Secret of the Oil: Prequel to the Donavan Chronicles

by Tom Haase

  He kissed his wife and told her not to worry; their son would be back in the morning. She clutched at his arm and started to cry. He remembered her older brother was kidnapped in the Iraq war in the ’80s and he never returned. She was ready to go ballistic.

  “I want him back now.”

  “I know. So do I,” he said. “Believe me, he is all right. He is spending the night with Kemal and will be here in the morning. Try to get some sleep. Don’t worry,” he kissed his wife’s tears and gave her a reassuring hug. He turned and quickly left the house, carrying the knapsack with the canister. He had at least twenty-five minutes to get to work before his midnight-to-eight shift started.

  As he started his slow walk to work, he was sweating with fear despite the chill in the air. Nadim agonized over what to do to save his son.

  Arriving at work, he checked in as usual and followed his normal routine until around three in the morning. Yusuf, who was usually off checking his own area at this time, was staying very close to him, keeping up a boring monologue about the problems he was having with his wife, not seeming to care about carrying out his nightly rounds.

  Nadim decided that he would pretend to be sick and go to the toilet. This seemed to be his best hope of getting the curious Yusuf to start on his normal inspections. How else was he going to be able to extract the empty canister from the knapsack where it was concealed? Getting it out without raising any suspicion from Yusuf would take a few minutes. In this nuclear facility, where the guards inspected areas by themselves, there was no system of checks and balances or two-man rule. This method of control was in complete contrast with what was done in Western nuclear plants. There, two men would always be together to check on one another. The Western system, however, had not made its way into the everyday operation of the early nuclear development plant in Iran. The government had decided that all employees were loyal and there did not appear to be any need for such an excessive control device for security guards.

  Nadim shook with fear as he waited for Yusuf to go off to his area; he had never done anything like this before. What other choice did he have? He would ask Allah what he should do with his son in the hands of the terrible Kemal. He prayed for a few moments to calm himself. Maybe, if he held off to the point where he could see his son before he gave the canister to Kemal, he could try to overpower this maniac and at least get Ashraf back without handing it over. Nadim’s thoughts whirled endlessly.

  Nadim sighed with relief when Yusuf finally went off to do his security checks; he wouldn’t have to feign getting sick after all. He could now start making his own rounds.

  After completing the walk-around inspection of the holding area that contained the enriched uranium, Nadim entered a small room and unhooked a bright yellow anti-radiation suit from the rack. Every time he put this suit on to carry out the inside inspection of the sensitive area, he felt a certain uneasiness. There might be a leak in one of the canisters stored behind the lead wall, or worse, in the suit he wore. When he carried out his nightly inspection to read the meters inside, it was a strict requirement that he wear the suit. If the slightest leak were detected, a team would then go into the room and conduct a search to find and reseal the deadly canister.

  As he passed through the double-sealed doors, Nadim’s heart started to race. Tonight, he was sweating profusely inside the suit because of the anxiety he felt over having to comply with Kemal’s demands. The lights in the containment room shone directly on the containers, allowing him to read the meter on each unit. He wanted to ensure that he picked one with a zero-rad reading, just for his own protection once he got the thing out of the area. With trembling fingers, he withdrew one from the rack of twenty identical canisters. Surprised by its weight, he had to use both hands to remove it. This small cylinder, when loaded with the enriched weapons grade uranium, weighed about fifty pounds. He inserted the false replacement into the vacant space, having wiped it clean of any fingerprints before he put on the suit and gloves to enter this area.

  There, he did it.

  Now, he had to go back and remain calm for the rest of his shift. After exiting the room, he packed the canister into his knapsack and placed it under his desk. There were no security cameras installed inside the plant. They were scheduled to be installed and would be on line in another day or two. Now he realized why Kemal insisted on tonight.

  Nadim then continued his normal duties and, at the completion of his shift, went out of the plant’s gate, following only a cursory inspection of his knapsack, the same knapsack the guards at the gate had seen for years. No suspicions were raised. He hurried to get away before Yusuf joined him on his way home.

