by Harold
Finch shook his head. “On something this sensitive? I’d think the Israelis would insist on people trained for the job.”
Carmichael almost patted the recruiter’s hand in sympathy. “Matt, I’m not going to say that Mr. Baram’s lying to us. But if anybody thinks the Israelis are going to pass this off to some hired mercs, hoping they’ll get lucky looking for a real small needle in a really big haystack, they’re crazy.”
“So . . .”
“So,” Carmichael replied, “I’d bet next year’s retirement checks that we’re a backup. The Izzies probably have people in place right now. Then, when and if the nukes are found, if there’s any publicity, Tel Aviv can deny their people were in Lebanon. They’ll say . . . ‘Ta-da! Our friends from SSI did it.’”
Peters caught the drift. “More deniability.”
“You got it, cowboy.”
Peters and Finch looked at one another, then at the diminutive ops officer. Their faces asked the tacit question: now what?
Carmichael reached for the phone, put it on speaker, and consulted her PalmPilot. After three rings someone answered.
“Langevin here.”
“Bernie! Sandy here.”
“Ah, Sandra my sweet! When do we leave? I have a week’s worth of condoms.”
She blushed visibly while stifling a giggle. “Dr. Langevin, you might like to say hello to my colleagues here with me: Jack Peters and Matt Finch.”
“Uh, oh. Hello, gentlemen. Matt, I hope you are not going with Sandra and me. Threesomes are so passé these days.”
Finch’s brown eyes gleamed while he bit his lip. Peters mouthed the words: “Is he drunk at four o’clock?”
Carmichael waved him down, still chuckling. Then she tried to regain control of the conversation. “Bernie, you’re right about taking a trip. How did you know?”
“Because, my sweet, you only call me when you want me to go somewhere, and it’s never with you. So what is it this time?”
“Is your passport current?”
“Forever and a day.”
“Good. We need you here approximately at noon yesterday. Time is very short, Bernie. Very short. To be safe, I’d recommend you pack a bag and bring all your travel documents and whatever references you need. We’ll be working late, and you could be wheels in the well tomorrow.”
“Where to?”
“For now, just the Middle East.”
“All right. And, ah, what references?”
Carmichael thought for a moment; it was an open line. “Bernie, that suitcase you’re going to pack?”
“Yes?”
“Well, this job could involve suitcases that radiate.”
“On the way, Sandy.”
The line went dead.
* * * *
37
AMASHA
“It’s coming. I can feel it.”
Frank Leopole stood at the front of the room with the SSI team and Druze officers arrayed around him. He had sketched a rough topographical map of the area on the schoolhouse blackboard, using colored chalk to define various positions.
“Why now, Colonel?” militia leader Azzam Hamdam asked through his interpreter, a youngster with financial ambitions in Beirut—or Washington, D.C.
“A combination of factors. First, the timing. The harassing fire has dropped off since our snipers got a handle on things, but I don’t know if that’s an indication of Hezbollah intent. There’s more activity over at El-Arian, so I’ve warned Chris Nissen’s team to go on high alert.”
Breezy raised a hand. “Boss, where’d our sniper dudes go, anyway?”
“They’re conducting another surveillance of the area. At least Furr will return to El-Arian in a day or so but Barrkman might go with him. We’ll see how things look tomorrow.
“Beyond that, the weather’s clamping down. I understand we’ll have low ceilings and maybe some rain the next couple of days. Even though we’re supposed to have close air support, it’s unlikely that Northern Command can arrange fast movers for a while. As for helo gunships, that remains to be seen.”
Leopole nodded toward Rami Hamadeh. “Captain Hamadeh has some information to share.”
The Israeli Druze took two steps forward and turned to face the group. “General Nadel’s brigade is fully briefed to support us, and Colonel Livni’s special operations detachment can insert some teams on fairly short notice. But I am told that the political situation is considered tense, and we should only expect outside help in extreme circumstances.”
Steve Lee shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Captain, I understand that concern. But hasn’t it occurred to anybody that if we wait for ‘extreme circumstances’ it’ll probably be too late? After all, we’re twelve miles from the border, and that’s a long way if choppers can’t get in.”
Hamadeh had to concede the point. “It’s the best compromise that Northern Command could arrange with the ministry.”
Bosco sensed that something was missing. “Excuse me, gents. But where’s the Lebanese Army while all this is going on?”
The Israeli raised his eyebrows, as if hearing an unwelcome question. Finally he said, “The army is stretched thin right now, especially in the areas around Beirut and Sidon. We have liaison with their headquarters but we cannot count on much help, at least on short notice.”
Leopole turned to the blackboard. “All right, then. I’ve designated these points in white for twenty-four-hour defense, and these in blue for daylight. With Mr. Hamdam’s permission, I have suggested manning levels until the crisis passes. That means an interruption of daily life in the village, but there’s no way around it.”
