Sheep Dog and the Wolf

by Douglass, Carl;

  Sheep Dog helped push the bags containing the tools of his trade into the otherwise empty cavernous cargo bay.

  “Thanks,” he said tersely to the Dastrups.

  “Our pleasure,” Neal said through clenched lips and motioned for Dusty to follow him out of the plane.

  They were on their way out of the airport before Sheep Dog made his way to the front of the plane and spoke to the pilot.

  Dusty said, “I have met the devil, and I didn’t like it. Maybe it’s time for me to get into another line of work before I get too old. Or, maybe before I lose the chance to get old.”

  “Maybe,” said his father. “Maybe.”

  “Hello,” Sheep Dog said to the pilot, a uniformed U.S. Air Force major with short cropped blond hair and a hard face.

  “Welcome aboard. I have no idea who you are; but whoever you are and whatever your mission is, must be mighty important. You are the first civilian; or at least I presume civilian, to set foot on this new beauty.”

  Major Donaldsen, voluble from the start of the flight to the finish, told him all about the unusual new plane, the territory over which they were flying, and about his trepidations about flying a spook. Sheep Dog’s attention turned on when the major finally explained where they were going.

  “This is the Advanced Composite Cargo Aircraft—ACCA—for short, hot off the test flight schedule. The first test flight of the ACCA was June the second, 2009, and these babies were certified for use only last winter. It was built at the U.S. Air Force Plant 42—the Air Force Research Laboratory and Lockheed Martin’s famous ‘Skunk Works’—in Palmdale, California. Us Air Force types call that nonexistent place the ‘Spook Works’, no offense intended here. The ACCA is a modified Dornier 328J aircraft. The fuselage aft of the crew station and the vertical tail were removed and replaced with completely new structural designs made of advanced composite materials fabricated using out-of-autoclave curing. Pretty different, even a might strange. Let’s hope it holds together.”

  “Yeah,” Sheep Dog said, “let’s.”

  “We’re going straight through to Taif Air Base—strictly speaking it should be Al Ta’if, but we Westerners can’t seem to manage the glottal stop. It’s located in the central foothills of the western mountains of the kingdom. Its altitude of 4,800 feet gives Taif one of the most pleasant climates in the Kingdom, something you’ll come to appreciate once you go down altitude to almost anyplace else in the country. Temperatures are comparable to Phoenix, where I come from, but without the high heat of summer. It does cool down at night and in the winter. I hope you get to spend some time in Taif; it’s a good city, not too intense about the Wahhabism and jihad and all that stuff. Oh, yeah, the women have to dress like ghosts; but that’s the custom everyplace. I’ve found the locals to be pretty decent, really.”

  “Am I expected?”

  “Yes, but only by one or two folks with a need to know. I’m not cleared to have any information about what happens once you get to the base. I’m just the taxi driver. All I can say is there won’t be any flight log for this trip. It never happened.”

  Major Donaldsen now focused all of his attention on landing with the base in sight tucked in among the mountains. Once on the ground, he helped Sheep Dog get his gear out of the cargo bay and onto the tarmac. The pilot left him standing there alone and moved the plane well away down the runway to its hangar. Sheep Dog sat on the larger of his bags and waited.

  He fidgeted for less than five minutes until he saw a jeep moving rapidly across the tarmac towards him. The driver hopped out of the seat and walked up to greet Sheep Dog. He was dressed in olive drab BDUs; and conspicuously, was not wearing any insignias denoting rank or even branch of service.

  “You’re the Sheep Dog, I presume?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m the base G-2. You’re to come with me.”

  They loaded Sheep Dog’s bags in the back and sped away to a Quonset hut building that, like the G-2’s uniform, had no sign or other designation of its purpose.

  “This’s my office,” the officer told him.

  “What’ll I call you?” Sheep Dog said to the head of intelligence for the base.

  “Probably, just ‘G-2’. I need to have some sort of name to call you. I don’t suppose it is a great idea to keep bandying about your cover name.”

  “Right. I’m John Smith.”

  The men smiled. Both of them had been John Smith more than once.

