship; it was the only clue to his whereabouts. Despite the harsh beatings and treatment he had endured over the past 40 hours since his capture, he had always maintained a glimmer of hope – but it was now fading fast.

  C.J. took in a long, slow, relaxing breath and fell back on the only crutch he would have - his training. After successfully navigating “hell week” as part of his mandatory SEAL course, C.J. was sent to SERE (survival, escape, resistance, and evasion) school with the army special forces at Camp MacKall, where he learned how to deal with just the situation in which he now found himself. The key, of course, was survival, which served as a valuable acronym for the eight skills necessary to staying alive: S: size up the situation, U: undue haste makes waste, V: vanquish fear and panic, and so forth[1]. He now focused on V – he willfully suppressed the fear and panic that had been building as he realized they would be boarding a new vessel. But what could he possibly do now? How could he make something of this seemingly helpless predicament? The next letter of the survival acronym provided the obvious next course of action – I: he had to improvise. With a clear head, C.J. determined to improve his condition, however incrementally. He would be whisked onto another vessel with little chance of rescue, but what about the yacht in which he was now being held? He knew there was an opportunity here; an opportunity to send a message to those who would find this boat. At a minimum, he needed to let Kelly and the others know he was still alive. And he would send his captors a message as well - they would soon learn he would not easily be broken. He had an idea.

  “Hey. Get in here. Hey!” C.J. screamed at the top of his lungs. In walked one of his guards, a large dark man with thick black hair and pocked skin, the telltale marker of an adolescence spent fighting the ravages of acne. C.J. had seen this man earlier, but the blindfold about his eyes was secured once more, and the operative could only speculate as to which of his captors was before him. But he knew it was not the terrorist leader who had arrived; his other senses told him as much. The tingling of his skin hinted that before him now stood the brute who had already inflicted significant pain and suffering upon him – and the same man who had ruthlessly decapitate Russell Bellow not long ago.

  C.J. had already endured a rash of beatings, and become virtually inured to the torture at the hands of this man. But suddenly, almost abruptly, the repetitive drubbing and amateurish interrogations ceased. The reprieve was sorely welcomed at the time, but in light of recent turn of events…It was the only way, C.J. told himself - the only proactive act he could commit to facilitate his survival and rescue, however much he dreaded what he was about to do.

  “Get me the captain. Tell him I have something for him”, C.J. intoned curtly. After a moment in which he received no reply, no acknowledgement of his request, he repeated more forcefully “Get me the fuckin’ captain!”

  “No fock you..”. The guard did not seem to understand his request to see the man in charge. C.J. was conscious to avoid communicating with anyone in their native tongue, lest he reveal his skills in Arabic. This was an edge he did not want to relinquish. C.J., like all special ops soldiers before him, underwent an intensive language course following SERE school. The terrorists did not appear to realize he spoke Arabic, having been wantonly cavalier about speaking within earshot of the captured operative. Much had already been revealed to him, and more was sure to follow. One thing that surprised C.J. was that the leader did not even fully understand the true nature of the larger plan. Great care had been devoted to the planning of this operation, and whoever had crafted this assault had specifically avoided divulging much to those on board. But C.J. had learned just enough to be sufficiently terrified. Somehow, someway, he needed to warn the others.

  He was about to reiterate the request once more, when thankfully, a second person could be heard entering the chamber.

  “What is going on here?” Azeez said in an exasperated Arabic. C.J. immediately recognized the voice of the leader.

  “Hey, I need to tell you something”, C.J. said before the buffoon guarding him could speak.

  “Oh, now you want to talk suddenly. Well, what do you have to say?”

  “Okay”, C.J. began, “You want to know how we knew Salaam was aboard the freighter, is that it? Well, it wasn’t very hard. You see, our satellites can scan anywhere on the globe – even at night. We knew exactly where to go.”

  “Yes, I am aware of the spy satellites. And that they are equipped with infrared. But that does not tell me how you knew which ship he was on.” C.J. could practically feel the leader’s breath; he was right in front of his face now. C.J. himself did not know the answer to this question, but replied without skipping a beat.

  “We knew exactly which ship, my friend, the same way I know exactly where you are, you god dam smelly son-of-a-bitch!” And with that last comment, C.J. hocked up a collection of phlegm from the depths of his lungs and launched it in the direction of his adversary.

  “You… Wad al haram. Aneekak…!” Azeez roared as he stepped away and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Kafir [infidel]”, he continued, as he motioned to his enforcer with a nod of the head.

  C.J. was prepared for what came next. Sharp blows rained down on his face and body. Only this time, he did not try to avoid the concrete fists connecting with his flesh, but rather C.J. invited the pain. He was even grateful to the pock-marked brute who administered the battering, as the flesh on his face began to open. Blood now ran down his face, from his nose, from a cut above his eye where the blindfold afforded no protection. His words obviously had the desired effect. He needed his freshly painted DNA spattered all about for analysis. C.J. wanted to make sure Kelly had as much information as possible. The STAT lab could analyze exactly who it was being held hostage, and the exact time the sample was deposited. They must know he was still being kept alive. They must not abandon the search.

