Games of The Hangman f-1

by VICTOR O'REILLY

  "You should get into embassy design," said Ambassador Noble dryly.

  * * * * *

  Aboard the Sabine — 1630 hours

  The three unit commanders — code-named Malabar, Icarus, and Phantom (courtesy of Baudelaire) — trooped into the room and saluted. Kadar demanded obedience and discouraged familiarity. Insisting upon the details of military discipline helped create and maintain the austere professional atmosphere he preferred.

  Two of the unit commanders, Malabar and Icarus, were Arabs; they wore checked keffiyehs and camouflage combat fatigues. The third commander, Phantom —a Sardinian called Giorgio Massana — had already changed into his wet suit.

  The captain's quarters of the Sabine incorporated a dayroom of adequate size. The three commanders, already laden down with ammunition pouches and other combat equipment, squeezed with difficulty onto the padded bench seat that ran around two sides of the small conference table. They waited expectantly. They had been briefed extensively already, but Kadar, they knew, parted with information the way a python sheds its skin: there always seemed to be something new underneath.

  Kadar referred to his clipboard unnecessarily to mask a twinge of pain. His left hand was now gloved, and a prosthetic finger disguised his disfigurement. The details of Operation Geranium had been worked out on a computer and had resulted in enough charts and plans to fill a book, but for now he wanted to cover only a few key points. He felt like a football coach before the big game. He despised speeches before battle, but he had to admit they were effective.

  He consulted the chronometer and then spoke. "At 1730, the main staff at the college goes off duty. They leave in a minibus for their homes in and around the village and are always off the island by 1750 at the latest. That leaves behind in the college some fifty-eight students and a small night-duty faculty presence of three or four. The evening meal is served by the students themselves." He smiled. "There is also an armed guard of six men."

  "The critical time window for our purposes is the period of daylight from 1750 to 2200 hours. There is still some light after that time but not much, and I consider it expedient to build in a margin. Our objective is to complete the first phase within that time window.

  "At 1800 hours it is normal practice for all students and night faculty to gather in the assembly hall for what they call daily review. Accordingly, 1800 hours is the pivotal implementation time for our operation. Just prior to that time a number of actions will take place.

  "All communication to and from the island will be severed. Telephone and telex lines will be cut. The bridge will be blown up in such a manner as to make it look like an accident. Any radios will be destroyed.

  "A small group of students aided by one faculty member, all members of the cult of the Sacrificers" he smiled again — "will kill the police security guards and will seize the students and faculty members as they are gathered together.

  "Elements of Phanom in a Pilatus Britten-Norman Islander, a small twin-engine aircraft with short takeoff and landing properties, will land on the road near the college. Further elements of Phantom Unit will assault Fitzduane's castle and eliminate the occupants.

  "With the beachhead secured by Phantom Unit and their young friends, the balance of the assault force, Malabar and Icarus units, will board the high-speed inflatables as rehearsed, land, and take up position as planned. By 1830 hours at the latest, all our forces will be ashore with their objectives secured, and the island will be entirely in our hands — and no one on the mainland will be any the wiser.

  "No later than 1900 hours, but with the margin built into the time window as discussed, the Islander aircraft, which is equipped with integral wingtip fuel tanks and long-range underwing fuel tanks giving it a range of fifteen hundred nautical miles, will take off again, carrying two rather special hostages.

  "We shall have all night to prepare our positions in the college, with particular emphasis on laying explosives in such a way that it will be quite impossible for the government authorities even to contemplate an assault without guaranteeing the deaths of all the hostages. And all we are asking for is money — a politically quite acceptable commodity to part with and one not in short supply if one's children are involved."

  He paused and drank some mineral water. "And of course, the whereabouts of two of the hostages will not even be known. A little extra surprise for our friends. Their father is a key figure in the present Middle East peace talks. He is a friend of the U.S. President. There is no way the Irish will risk the consequences of their deaths. The Irish government will give in, and the parents will pay; the whole exercise will take place out of sight of the world media, so there will be no problem with loss of face for anyone. Our friends in Libya have agreed to act as intermediaries.