  “The Company man in Yemen told me that you have open-ended orders from the grand poobahs for pretty much anything you want, and we don’t get to ask questions. I trust him, and will get something official in a couple of days. We won’t let that stand in your way. I gather that your mission is not only on the full Q-T, but it’s urgent. Everything here is politically sensitive; so, I take it for granted that you aren’t an official representative of Uncle Sugar.”

  “You have everything correct.”

  “So, how can I be of service, John?”

  “First off, I need to know the whereabouts of the co-conspirators of a princess, Faizah Batool al-Faisal.”

  “The guy in Yemen already told me that. Us spooks in the Kingdom know all about her friends and the pipeline into Yemen. We have been hamstrung in our efforts to do anything about them, though. They are beaucoup politically sensitive; so, they get away with murder, quite literally. I can go you one better than you might have hoped. The Society for Preservation of the Faith—as they are so grandly known—meets every Thursday morning before the start of the Holy Days. They have a world-class catered feast for brunch, then close their doors and meet in absolute and holy secrecy. I don’t know what you have in mind; and frankly, I don’t even want to know; but I can get you up close and personal to the venue; then you are on your own.”

  “Not quite that easy, my friend. I need access to the catering crew. I presume they have uniforms and security badges. I’ll need both.”

  The G-2 looked seriously perplexed.

  “I really don’t think that’s possible. Oh, we can come up with a uniform. Our tailors can make you a perfect replica, but the security badge is another thing altogether. Those things will be keyed to a thumb print and have a photo ID. Every worker has been thoroughly vetted and is well known. Believe me, if we could get a security badge, we would have been in there well before now.”

  “Okay, get me the uniform, I’ll have to take care of the rest.”

  “I’ll get that done; but I have to warn you, my friend, you will not be able to bring any kind of weapon into the hotel—they meet in the pent house suite of the Al Faisaliah Hotel. The servers are all hand picked from the hotel’s new 24 hour butler service, and the food and drink is imported from all over the world. They get frisked two or three times a shift.”

  Sheep Dog pondered his dilemma for a minute.

  “All right. I’ll need an expensive dark suit, shoes, shirt, tie, the works. That will get me in at least. I’ll have to be inventive. I have a plan cooking in my head; so, here are a few more things I’ll need that shouldn’t be too hard to round up. Get me two throwaway cell phones—one for you and one for me and several micro SIM cards to allow quick changes for variety.”

  A SIM is a Subscriber Identity Module.

  “I want you to print me some calling cards on paper that is manufactured in Yemen. This is how I want the cards to read.”

  He handed the G-2 a rough sketch which caused the man’s eyebrows to elevate in a wordless question.

  “There’s more. Get me reservations—first class from Jeddah to New York on the red eye—for three days from now. Make sure that I can put my two special bags on board that special flight with diplomatic tags; so, they don’t get inspected. I know that’ll be tough, but it’s important. Have the tickets made out in the name of Pedro Martine-Rodriguez. I just happen to have a Belgian passport in that name. You can think of that as the real me. Also, get me visas for both Rodriguez and Thorsteinsson. Some lower echelon—but bright young go-getter
—needs to meet me and get me through security without a hassle. I don’t really want the CIA to be involved. Let’s tell the guy to meet me in front of the American Airlines ticket counter ninety minutes before flight departure on whatever airline you come up with. Can you do all of that stuff in a day, even a long day?”

  “Sure, my people love a challenge. This isn’t all that difficult, really.”

  “Good. I wish I could get you some professional kudos, but both us need to stay well back in the shadows if we’re going to survive.”

  “And you can’t have the slightest link to us here or to the U.S. If you get caught, it will go very hard for you. You’d better be prepared to hold your U.S. identity in some compartment of your brain way down deep. They are experts at finding out what they want to know.”

  “So I hear. And what makes you so sure that I’m an American?”

  “Touché.”

  Sheep Dog got a taxi into the city of Al Ta’if the next day to pass some time meandering around while G-2’s people were getting his clothing and other requests taken care of. Al Ta’if is located in the Western Sector of Saudi Arabia, near the summit of the Hejaz mountain range. It is situated 1700 meters above the Red Sea, between granite hills rising from the eastern slope of the Hejaz and the Asir—the “escarpment” leading to the large coastal city of Jeddah 150 kilometers to the west. The location of Al Ta’if is at the point where routes from the south intersect those from east and west; and its proximity to Makkah [Mecca], its hilly terrain, its green landscape, and favorable climate are the main reasons for the city’s historical importance.