  One of the strikes finally knocked C.J.over, landing him on his back. He now lay facing upward, his hands still restrained behind him, his feet secured to the chair on which he sat.

  “Enough”, Azeez uttered. And with that, the beating ended. Now there was just one more task he would need to attend to, C.J. thought, before he was whisked off the ship.

  Burkina Fasa, North Africa

  Ra’ed waited in his private quarters for word from their people in New York. Abul Khayr was close to developing a fully functional weapon. Salaam, unwittingly, had established that the Americans could not detect the material with their sophisticated surveillance systems. They had reached well within the protective cordon established in the years following nineeleven, when that fool Bin-Laden awoke the sleeping giant prematurely. Despite this setback, victory was soon at hand. But still the terrorist leader fretted. They knew little of the workings and nuances of the radiodetection system (RDS) the Americans employed. All that was known was nuclear weaponry could be detected within hundereds of miles of US shores with a high degree of reliability. Faarooq had analogized the technology to the sonar nets the Americans employed to detect submarines infiltrating their shores, only with the specific goal now of detecting radiological materials. A powerful satellite capability was linked to the network, again enabled by the nineeleven attacks. Apparently, the attack on the Pentagon had impacted several satellite systems. In the process of rebuilding these systems, the Americans had added an RDS feature to the overhead assets, allowing penetration anywhere on the globe. Could they now make the adjustment in time to this new weapon his scientists were developing? This was Ra’ed’s foremost concern; this was the only thing standing
between Sayf Udeen and total invincibility.

  As Ra’ed was contemplating these issues, his intelligence chief approached his chamber. He motioned to Aasim, his faithful bodyguard, to let the man enter.

  “Sayid, we have confirmation. We know the scientist the Americans wish to use. The chief scientist is one we have kept tabs on for some time. It could not have worked out more fortuitously.“

  “Good”, Ra’ed responded with a confident coolness. “So he will be disposed of?”

  “Certainly, Sayid. The arrangements have already been made.”

  “Excellent”, Ra’ed uttered, nodding his approval at the news.

  New York City

  Nina Rhone was exhausted and hungry. The post-graduate student had been putting in long hours at the lab, and was more than ready to pick up some dinner, get home, and nestle herself in front of the television. She had worked through lunch, taking a brief break to polish off a bag of chips and an energy bar. Quite the nutritious meal, she thought. She wondered what she should get for dinner, the possibilities almost limitless in the bustling city. A far cry from her native home, she thought. But she had to wait for her boss to arrive before she could leave for the day. He didn't care if she hung around, but she had no choice.

  It was 7PM and Leo Koval, her laboratory director, was over two hours late. Now where was he? The traffic must be a nightmare, Nina concluded. Leo was giving a lecture up at Yale, and planned to drive down that afternoon. There shouldn't have been much difficulty getting into the city at that hour, but it was New York after all. And New York City traffic could certainly defy all logic.

  She looked out the door, down the hallway, as if that might expedite her boss's arrival. The place was pretty barren, the physics department at Columbia University shut down for the day. A few stragglers remained, an experiment or two still running its course. The predominant sight, however, were the sanitation people who went from room to room cleaning and emptying the trash.

  "Bonjour, Babukar", she said loudly down the hall. The custodian heard her, and replied back in kind. Now that was a waste of a mind, Nina thought, as she looked at the gentleman emptying the trash in the hallway. Babukar was typical of many immigrants in the city, an accomplished, educated individual working a menial job to support his family. A doctor back in his native Africa, Babukar was now relegated to picking up trash. They had developed a cordial relationship over the past weeks, Nina fluent in his native French. She realized how lucky Americans were. They took their freedoms and opportunities for granted while much of the rest of the world subsisted in misery.

  The phone ringing inside the lab suddenly drew her attention. She hurried to answer it.

  "Hello", she said as she picked up the receiver.

  "Nina, it's Leo. "

  "Hi Leo, where the hell are you?" she asked affably. Their relationship was more collegial than the typical, deferential mentor-trainee interaction. Nina had no qualms about speaking frankly and openly to the man.

  "I'm stuck in traffic of course. Won't be by for 20 minutes or so. Listen, why don't you get going"

  "How did the lecture go?" she changed the subject.

  "Fine, the usual bit. I'm getting really sick and tired of the circuit. I'm not accepting another invitation for a while."

  Leo Koval, the 39 year old associate professor with a Ph.D. in nuclear physics, had recently made a splash in the scientific community and was now a hot commodity within academia. His breakthrough involved expanding and streamlining existing methods of purifying materials thorough techniques used to discriminate substances based on their unique chemical and physical properties. The physicist had left the chemistry community in awe and somewhat embarrassed, having made a tremendous contribution outside his primary field of interest. But Leo was a bit of a Renaissance man when it came to science, his interests spread across a number of fields and subjects. And the lab now focused on applying his techniques to his primary focus, nuclear science, separating radioactive substances for a variety of research purposes.

