by Harold
“There’s a nuclear event in southern Lebanon.”
Sandra Carmichael’s hands went to her cheeks. “Oh, dear God . . .”
Derringer’s voice came over the intercom. “It’s on Fox right now.”
Carmichael refused to have a television set in her work space but she knew where to find one. She threw off her high heels and sprinted to the briefing room. It was crowded when she arrived and getting more so.
The reporters were a serious-looking journalist in his mid-forties and a gorgeous newsreader in her early thirties. Carmichael was peeved when two visiting Pentagon types indulged in male bonding.
“I prefer Patti Ann Browne,” said Manpower. “She is just plain beautiful.”
“But Julie Banderas is hot,” replied Plans and Programs.
Carmichael exerted some command presence. One ice-laden gaze of her baby blues was enough to silence the kibitzers. They don’t know, she told herself. Officially we’re not even there.
“The magnitude of the blast is still unknown,” said the journalist, “but Lebanese, Israeli, and United Nations authorities are examining the evidence. However, it’s feared that casualties will run in the hundreds if not thousands on both sides of the border.”
“Yes, Jarrod,” chirped the eye candy. “We have a report from Washington on emergency response teams, and here’s Claren DeWild with some details . . .”
While most of the SSI staff absorbed the usual routine of such events—repetition of what little was known—Marshall Wilmont silently beckoned from the door. He led Carmichael and Matt Finch to Derringer’s office and closed the door.
“We don’t know about our people yet,” Derringer began. “From what I’ve learned about the location, it’s well away from the Hasbaya area.”
“But, Admiral, our teams are undoubtedly along the border looking . . .”
“Yes, I know, Sandy. I know. We’re trying to call Chris Nissen right now.”
The intercom buzzed. “Admiral, Sergeant Nissen on the sat phone.”
Carmichael’s hands went to her cheeks. “Oh, thank God.”
“Thank you, Peggy.” Derringer punched the button. “Chris, do you read me?”
“Affirmative, sir.” Nissen’s baritone came through crisp and clear.
“Very well. What can you tell us?”
“Not much, Admiral. Everybody’s all right here in El-Arian but we still don’t know the full situation at Amasha. Apparently the Hezzies still own it. But as for the blast down along the border, we don’t know a thing.”
“No word from our people there?”
“There was a brief message from Langevin but it was garbled. I don’t think they’re in danger because he sounded cool. But I haven’t had a peep from Dr. Mohammed.”
“Chris, do you know where he was in relation to the detonation?”
“No, sir. I mean, we still don’t know exactly where it happened. Just somewhere north of the border. If I had to guess I’d say south of Al-Khiyam.”
Derringer scribbled a note with the obscure-sounding name. “Why’s that?”
“Mainly a hunch. It’s the biggest place near our search area and I think we’d know if the town had been nuked. The weapon we’re looking for has a limited radius.”
Carmichael leaned on the desk. “I thought there were two or maybe three nukes.”
Derringer nodded. “Chris, our information was two or more weapons. What’s your take?”
“Well, sir, I meant the type of weapon. But Dr. Bernie seems to think it was two max. Maybe the size of the explosion would tell how many backpacks went off, but I still think it’s one. After all, if I was running their op, I wouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket.”
Derringer looked around the room. “Anybody else have a question?” Carmichael, Wilmont, and Finch shook their heads.
“Chris, thanks for your help. I know you’ll keep us informed.”
“Count on it, Admiral.”
Finch unbuttoned his vest and began rolling up his sleeves. “It’s going to be a long wait.”
Carmichael nodded. “No lie, GI.”
* * * *
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
Joyful pandemonium. Shouting, dancing, and gunfire in the air. Only one man stood apart from the celebration.
Imam Sadegh Elham watched on the sidelines; arms folded, face impassive. At length he turned to go to his quarters when Mohammad Azizi arrived.
“You heard?” Elham asked.
“Yes. Just now.” He looked at his watch. “It must have been about forty minutes ago.”
“What is happening at the villages?”
Azizi was surprised that the cleric would care about the diversions that made the nuclear surprise possible. “We control Amasha and keep watch on El-Arian. Whether we can hold Amasha, I do not know. The Lebanese Army is bound to respond sooner or later.”
A dismissive wave. “No matter for now. As long as the situation is stabilized in this area, I am satisfied.”
“But what about the special teams? Are both gone?”
“I believe that one was intercepted and followed orders. The other . . .”
Azizi blinked as if coming awake. “Followed orders? Imam, I did not know of any such orders. You mean, to detonate a weapon on Lebanese soil?”
The priest’s dark eyes bored into the other man’s face. “You did not need to know all the contingencies. But if you think for a moment”— he allowed the barb to sink in—”you will see the wisdom.”