  Al Ta’if is an old city, which was once used as the summer capital of the Kingdom, and is still very traditional in its views and way of life. The city is relatively small, but Sheep Dog noted that most of the essentials of life could be purchased in the local suqs. The main suq—which is considered the most authentic in the Hejaz—was a warren of alleyways lined with shops almost exactly like the one in Sana’a. Sheep Dog found carpets, tents, traditional embroidered dresses, hand-crafted jewelry, spices, Bedouin handicrafts, and a few hundred more things critical to the life of an Arab that he did not need but were interesting to see and smell. Anything else he might want, the suq owners told him could be found in Jeddah—located on the Red Sea—which is only a two-hour drive away on a good highway.

  In the afternoon, he spent a pleasant three hours forty kilometers east of Al Ta’if in Wadi Layyah watching the bedouin people conduct camel races hosted by the Saudi National Guard from the base every July and August. The Saudis—especially the National Guard—loved to bet on the races; so, Sheep Dog parted with almost a thousand riyals he brought with him from Yemen. He melted into the crowd of nationals and tourists comfortably and without arousing interest in himself—invisible in plain sight a la Hedy. The dramatic views afforded him in the hill station along with walks to see the views, the variety of flora and fauna, and the cool crisp climate, made the hill station an attractive treat and a place where he could be alone.

  That evening, G-2 introduced him to the G-3 in the unmarked Quonset hut with a story that everyone involved knew was a phony, but it did give Sheep Dog a place to hang out that was inconspicuous for his final day on base. The G-3’s family was away visiting their family in the States; so, Sheep Dog had the run of his house and was able to get out and about in the base personnel compound. The G-3 was more than happy to stay well away from his house for the next couple of days. He was especially happy not to have to involve his wife and talkative children.

  All assigned USAF personnel and their dependents reside at “Al-Gaim” Compound. The compound contains approximately 200 Westerners working for companies such as McDonnell Douglas, Pratt & Whitney, and Shell. In his reconnoitering about the compound, Sheep Dog found that housing was comparable to western standards and consisted of two, three, and four bedroom homes, all fully furnished and carpeted to give a look and feel of anywhere in American suburbia. All of the homes for enlisted, officer, and civilian families came completely equipped with color TV, microwave, dishwasher, washer and dryer, dishes, silverware, glasses, and 110V American standard electricity, an accommodation that cost the Air Force a small fortune. Sheep Dog saw that the compound had a four lane bowling alley, Olympic sized swimming pool, closed circuit TV [6 channels], softball field, racquetball, tennis, and basketball courts.

  Al-Gaim is located about twenty minutes from the USMTM [The United States Military Training Mission to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia] offices. The USMTM Advisory Detachment is responsible for providing advisors for key flag officers who oversee regional Royal Saudi Land Forces [RSLF] and Royal Saudi Air Forces [RSAF]. Sheep Dog saw almost everything in the compound to keep himself busy and exercising and to prevent the development of agitated boredom during the day he had to spend. However, he scrupulously avoided going anywhere near the USMTM offices.

  He learned that Western food stuffs are obtained—by order—through the U.S. Military commissary in Riyadh and delivered weekly by Saudi trucking companies. That arrangement ensured that local supermarkets in the compound have a good selection of products and that they are readily available. Al-Gaim residents and their dependents may also use the dining hall and the snack bar located on the compound. Medical care is provided through the Al-Gaim dispensary and by the Al-Hada Hospital and Rehabilitation Center—a Saudi military hospital staffed mostly by Westerners)—and compound residents have an ambulance service to get them to the Prince Sultan Hospital. Sheep Dog hatched a plan to catch a ride into Riyadh with one or the other of the food or medical services transports.

  Very early on the third day Sheep Dog spent in Al Ta’if, G-2 caught up with him and gave him the items he had requested.