  "There is a tendency in hostage situations for the authorities to drag out the negotiations in the belief that the kidnappers — us in this case — will not carry out their threats to kill their victims. As a matter of fact, hijackers have a track record of bluffing much and killing little, so the approach of the authorities would seem to be justified. In this case, it is essential that we convince the Irish government and the parents that we are deadly serious. To that end the faculty and ten students — those with less affluent parents and of no political significance, naturally — will be killed immediately. The executions will be photographed and videotaped. Arrangements have been made to radio photographs to our agents so that the parents of the surviving students will be in no doubt from the beginning as to our intent. The video will travel in the Islander, and copies of it will be issued subsequently, if necessary.

  "You will note that we are contacting both the parents and the Irish authorities simultaneously. This is to prevent the authorities from endeavoring to resolve matters on their own and to exert the maximum pressure in the shortest possible time. Further, we have made sure that both parents in every case will be informed.

  "The protocols regarding details of payments and so on have already been drawn up and are with our intermediaries in Libya. They will supervise our withdrawal from the island on a government-to-government basis. It won't be the first time they have performed such a role. They rather enjoy appearing as honest brokers in these situations.

  "When the bridge has been replaced by the Irish authorities — a matter of hours using a military structure — the force will depart from the island in a bus convoy and will travel to ShannonAirport, where a Libyan jet will fly us to safety. The hostages will travel with us. They will fly with us to Libya and be released on arrival" — he paused and smiled enigmatically — "unless, of course, I come up with a more entertaining notion."

  Kadar looked at the unit commanders. "Any questions?"

  There was silence at first. The commanders were confident, forceful men, but Kadar awed them. He was brilliant, he was violent, and he was unpredictable — but he rewarded results. Experience had shown that blind obedience was the best policy most of the time. Questions were not normally expected, but Kadar seemed to want to talk. He was justifiably enthusiastic, almost euphoric; it was a thorough plan, and all three commanders were convinced it would work.

  The Commander of Phantom Unit spoke first. "The next couple of hours will be critical. Is there any chance of interference from the Irish Navy or these people that I have heard so much about, the Rangers?"

  Kadar was amused. He was conscious that he was showing off a little, but he was enjoying his minor moment of glory. It was no more than his due. It was unarguable: his plan had anticipated everything.

  "The Irish have over three thousand kilometers of coastline to guard," he said, "and only four ships to do the entire job. The chance of a naval service ship turning up at the wrong moment is statistically most improbable. However" — he paused for effect — "arrangements have been made to divert the one ship on duty on the Atlantic coast. The primary task of the Irish Navy is fishery protection. An anonymous tip has decoyed the vessel Eimer to chase a fleet of Spanish fishing boats fishing illeg
ally off the Kerry coast."

  "And the Rangers?" said the Phantom Unit commander.

  This time Kadar laughed outright. "They could have been a problem, but they have responded magnificently to a diversion we have prearranged in Dublin." He looked at his men. "They think we are mounting an operation against the American Embassy, and they are defending it in depth."

  "So there is nothing to stop us," said the Icarus Unit commander.

  "Nothing," said Kadar. He felt a sudden twinge in his hand. His missing finger throbbed. "Nothing."

  * * * * *

  Fitzduane's Castle — 1645 hours

  Fitzduane disliked talking about the tunnel system; it was the hidden card in Fitzduane family history. In this case, however, he felt he had no choice but to reveal part of what lay underneath the castle; still, he confined his tour to the upper level. Access in this case was from the ground floor of the tower.

  Fitzduane flicked a switch as they passed through the concealed door. A ramp sloped down to a passage with a vaulted roof. He motioned the others to follow him. The passage ran straight to the gatehouse across the bawn. A circular staircase wound its way to the second-floor level. They emerged in the windlass room, from where the portcullis was controlled. Murder holes and firing apertures allowed the guards to control both the entrance below and access to the gate.