  "Nina, I don't want to keep you", Leo brought the focus back to the matter at hand. "Get going, really"

  "That's alright, I can wait", she replied innocently.

  "Don't be ridiculous, you've done enough. We can touch base in the morning"

  "Alright". Nina acceded. She didn't want to raise any suspicion, and so agreed to leave for the evening. Her superiors had instructed her to await Leo's arrival, but if he really was only a short distance away. She looked at the package on the floor. It should be fine, she reasoned. Besides, they had surveillance on the man. He wouldn't slip out of their reach.

  "Leo, there's a fedex for you - I'll leave it on your desk"

  "Fine, see you tomorrow"

  "Goodnight". Nina hung up the phone. What a good guy, she thought, a twinge of guilt seeping into her consciousness. She forced herself to put her thoughts and actions into perspective. Nina, a Ph.D. scientist herself, had long ago committed herself to a greater cause and could not lose focus. The poor sucker, she thought, as she closed and locked the door behind her.

  "Oh shit" the driver behind the 1990s-era Cavalier exclaimed in Chechen as the traffic forced him to a complete stop. "Yaha" he repeated, now slipping into a guttural Arabic as he hit the steering wheel with his fist. The person he was following was several car lengths in front, still within view. He had been following the man since arriving on shore less than 24 hours earlier. His orders were clear and precise – the scientist was not to leave his sight until his return. Who was this guy anyway? the Chechen wondered. His Muslim brethren at Sayf Udeen must have picked up some important intelligence on this man. But the tedium of the assignment was beginning to take its toll.

  Yuri did as he was ordered, following Leo Koval all the way back to West 110th street, where the physicist, oblivious to the surveillance, entered the Columbia University complex. A teacher, the Chechen thought; had he nothing better to do with his time than follow a college teacher? He was trained not to question his superiors, but was beginning to grow frustrated as the long hours dragged on. A veteran of the Chechen uprising against the occupying Russian forces, the man was a seasoned fighter and preferred an aggressive stance to his current, more passive role. But he was now connected to Sayf Udeen, and knew better than to act independently. This group had survived America's fury while most others folded. He would put his faith in the one last great vestige of hope for his embattled nation.

  Yuri followed Leo to the foot of the grand old building in the Columbia University complex that housed his laboratory. There were no obstacles to getting onto the Columbia campus, the large gates serving more of an aesthetic perimeter than true barrier. But entering the lab would be another matter. Despite the man's innocent-looking appearance he would not easily get by security without stirring up some trouble. The Slavic fundamentalists could pass as indigenous-looking natives, and were thus used commonly by the Organization for surveillance and other clandestine purposes when on assignment in the West, but one still needed identification for access within the campus buildings. The former Chechen soldier-turned terrorist picked up his cell phone and made a call. Good, he thought as he hung up. They had someone who would take over from here. Someone close.

  Leo Koval entered the lab, took in a deep breath, and surveyed the place. Nina had left him a note summarizing her progress. It had been a fruitful day indeed. He glanced over to his desk, saw the cardboard box Nina had brought to his attention. Not a single identifying mark on it. Typically he had an idea who the sender was from the writing on the packaging.

  He lifted the box to place it on the floor, out of his way, and was alarmed by its weight. “What was in here?” he thought, lead weights. He began to open the box, realized he wasn't that far off. He read the note attached, and still puzzled, picked up the phone to call his post-doc.

  "Nina, do you have any idea who sent this package here?"

  "No clue", she lied into her cellular. "Why, what's up?"

  "Nothing re
ally, just curious. Looks like some material for analysis. I'll check it out. Bye."

  Leo brought the canister to the radiation hood and unscrewed the leaden seal.

  So he was opening up the package now, Nina thought. They had read the man accurately - too curious to let the matter wait until morning; good. They preferred he were alone. This would be the defining moment of his life, Nina thought. His prior accomplishments, his good-natured sense of humor. None of that could help him now; nothing could change the events that were to unfold. The wheels had been set in motion.

  Before his intelligence chief could depart there were other matters that required his attention.

  “Any word from Azeez?” Ra’ed asked. He was impatient to learn what they could from the captured American agent.

  “Nothing, Sayid. Not since unloading the remaining containers and the Chechen, Yuri.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They should be on their way back. Azeez and the others scuttled the ship not long ago. They will likely contact us once they are a safe distance from shore. They still fear the transmissions might get intercepted at their current location.” The Sayf Udeen planners were aware the yacht would be identified and enshrouded in suspicion. Accordingly, they had left the ship abandoned shortly after the mission was completed and were now making safe passage back to their base of operations using untraceable vessels and private craft.