  As he walked, Nadim felt that everyone was looking at him, as if all knew he had stolen something from the government. He glanced behind and saw Yusuf in the distance. He walked faster.

  Arriving at his house, he opened the door to his wife’s scream. “Where is Ashraf? Where is my son? When will he be home?”

  Before Nadim could answer her, Kemal pushed open the door and stood there.

  Nadim blurted out, “Where is my son?”

  “Your son will be returned to you as soon as I have the canister and I walk down the street. He will be released at that time.” He started to turn toward the door.

  “I want to see my son,” Nadim cried, grabbing Kemal by the arm and jerking him around to glare into his face.

  Kemal cut him off and shoved his hand away. “This is not a negotiation. Give it to me and you'll get your son back. Give me the canister. Now. Do not test my patience.”

  Nadim had lost all options. He slumped, sobs fighting to escape from his throat, then turned, reached into his knapsack, and pulled it out. “Here,” he said, handing it to Kemal.

  Kemal placed the canister into his own knapsack. From within it he pulled out a silenced P2000SK H&K 9mm pistol and shot Nadim and his wife, one shot each to the head, just as he had earlier shot their son. He left the house, leaving the bodies where they had fallen.

  As he walked out the door of Nadim’s house, the morning call for prayer sounded from the loud speakers atop the local mosque. Kemal did not stop to comply with the adhan that came over the loudspeakers calling the faithful to pray, and he did not notice that another man had also ignored the call.

  Down the street, Yusuf waited. He had observed his colleague from the nuclear plant return home and had seen the man from the two nights before leaving with a heavy bundle he had not carried when he had arrived.

  After waiting for a few more minutes for the stranger to disappear, Yusuf approached the house, knocked, waited, and opened the door. He saw what he feared. Closing the door, Yusuf rushed back to his own house and made an urgent telephone call.

  CHAPTER 4

  TARA LAWSON

  FRIDAY – 9:47 P.M. IN BAGHDAD

  Kneeling beside Mohammed’s body, Tara tried to control her rising fear. She focused her mind. Mohammed had provided some significant, but as yet not understood, intelligence. She decided to get his words to Washington as a heads-up warning, and tomorrow she would follow up with a detailed message to the Defense Intelligence Agency’s Command Center in the Pentagon. Tara Lawson knew her phone lacked secure voice capability, and this was definitely not something to transmit over unsecured airways. In order to alert Washington, she would have to send an encrypted text message on her satellite phone.

  On the keypad of the instrument, she typed the exact words Mohammed had spoken to her; the green screen showed the words as she typed. From the pull-down menu, she selected flash precedence for the message. The phone made a barely audible beep. The internal conversion encryption process was complete.

  It was 1:49 p.m. on Friday in Washington when the message left Baghdad. Two short beeps on Tara’s phone signaled the acceptance code for the message by the satellite. She knew the Pentagon would receive it.

  When Tara pushed the send button, the phone automatically transmitted the secure text to a satellite where the flash precedence alerted a
n internal computer program to disregard other incoming traffic until it had attended to the highest priority first. In a few microseconds, the systems on board relayed this message to another geosynchronous satellite orbiting over the United States. Once there, it rerouted the text to a ground station at Fort Meade. On arrival at the receiver station, the computers there processed it through a decoding mechanism to convert the encryption back into readable text. Since the address in Tara’s transmission indicated the DIA Command Center, the message went by secure landline to the communication center in the bowels of the Pentagon. The Pentagon computer read that addressee and disseminated it to the desk officer on duty in the Command Center. From the time Tara had pushed the send button, her communication to Washington had taken exactly three minutes and forty-nine seconds to reach the Middle East desk officer in the Command Center.