The militia representatives voiced their assent and Leopole politely dismissed them. Once they left, he shut the door and spoke in subdued tones.
“All right, listen up. I got an encrypted e-mail from Arlington, and Captain Hamadeh confirmed it from his spec-ops sources. There’s serious concern about Hezbollah smuggling backpack nukes through this area.”
“Ho-lee shee-it.” Breezy’s voice was hushed, fervent.
Bosco added, “Oy vay!”
“It’s a short-notice alert, and we’ll just have to hope for the best for a while,” Leopole added. “But HQ is sending Omar Mohammed and Dr. Langevin to us ASAP. They could be here in a couple of days. If we have to shift gears and go after the nukes, the militia will simply have to look out for itself.” He glanced at Hamadeh. “I imagine that the IDF will have people on this side of the border as well, but there’s no word on that.”
Hamadeh felt the pinch. His immediate fate rested with the militia and the SSI team; his ultimate allegiance lay with the State of Israel. “I’ll see if I can get clearance for more information. It will be necessary if a nuclear threat actually develops.”
* * * *
EL-ARIAN
Chris Nissen beckoned to Robert Pitney. They paced several yards before Nissen spoke. Pitney thought he knew what was coming. “Robert, I take it that you’ve never been shot at.”
“No. At least not intentionally.” He grinned but the joke fell flat.
“Well, that’s about to change. I’ve heard from Frank. The Hezzies will probably try to take us in the next couple of days. I just thought I’d give you some time to collect your thoughts if you like.”
Pitney shook his head. “No thanks, Chris. I’m cool.”
The former Green Beret regarded the former cop in the gathering darkness. “Yeah, I can see you’re calm and collected. But. . . Robert, it’s just never like anybody thinks it’ll be.”
“Yes, I know that. I’ve trained operators who’ve done the deed, Chris. We talk about the psychological aspects. And I’m telling you, I’m ready for whatever’s coming down.”
Nissen shifted his feet and folded his arms. “Well, then you’re a member of a big club. I thought I was ready, too. The first time, I mean.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“Well, it was . . .” Nissen’s voice trailed off. “It turned to hash.” He snapp
ed his fingers, loud and clear in the night air. “Just like that.”
Pitney realized that Chris Nissen probably did not admit such things to many people, and accepted the NCO’s candor as a compliment. He thought, Maybe this is the ultimate time for candor. “What about the other guys? Are they worried about me?”
“No. Not that I know of.” Nissen hastened to reply, hoping to cut off any doubt that his top shooter might entertain. “But, Robert, they’ve all been to the show before. They pretty much know what to expect. I just don’t want you to enter a combat situation with unrealistic expectations.”
“Chris, I think I’m pretty damned realistic.” The mild obscenity was unusual for Robert Pitney, who used it for effect. “It’s going to be loud and scary and confusing. I’ve read about the loneliness of the battlefield: S.L.A. Marshall was way off base about firing ratios but he was right about that.” He stopped to gather his thoughts. Finally he said, “Staff Sergeant, I’ll do my part. You can take that to the bank.”
Nissen nodded. “Okay then. Listen, you’re one of only three Arabic speakers on either team. I’d like you to direct traffic for me. I’ll tell you where I need people to go. There’ll be less confusion if you tell them.”
“Chris, I’m not just the best shooter in this ville. I’m almost certainly the best shooter in this country right now. I’ll get more hits with fewer rounds than anybody, including your snipers—wherever they are. Just put me where you need the most hits.”
The team leader leaned back, stretching his lumbar muscles. After a moment he said, “Tell you what. Under your contract I could order you to do just what I said. But I guess I can consider you a force multiplier. So here’s the deal, Robert. You put your guys where I tell you to put them, make sure they’re well set, then have at it. Shoot ‘em up. But between reloads, check with me because comm is likely to go south. If you have to be a runner between your guys and me, that’s how it’s gonna be.”
Pitney did not know it but he grinned. Extending a hand, he said, “It’s a deal, Sergeant.”
They shook, then parted.
On the way back to the HQ building, Nissen was intercepted by Bob Ashcroft. “How’d it go? Is he gonna be okay?”
“Well, I think so, Bob. He’s a little hard to read. Either he’s one of the coolest cookies I’ve ever come across or he’s sitting on something inside.”
“Maybe he figures that anybody who can shoot like him is golden.”
Nissen rubbed his neck, kneading the muscles. “Yeah, I thought about that. But Pitney’s too smart to take that for granted.” He massaged his neck again. “If I had to guess, I’d say that after all his trophies and his training classes, he’s finally got a chance to do the job, you know? Maybe he’s looking to prove something to himself.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Yeah. You said it.”
* * * *
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
“The operation will proceed like this,” Azizi began.