  “I’ve arranged transport by a USMTM truck,” the intelligence officer for the command said.

  Sheep Dog told him about his desire to be even more inconspicuous and to ride in with a food delivery truck. G-2 liked the idea, and made a call to the commissary; and transportation arrangements were easily completed. Sheep Dog asked that he be picked up at the snack bar, shook G-2’s hand; and the two men parted without further conversation. G-2 was glad he was dealing with a professional and that he did not have to be involved any further. He might receive one call on the throwaway cell phone, and that was the extent of his fears for the future with this eerie man.

  Sheep Dog sat down in the master bathroom of the base administrator, G-3’s, house and made himself look like an Arab using his own make up and black hair dye, and with a few touches borrowed from the lady of the house’s supply. He was pleased with the result; at 0800, he was standing in the shade of a tented picnic table in front of the snack bar dressed incongruously in a very expensive Italian suit when the Kingdom Delivery System truck pulled up.

  The handsome young Arab driver greeted him in Arabic, and, finding Sheep Dog uncommunicative, turned on his truck radio to listen to Western hip-hop music and drove the quiet man and his baggage into the city’s prestigious business and residential area—Olaya, which afforded easy access to the Diplomatic Quarter, ministries, government offices, shopping and business centers—and, more importantly, to the Al Faisaliah Center.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  After the Kingdom Delivery System driver let him off at the Al Faisaliah Center, Sheep Dog caught a taxi to the Tulip Inn Olaya House, a second rate hotel with poor ratings. The driver helped him lift his bags onto a luggage carriage. Sheep Dog tipped him well—but not too well—and wheeled the carriage into the busy lobby. He stepped up to the reservations desk.

  “May I help you, sir?” the bored desk clerk asked in English.

  “Yes, please. I would like a room for the week.”

  “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  “Regrettably, we are full. Perhaps if you would check back in the afternoon…”

  “That would be fine. May I check my luggage until that time? I will come back around three.”

  H
e was directed to the luggage room and checked in his two large bags. From one of them, he removed a small brief case containing the materials he needed for the remainder of his planned morning activities, obtained a voucher for his bags, tipped the porter, and left the hotel. He walked briskly out onto Al Olaya Street, turned south and walked the three short city blocks to Al Ameria Street and turned left. He made the jog onto Al Aminyah Street, which was dominated by the magnificent Al Faisaliah Rosewood Hotel. Limousines filled the entrance portico, and a stream of very well dressed people moved in and out of the hotel with their assistants and retainers. They were obviously from all over the civilized world—a veritable United Nations satellite in the Middle-East—and positively emanated the glow of money and power.

  The time was only 10:30, which gave him time to do a necessary reconnoitering of the hotel. He first checked himself. He was dressed comparably to the rest of the well-heeled guests. Then, he focused entirely on the task at hand, viz. how to get into the penthouse meeting room before the meal was finished. He scanned the huge column-free banquet and meeting facilities to locate a concentration of liveried members of the butler service. He saw heightened activity, carts entering and leaving, and major-domos issuing orders in the second floor area of banquet halls and kitchens.

  Sheep Dog climbed the flight of marble stairs and casually walked down the bustling hallway looking as if he belonged. He found what he was looking for, the room where assignments were being handed out. He then took the express elevator to the pent house and made himself into one of the invisible people, which, in that hotel, were the men in Hugo Boss and Armani suits. What he saw was perplexing. Entrance into the pent house banquet room was obtained only by a thumb print, just as G-2 had warned him. The security badges worn by the employees seemed only to be of interest if a worker was challenged. Quite obviously, Sheep Dog did not have the right thumb print; but after his tour of inspection, he did have an idea.

  He returned to the second floor carrying his brief case and walked into the men’s room. He stood patiently at the urinal watching carefully as a few men moved in and out to relieve themselves. It took fifteen minutes before he found himself alone with a man who looked acceptably similar to himself in his Arab disguise and was nearly his same height and weight. He watched the man and the entrance door and tensed himself. The other man was similar in build to Sheep Dog, but more than a little softer. He was dressed in the livery of the butler service, which could not have suited Sheep Dog’s needs better.