  He led the group back into the tunnel. "Now you know how to get from the keep to the gatehouse without having your ass shot off. That's the good news. The bad news would be the discovery of that tunnel by the other side. It can be blocked from the keep — a heavy iron door slides into place — but how long that would stand up to high explosives is another matter. Swords and lances were more the thing when this was built."

  De Guevain was looking around curiously. "How was the tunnel constructed? From the outside the castle looks as if it were built on a solid block of granite, and the sea is so close. I'd guess we are near to being below sea level."

  Fitzduane smiled. "We are below sea level when the tide is in, but there is nothing to worry about. It's the very geology of this location that made my ancestors settle here. What appears to be a solid block of granite is, in fact, more like a doughnut in shape. The possibilities of that were obvious. The family has been digging on and off ever since."

  "You, too?" asked the Bear.

  "I don't like tunnels." Fitzduane walked on toward a heavy metal-shod door. The key turned silently. "This is the armory." He beckoned the group to enter the room. He switched on the main lights when all were inside.

  There were expressions of surprise. Swords, knives, battle-axes, maces, pikes, bows and arrows, armor, muskets — hand weapons of every type lined the room from floor to ceiling or stood in racks.

  "Incredible!" exclaimed de Guevain. "This collection must be priceless."

  "It used to be bigger," said Fitzduane, "but some of the finer pieces were sold by my grandfather to ease his later years."

  "Where do they come from? And why so many?" asked Henssen.

  "A castle is first and foremost a fighting machine," said Fitzduane, "and most of the weapons you see here belong to the castle's own armory. Over the centuries techniques and weapons changed, and the family modernized but without, as you can see, throwing much away. They were a thrifty lot."

  "There's nothing more modern here than a Brown Bess musket," said Ambassador Noble. "And though they were fine for Waterloo, I don't see how they'd rate against the kind of firepower today's terrorists carry."

  Fitzduane nodded. He crossed the room and worked a mechanism. A section of racking slid away to reveal a door. He opened it and led them through. This room was smaller, though still good-sized. It was painted white and was brightly lit. Tools, power equipment, and workbenches took up most of one wall. Wooden racks containing late nineteenth- and twentieth-century weapons took up most of another wall, and four long boxes lay open on the floor. There was a waist-high work surface in the center of the room with a series of firearms laid out on it.

  "Now that's more like it." De Guevain held up an M-16. "Where did you get this?"

  "Vietnam."

  "And this?" said Noble, indicating an AK-47 Kalashnikov assault rifle.

  "Lebanon."

  "And this?" The bear held up a long-barreled broom handle Mauser pistol; a wooden shoulder stock was attached.

  Fitzduane laughed. "A bit before my time. That's a souvenir of the War of Independence — Ireland's independence, that is. It's a relatively unusual nine-millimeter Parabellum version."

  "And these?" asked Andreas von Graffenlaub. He was pointing at one of the open boxes. Fitzduane went over and extracted a weapon, a short, stocky-looking automatic rifle with the magazine fitted behind the trigger guard instead of in the traditional in-front position. A compact telescopic sight was clipped to a bracket above the receiver.

  "I'd better explain," said Fitzduane. He spoke very briefly about Kilmara and the Rangers. He then continued. "So I've got some firepower on loan, though not enough for all of us. This" — he held up the automatic rifle — "is the new Enfield SA-80 automatic rifle that has been adopted by the British Army. It's what they call a bullpup design. Having the magazine behind the trigger guard makes for a thirty percent shorter weapon for the same barrel length; it's easier to maneuver in a confined space." He pointed at the telescopic sight. "And with its four-power magnification sight, you've got one of the most accurate combat assault weapons yet made. Mind you, at nearly eleven pounds fully loaded, it's a heavy bugger for its size, but that pays dividends when you're firing on full auto. You can control this gun.