  Tara looked at her watch. Only five minutes had elapsed since she had crossed the street and entered the house. Tonight, things had not gone according to plan, and she had to take care of some final details. Tara knew that Mohammed's information about the meeting to take place in Beirut was a real break. The DIA was gaining knowledge of a terrorist leader’s activity before it happened and would have to find out more about this “dirty oil," and hopefully, one of the counterterrorist strike teams would eliminate or capture the terrorist leaders when they met in Beirut.

  Right now, fighting back the tightness in her throat, she visualized all that had gone askew tonight. Tara knew she had to eradicate any evidence of her meeting with Mohammed, hoping to preclude the terrorists’ verifying that he was a traitor.

  Who had killed him? It seemed most likely it was someone from his cell, someone who suspected him of being a traitor. That made sense. Had someone followed him here? She had not seen anyone. Her fears rose on these thoughts.

  Now to take care of one last detail to ensure no one would soon find Mohammed. Tara slowly moved over to the one window in the rear of the building and took out her laser designator code and target identifier module, the latest advance in terminally guided ordinance. Not only did the module send the identification of the user but it also allowed the user to plant it and then to get a safe distance away before the guided ordnance impacted the designated point.

  There could be no mistake in this procedure. Tara switched on the small device and heard the audible beep indicating it was active. Technology sent the message to a receiver unit high above Baghdad.

  * * * *

  Scorpion One – Lieutenant Colonel Jake Haneline

  9:50 P.M. – F-16 over Baghdad

  Jake had taken off an hour ago from an airfield over two hundred kilometers south of Baghdad. This was a routine night mission to hit a target north of the city. The briefing officer for the flight advised Jake that he was also on call to hit two additional targets if requested. These targets could become active if an electronic request interrogated his receiver unit.

  After attacking and destroying the designated bunker target, Jake was circling over Baghdad at 15,000 feet and waiting until his time on station was up. He would then return to his base and head to the bar. This was Jake’s last flight in Iraq. He was going home tomorrow. One year away from the wife and kids was enough. Sure, when he got home there would be mixed emotional memories of the missions, the jokes, the losses, and the people of Iraq. However, in one more year, he would be able to retire. No more tours in this rat hole of a country.

  As he slowly banked the F-16 fighter toward the south, Jake could see all of the capital arrayed below. The approach paths for the Baghdad International Airport were just ahead, so Jake pulled a hard turn to the left to stay clear of the civilian airport arrival corridors. Civilian airliners came in high over Baghdad and then dropped in a circling descent to the runway. This minimized their low-level time exposure over built-up areas where shoulder-fired missiles could attack them.

  As Jake completed his turn, the transceiver light on his display panel glowed red. His LCD display indicated a strike request designated AAR-551. Jake reacquired the sender by pushing the recycle button on the panel. The signal came back as before. This was an authenticated target identifier by someone on the ground.

  “Scorpion base, Scorpion One. I have an AAR-551 hit on my system.”

  “Scorpion one, wait one,” came the reply from his ground controller, who then opened his codebook for the designator corresponding to AAR-551. He searched the book at the flight center and found the code verifying that it was a covert operation authorized by Central Command. A 500-pound bomb was the requested weapon with a two-minute delay on firing, he returned to his seat in the control tower.

  Since it was pre-approved, the controller said to the fighter plane, “Scorpion One, after you verify the contact, you are authorized to employ a 500-pound Joint Direct Attack Munitions. Allow two minutes from target lock on to firing. I repeat a JDAM. Over.”

  “Scorpion One, acknowledge JDAM. Out.”

  The F-16 was traveling at a slow 250 knots. Jake moved his right hand to the selection panel and pushed the button for the JDAM laser-guided weapon. Then he pushed his red fire button halfway down to activate the seeker inside the guided bomb. Jake heard in his helmet the shrill beep of the weapon lock on. At the same time Jake heard the beep, the unit sent a signal to the ground unit.

  As directed, Jake now hit his stopwatch to count down two minutes. He figured from this altitude and speed the bomb would detonate thirty seconds after launch. He did a 360-degree turn to eat up the time and rolled back into the firing azimuth with thirty-five seconds left before the two minutes were up. He counted aloud, “Five, four, three, two, one,” and pushed down on the firing button saying, “Fox one.”