“Ah, I see. Better an explosion anywhere than to allow a bomb to be recaptured.”
“Certainly. But there are other teams, brother. Ones that I did not mention. They also probe the Jews’ defenses and will draw some of the searchers away from our special operatives.”
Azizi regarded the priestly commissar with renewed respect. The operation was more sophisticated and more complex than the Hezbollah man had realized. “Imam, I bow to your foresight and planning.”
Elham’s response was to turn back to the celebrants, watching their juvenile display for a moment. Then he walked away, intending to pray for better results with the second weapon.
* * * *
NORTHERN ISRAEL
“Well, damn it to hell, what do we know?” Solomon Nadel’s normal composure had abandoned him in the frustration and concern. “I have my brigade on full alert but not even division knows what’s happening.”
Yakov Livni gave a sardonic grin. “Solly, I doubt if even Mossad knows what’s happening. All I can say is that I’m grateful the explosion happened up there rather than down here.”
“Nobody I know will argue that point, but we have to assume there are other weapons. Whatever happened, we still need people combing the area looking for more infiltrators.”
Nadel slumped against a desk, arms folded. “Yakov, what about your teams?”
“You mean the ones that officially don’t exist?”
Nadel nodded.
“Well, it looks as if two of them actually do not exist anymore. There’s no word from Team Gimel or Daleth, which I think were in the area. Aleph and Beth have checked in but they’re farther from the blast.”
“So we may never know about the other two teams.”
“Depending on where they were in relation to ground zero, no. I expect overhead coverage fairly soon. Once I see the exact area, I can make a better guess as to our boys’ location.”
“Well, keep me informed, Yakov. But for now I have to get my brigade deployed. We really don’t know what’s coming, do we?”
Livni spread his hands. “Maybe more of the same.”
* * * *
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
Jennati had seen more than a very bright flash to the west. He saw opportunity.
“Brothers! The premature explosion is a blessing from Allah. We can use the area to approach the border unseen.”
Esmaili half expected somebody to object. When no one did, he found his voice. “That area now is contaminated with radiation.”<
br />
Jennati hefted his load and smiled. “My brother, what does it matter? We are all pledged to die.”
Speak for yourself, Esmaili thought. Instead, he said, “But the Zionists will be completely focused on that area. They will have aerial surveillance and probably satellites as well. We cannot hope to escape detection there.”
The weaponeer erased his smile in a heartbeat. “I believe we can. The device probably devastated an area of several kilometers or so. That is more than enough to conceal so small a group as ours.”
With that, Jennati abruptly turned right and strode toward the blast site. Esmaili went along for the moment, studying the terrain for a likely hiding place.
* * * *
46
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
“Are you sure they had a backpack?” Langevin wanted to be certain before he committed either team to action.
“There’s four or five,” Green replied, pointing to the isolated house. “I just got a glimpse but yes, two had backpacks.” He bit his lip. “Of course, they might have been ordinary packs.”
The physicist mulled that over for three seconds. “I don’t see any option, gentlemen. We must assume they’re carrying a weapon.” He retraced his steps deeper into the copse of trees and pressed the transmit button. “Alpha, this is Bravo, over.”
Seconds later Omar Mohammed’s cultured tones responded. “Bravo, Alpha here. Over.”
“Omar, we have a sighting. Recommend you join us at these coordinates.” He handed the set to Barrkman, who was navigating with a map and GPS.
Fifteen minutes later the two teams were united. They wasted no time.
“All right,” Mohammed began. “Bernie stays here of course. I’ll provide perimeter security with Barrkman and Furr. Ashcroft, Brezyinski, Pitney, and Green are the entry team.” He glanced around. “Questions?”
There were none.
Approaching the house from the blind side, Robert Pitney willed himself to control his pulse, much as he did before a stage in a major match. He had visually checked his Springfield XD. He had a full magazine of .40 caliber Black Talons and one in the chamber. Thirteen rounds to get him through the door and across the room before a reload. A LaserMax sighting system had replaced the normal recoil spring assembly, affording an optical sighting plane nearly identical to the bore.
He thought deeply about what he was going to do. Then he nodded to Phil Green.
The shotgunner stepped back and shouldered the Benelli entry gun. He aimed at the lower door hinge and fired. The ounce and a quarter slug splintered the wood, separating the hinge from the door. Green rode the recoil upward, instantly shooting the middle and top hinges as well. Then he put the last two rounds either side of the doorknob, raised his right foot, and kicked hard.
The door collapsed inward, slightly askew. Breezy was first through the breach, closely followed by Pitney and Ashcroft.
Shooting erupted inside.
As his partners began the dash into the room, Green thumbed three buckshot shells into the tube magazine and followed the other operators.