  "In terms of modern weapons, we've got four SA-80 rifles, four nine-millimeter Browning automatic pistols, a Hawk grenade launcher, grenades, and some other equipment, including Claymore directional mines. That sounds impressive until you realize what we may be up against. The opposition will have automatic weapons, too, and there may be far more of them." He didn't add that in the main, they would be younger, fitter, and more recently trained.

  There was silence in the room. The sight of the modern weaponry — not some collector's curiosity piece to hang on a wall or to show to friends after dinner — had a chilling effect.

  * * * * *

  Ranger Headquarters, Dublin — 1708 hours

  Kilmara put down the phone. The red light indicating that the scrambler was active was extinguished. He shrugged. "I've just been talking to the sergeant in charge of the security detail at Draker. It's a beautiful day. All the students are doing whatever students in the middle of nowhere do — and two of his men sat out in the sun too long and have gone bright red."

  "Sounds like a rough detail," said Günther. "What about Fitzduane?"

  "I was talking to him, too. He remains convinced something is going to happen on the basis of no proof at all. He's organized that castle of his as if Geronimo were on the prowl — and he now intends to go over to Draker to give a hand. With our luck these days the guards on duty there will think some of Fitzduane's people are terrorists and they'll all shoot each other."

  "How many people has he got?"

  "Around a dozen, including himself," said Kilmara, "of which no fewer than nine have some kind of military training. I'm beginning to wonder if I did the right thing giving him that weaponry."

  "You think it's a false alarm," said Günther.

  Kilmara stared grumpily at nothing in particular. "That's the trouble. I don't — but that's pure instinct and faith in Fitzduane's vibes. The evidence says that the action is going to be here in Dublin. My guts tell me we've got our people watching the wrong mouseholes."

  "Despite the Japanese? Or the seventy-two Middle Eastern travel agents — who the Irish Tourist Board had never heard of until the agents approached them — flying in tonight?"

  "Despite everything," said Kilmara. "I've been thinking. I don't believe the Hangman gives a fuck about politics. Why would he want to hit the U.S. Embassy? What's in it for him? He's a bottom-line man."

  "The Hangm
an's dead," declared Günther.

  "Don't talk like a bureaucrat."

  Günther grinned. "The rescheduling is finished."

  "So what have we got apart from an over-budget overtime bill?" said Kilmara.

  "For starters, we've got far too many people tied up on this embassy thing. It's ridiculous."

  "It's politics, but don't tell me what I know already. I want to know what kind of unit we can field as a reserve now we've done our computer games."

  "About a dozen," said Günther, "and of course, there is you — and me."

  "That's not so crazy. I'm fed up sitting behind a desk."

  "The helicopter situation is not good," reported Günther. "All the Air Corps machines are assigned to cover the embassy, the ambassador's residence in PhoenixPark, and the airport, and anyway, they're all going to be grounded at dusk. I wish we had night-flying capability."

  "Road would take five to six hours," mused Kilmara.

  "More like six," said Günther, "if we're talking about Fitzduane's Island. The roads are terrible once you get past Galway, and at that point we'd be driving at night with heavily loaded vehicles."

  "And that bridge on to the island is all too easy to cut," said Kilmara. "If we're going to do it, we'll have to do it by air."

  He sat in thought for several minutes. On the face of it, his existing deployment was correct. There had been clear evidence of a threat to the U.S. Embassy in Dublin. The arrival of the Japanese — two of whom had already been identified as being associated with militant terrorist groups — confirmed that threat. Monitored conversations indicated that the Japanese were the advance guard and would link up with a substantial group that was flying in late that night under the cover of a convention of travel agents from the Middle East. The Irish Tourist Board, which would normally have been actively involved in such a visit, had merely been informed at the last minute — an irregular procedure — so it really did look as if the terrorist threat were about to become a reality. He could pick up the Japanese now, but he had no line on the weaponry involved, and it made much more sense to wait until that, too, could be identified.