Facing his jihadists, he referred to a rough map drawn on a sheet of butcher paper, taped to the wall. “We are assigning two-thirds of our fighters to the attack on Amasha. If we are able to occupy the village, so much the better. We may or may not try to hold it, depending upon government reaction. Meanwhile, one-third will attack El-Arian and keep the defenders occupied there. If we can force some people out of the villages, onto the roads and across the countryside, so much the better.” He paused for effect. “You will not attempt to stop unarmed people from fleeing either area. Is that clear?”
Abbasali Rezvani, the head mortarman, ventured a question. “May I ask why, brother? It would seem preferable to prevent anyone from escaping and opposing us later.”
“Ordinarily that would be true, but not now. The more refugees we have in the country, the better our special operations teams will blend into the scene. We want both teams to get as close to the border as possible before they break away from the crowds.”
Rezvani accepted the logic of the argument, but pointed to the map. “Would not the refugees more likely go east or north, toward Hasbaya?”
Azizi smiled. “Not if there is fighting and frequent mortar shells exploding in that direction.”
Sitting in the front row, Ahmad Esmaili glanced around. None of the special operators gave any indication of concern for the deception aspect of the plan. That was as it should be. None of the men attacking the villages knew that their casualties would be considered the cost of doing business as long as at least one of the suitcases reached its ultimate destination.
* * * *
38
BEIRUT
The embassy staffer spotted the SSI men as soon as they appeared from the jetway. “Dr. Mohammed and Dr. Langevin?”
Omar Mohammed set down his briefcase to shake hands. “Yes. We didn’t know who would meet us . . .”
“Jim Bassinger.” He greeted Langevin as well, showing his ID. Then he said, “I’ll get you through customs as fast as possible. Follow me, gentlemen.”
Mohammed and Langevin exchanged knowing smiles. “Mr.” Bassinger wore civvies but he looked West Point, which in fact was the case.
Safely in the embassy limo, Bassinger immediately got down to business. “I don’t know what you heard before you left, but things are pretty tense here. There’s two or three bombings a week and the army and police have their hands full. I know that your situation is compounded because there’s no official Israeli presence, and I understand that SSI is contracted to the Israeli government. We’ve been tasked to support you as much as possible, but it’s limited.”
“How so?” Mohammed asked.
“Hezbollah and probably a bunch of other Islamic outfits have most of the embassies and consulates under constant surveillance. Your people, the Druze militia, are especially of interest. You probably heard about the attack on Rafix Kara’s compound a while back.”
Langevin nodded. “It was mentioned in our departure briefing.”
“Well, Kara died yesterday. The news hasn’t been released yet, probably because it’s still uncertain who will replace him. Frankly, I’m not sure that anybody can.”
Mohammed absorbed that information and filed it for later reference. “Mister . . . ah, it isn’t really Mister Bassinger, is it?”
The staffer’s mouth curved slightly at both ends. “Dr. Mohammed, it’s not even Bassinger, but it’ll have to do. I know you’ll understand.”
Langevin appreciated the fact that he was dealing with a professional. The State Department ID had shown that the bearer was James L. Bassinger. “So, what can you do for us, sir?”
“We’ll put you up in a secure facility tonight and see about getting you down to Hasbaya tomorrow. You’ll have an armed escort but there may be a delay. It looks as if Hezbollah is going to attack Amasha or El-Arian. Maybe both.”
The physicist had suspected as much. “In that case, I would like to have a weapon myself.”
Bassinger almost grinned at the sentiment. “Dr. Langevin, you will understand that the United States Department of State does not issue firearms to visiting citizens.” Before either SSI man could reply, Bassinger added, “However, your Druze escorts undoubtedly will have a fine selection for you.”
Langevin noticed the telltale bulge of Bassinger’s suit coat. “What do you carry, James?”
The staffer kept a straight face. “I don’t understand the question.”
* * * *
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
Imam Sadegh Elham returned from the evening prayer and made the announcement. “It came to me during Salat-ul-Asr. The weather remains favorable so we will attack tomorrow.”
Esmaili knew what that meant. “Then the weapons teams will leave the day after, to take advantage of the confusion in the area.”
“Just so,” Elham replied. He turned to Azizi. “Brother, the attacks on the villages are in your hands. As we planned, do everything possible to draw attention on the local area. Keep up the pressure, regardless of casualties.” Aft
er a short pause he added, “We can always find more recruits for the jihad.”
The cleric returned his attention to Esmaili and Jannati. “My brothers, your service has been long and hard. At the end of this mission, you will finally be able to rest.”
For the moment, Esmaili decided to ignore the religious significance of that sentiment. But the meaning was clear enough. He glanced at Jannati, who would carry the package with an assistant. The nuclear jihadist appeared calm and composed. He has already decided to die.