  The aircraft was rock steady, and the missile’s exhaust flame lit up the sky in front of the fighter. The seeker stayed locked onto the designator on the ground. The computer on board the laser-guided ordinance provided the control surface movements to the small winglets as needed to correct for wind and atmospheric conditions. The guided bomb now followed a direct path to the ground target. Four seconds to impact.

  As the missile speed away from his bird, Jake rolled his F-16 to a maximum G-force turn and streaked for home base. He knew he would make it back safely. Time to go home; Mama’s waiting. Adios, Iraq.

  * * * *

  TARA LAWSON

  9:55 P.M. - BAGHDAD

  Tara anxiously waited for acknowledgement from the aircraft. She regretted losing Mohammed; she would never understand what really motivated him to turn traitor.

  The orange light on her laser designator device lit up. The plane had acquired the target and had locked on for firing.

  Two minutes to be gone.

  She had to get out of this house, right now. She picked up Mohammed’s cell phone and put it in her jacket pocket, then moved quickly over to the door. Hurry, hurry. At least, Glenwood would be proud of her and they could get their lives back on track now that this mission was over. She had actually completed a covert operation mission, a real feather in her own personal cap. One was enough to know that she could do it but would never have to again. Tara didn’t want to become part of any collateral damage that would surely result from the incoming precision-guided bomb. Now that she had fulfilled her mission, she had to hurry. Glenwood would be waiting for her, she knew it. Taking one final look around, she turned off the flashlight, keeping it in her hand just in case. Now, she flung open the door in her hurry to get away.

  Tara never heard the second puff from the silenced 9 mm Beretta.

  CHAPTER 5

  ABDUL al-NAGGAR

  FRIDAY - 9:57 P.M.

  BAGHDAD

  Abdul al-Naggar fired directly into the woman’s head with two quick rounds. She was dead before the second round entered her skull. The terrorist bent down, pulled her body back into the building, and shut the door. Picking up the flashlight that Tara had dropped, he searched her crumpled body: two cell phones, a pistol, and a set of infrared goggles. He collected the pistol an
d the goggles, leaving the phones, and went over to the other body sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.

  Evidence was what Abdul al-Naggar needed, something to take back to Tewfik al-Hanbali, something to demonstrate his continuing loyalty and dedication to the cause. The goggles and the pistol were a good start. The goggles must be U.S. military issue. That should be proof enough that the traitor Mohammed was meeting with the enemy.

  Abdul found nothing more of interest after his quick search of both bodies. Then he looked down at the corpse of Mohammed. Twice in the past few days, he had observed him working on the computer when no one else was around. It was unusual for anyone other than al-Hanbali to use it—not only that, but Mohammed seemed to be doing so without al-Hanbali’s knowledge, the only one of their cell who had a computer in Baghdad. The first time Abdul had spied Mohammed using the laptop was shortly after their arrival in Iraq. That was over a month ago, when Tewfik had told them that their overall control organization had sent them to observe different operations in Iraq. Just yesterday, al-Hanbali had told them they were going back to Saudi Arabia in a few days to start a new mission against the infidels.

  Earlier tonight, while the others were out on a reconnaissance, Mohammed must have thought he was alone. After using the computer for a few minutes, he had closed it and gone out to relieve himself. Abdul had secretly observed this while lying on a couch, the back of which hid him from Mohammed’s view. When Mohammed stepped out, he got up quickly, and checked the computer. He found what he searched for. He had him. Going back to the couch, he waited. Mohammed returned to the room, sat down by a small table with a full pot of tea, and poured himself a cup.

  Abdul jumped up from the couch and raced toward Mohammed shouting, “You are a traitor. I saw you on the computer a few minutes ago when you thought we were all out. I have seen what you are doing. You are giving information to the Americans.”