Breezy was quick on the trigger but his MP-5 had only stuttered when he was knocked off his feet. His ballistic vest stopped a 7.62x39 round fired five meters away. He thought: Fight your way to your feet. He was forcing himself into a sitting position, raising his MP-5, when Robert Pitney opened fire.
Standing to Breezy’s right, slightly in front of him, Pitney activated his pistol’s laser and swept the room, left to right. Even through the Dillon electronic hearing protectors, the short-barreled, compensated pistol barked out a succession of rapid-fire rounds. Breezy heard the cadence almost as a submachine gun: pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. The muzzle flash was impressive.
Behind the sights, Pitney’s sensation was different. He was aware of gunfire in the room, incoming and outgoing, but he ignored it. He had microseconds to discern the hostiles, place the orange-red dot above the eyebrows, and stroke the trigger. The first man—the one who shot Breezy—was kneeling behind a table. The third fighter was shorter than those on either side, requiring a fast adjustment of the dot’s placement. When the muzzle aligned on the fourth man, Pitney double-tapped him before swinging back to where the first had stood. Nobody was there.
Move!
Pitney remembered to lateral away from his firing position in case somebody had time to draw a bead on him. Now he was aware of Ashcroft’s FAL barking once, twice. Green appeared between them, shotgun at low ready.
“Clear!” Ashcroft called. He and Green advanced on the prostrate forms, kicking weapons away.
Breezy finally found his feet. Swearing fervently, he hoisted himself off the floor and leaned against the wall. He was breathing heavily but recovered his poise to scan the room, looking for somebody to shoot.
“Breezy, you okay?” It was Pitney.
“Yeah, I think so. This vest. . .” He fingered the hole in the nylon covering.
Pitney turned toward the others. “Bob, what’d you shoot?”
Ashcroft rolled a body over with his right foot. “This one was still moving.”
Pitney exchanged magazines and took two steps toward the four corpses. He uttered something unintelligible.
“Man, that was fast!” Breezy exclaimed. He regarded the speed shooter. “You saved my ass, amigo.”
Pitney looked at the cadavers on the floor, nodded, and holstered his pistol. Then he turned and walked outside.
Green opened a shaded window, admitting more sunlight. The three SSI men began a professionally detached postmortem on their opponents.
“Lookit,” Breezy said. “The first three all checked into a round almost between the eyes.”
Ashcroft leaned over the fourth Hezbollah man. “This one took a hit alongside the nose. He was still twitching so I finished him off.”
“Well, that settles it,” said Green. “Pitney can join my army anytime.”
The ex-cop looked around. “Hey, where’d he go?”
Breezy stuck his head through the doorway. “Oh, he’s outside having the dry heaves.”
Green looked for the packs and found them leaning against the wall. He thought they were the right size for an RA-115 but they were mostly empty. “Guys, I think we’ve been suckered.”
* * * *
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
It was time for a decision.
Esmaili waited until the group approached a small hill, then called a halt. He noted that the grass was beginning to resemble exposure to prolonged drought, and read the signs accurately.
Addressing Jannati, he said, “We are approaching the edge of the blast zone. I agree that we will probably meet no one ahead of us but we should beware of those who may chase us.”
Jannati had allowed Ka’bi to resume carrying the weapon, freeing himself until the final push. The nuke-qualified leader turned and surveyed the terrain behind them. “We can see for two kilometers or more, brother. There is no need for concern as long as we keep watch.”
Esmaili nodded, as if sagely. “I agree, Commander.” He made a point of appearing deferential to the Tehran expert. “But why not post a man to guard our rear? He can catch up to warn us or he can delay them if necessary.”
Jannati obviously cared little for the welfare of any of his jihadists. Which was to say, nothing. But without appearing indifferent, he accepted the Hezbollah veteran’s advice. “Very well. Select one of the escorts.” With that he motioned for Ka’bi to continue westward, deeper into the beaten zone.
Esmaili turned to Hazim. “Take a position partway up this hill to avoid exposing yourself on the skyline. Watch for anyone following us. If no one appears in an hour, follow our trail.”
Hazim shifted his feet, apparently ambivalent. He seemed honored at the responsibility but nervous about being separated from the group. Finally he said, “I will, Teacher.” He hefted the scoped Galil and selected a position behind a rock.
Esmaili merely nodded, It’s the most I can do for you, boy. Then he topped the hill, see
king the place he knew must exist nearby.
* * * *
NORTHERN ISRAEL
Yakov Livni knew there was no point trying to talk to Brigadier General Nadel for a while. The brigade’s maneuver elements were spooled up, dispersing to avoid presenting a concentrated target for whatever was coming next.
As a Merkava raced past, Livni pulled a handkerchief and covered his mouth. His aide wondered why the special operations officer was standing in the open, watching the traffic. “Colonel, shouldn’t we stay in the command center? There’s bound to be intelligence updates.”