Desert Fire

by David Hagberg

  “I don’t think so, Habash.”

  “We want Roemer!”

  Wadud put down the microphone and switched off the radio. He faced the room. “We’re going to leave here in a group. I am taking my general home.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Whalpol said angrily.

  “It might work,” Roemer said. “But what happens if they start killing hostages?”

  “You would be risking the same retaliation by trying to sneak into the place,” the Iraqi detective said. He motioned toward the door with his gun.

  The Mukhabarat agent opened the door and looked out into the corridor. Everyone else was gone. “It’s clear.”

  “What if we refuse to go with you?” Manning growled.

  “Then I’ll shoot you,” Wadud replied. Again he motioned toward the door with his gun. “They’ll be getting nervous over there.”

  “Is this what you want, Leila?” Roemer asked.

  She looked at him, painfully. “We can help him in Baghdad.”

  “You’re willing to risk all of those lives?”

  “He’s my father!”

  “Move it!” Wadud ordered.

  Roemer and Manning led the group out. Most of the activity outside was directed toward the main gate, where all the newspeople were still being held back, and along the sandbagged barricade that established the one-hundred-meter perimeter.

  The helicopter was parked forty or fifty meters away. The crew stood by the machine.

  “Walk directly to the barricade,” Wadud said.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Roemer asked Leila.

  “No.”

  “His troops would kill you,” Wadud said.

  “Fanatics,” Whalpol snapped. “The history of your people—”

  “Yes,” Wadud interrupted him. They headed across the parking lot to the barricade several hundred meters away. Generators roared, powering the floodlights illuminating the blockhouse.

  “Keep it moving,” Wadud said behind them.

  Colonel Faulkner had already given the signal to his crew at the holding ponds. Unless the Iraqis had stopped them, the torch man would already be working his way through the narrow pipeline to the pump room, where he would cut out the access plate. The plan was for him and two demolitions experts to enter the R&D building first, decontaminate themselves and then stand by as an advance guard. If everything went well they would radio their code.

  There was no telling, however, what General Sherif’s troops would do once they were confronted by Wadud, Zwaiter and Leila. If they fired the explosives, none of this would matter.

  One of Faulkner’s lieutenants, seeing the group approaching the barricade, came over. “Has there been any further word, sir?” Then the young man spotted the Iraqis’ weapons and reached for his own sidearm.

  “No,” Colonel Faulkner ordered. “I want you and your people to stand down.”

  “Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said. The soldiers at the sandbags moved away.

  Wadud turned to Whalpol. “As soon as we have the situation controlled inside, we’ll radio you. We’ll need a couple of transport trucks or a bus, and a clear route to the airport. If you don’t interfere, no one else will get hurt.”

  “Do you know the general well enough to bet your life on it?”

  “I do,” Leila said. Before anyone could stop her, she shoved roughly past Manning and in broad strides leaped over the sandbags and headed across the hundred meters to the tall chain-link fence.

  “Hold them!” Wadud shouted before Roemer could move. The Mukhabarat agents raised their weapons as Wadud and Zwaiter jumped over the barricade and went after Leila.

  They got barely ten meters when a line of automatic weapons fire was laid down from three spots along the roofline. Zwaiter was hit several times, his body erupting in spurts of blood as he was blasted backward off his feet.

  Leila stopped in her tracks, the bullets ricocheting off the pavement all around her.

  Wadud raced in a zigzag back to the sandbags, the fire on his heels as he dove to safety.

  Sporadic fire was being returned all up and down the barricade. Colonel Faulkner raced down the line, shouting the cease-fire.

  Zwaiter lay facedown in a widening pool of blood. Leila, not hit, stared in horror at his body.

  Except for the generators, a heavy silence descended over the parking lot.

  “Leila,” Roemer called from behind the barricade. “Come back. They won’t fire on you.”

  She remained rooted to her spot, her eyes on Zwaiter’s body.

  “Leila!”

  She walked toward the blockhouse gate.

  Roemer started over the sandbags, but Manning yanked him back.

  “Leila,” Roemer called again.

  She continued walking as if in a trance. No gunfire came from the blockhouse roof. Reaching the big gate, she took out her gun and fired at the heavy padlock.

  “She can’t crack the lock that way,” Trautman muttered.

  Leila fired again and again. Then she stepped back from the gate and looked up toward the building’s roofline. “Father!” she shouted. “Father?”

  Roemer could see no movement. They were up there, watching her, listening to her cries, but they were keeping out of sight. Fanatics, but disciplined.

  “Father?”

  “It’s no use, Leila,” Wadud called to her. “Come back.”

  She turned and gaped toward the barricade. Then she started slowly back.

  “We’ll do it my way now,” Whalpol said.

  “Roemer and I will go in,” Wadud said. “We’ll take a couple of Mukhabarat people with us.”

  “No way.”

  “He’s right,” Roemer said, watching Leila. “He and I, two Mukhabarat agents and two of Colonel Faulkner’s people.”

  Leila reached Zwaiter’s body, stopped and slowly bent down beside it.

  Wadud jumped over the barricade and went across to her. He grabbed Zwaiter’s arms and dragged him back to the barricade. Leila followed. An army ambulance was already racing across the parking lot.

  Roemer reached for Leila, but she pulled away and headed toward the administration building. It was no use going after her.

  “We’ll go now,” Roemer said.

  “My torch man and demolitions crew are already on their way in,” Colonel Faulkner said.

  “Sherif’s people will be wanting you on the radio,” Roemer told Whalpol. “You’re going to have to buy as much time as possible. Tell them we’re all shook up down here. We need time to calm everyone down.”

  69

  LEILA WAS NOWHERE to be found when they got to the administration building. Whalpol tried to radio Sherif’s force at the blockhouse, but they did not answer.

  The plant engineer, Trautman, quickly went over the blueprints with Roemer, Wadud and the two Mukhabarat agents who would go in with them, Abdul Salman and Hani Bouchiki.

  “Our equipment truck is set up down on the Autobahn,” Trautman said. “It’s a couple hundred meters on foot up the hill and across a clearing to the holding ponds. You can’t be seen from the R&D building because of the forest. But don’t use any light until you are well within the tunnel, and even then it could be risky—a chance reflection through the opening.”

  “The radiation suits are in the truck?” Roemer asked.

  Trautman nodded. “You’ll have to carry your weapons and radios inside your suits so they don’t become contaminated. Once you’re decontaminated, there are three ways up to the reactor room. Two sets of stairs and the elevator. Colonel Faulkner’s men will be waiting for you in the subbasement. They’ll head up to the reactor and begin their search and disarming procedures.”

  “We’re using codes,” Colonel Faulkner said. “Situation One was their go-ahead to enter the pipeline and cut their way into the pump room. Situation Two, they’re in place. Situation Three means someone is in place above the control room ready to stop Sherif from triggering the explosives.”

  “Wadud
and I will handle the hostages,” Roemer said.

  “Which leaves Salman and Bouchiki above the control room,” Wadud said.

  “Any questions?”

  “Just one,” Roemer said softly. “If it becomes necessary to kill the general, will you be able to do it?”

  70

  LEILA WAS GONE. No one had seen her since she had walked away from the barricades after Zwaiter had been shot to death.

  Rudi Gehrman and Colonel Legler stood with Roemer at the rear of a canvas-covered army troop truck.

  “You don’t have to do this, Walther,” Colonel Legler said. “Leave this sort of thing to the army.”

  “I’m going to finish it.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Gehrman snapped. “You’re doing this because of Leila Kahled.”

  It was late and Roemer was very tired. It had been only a week since this had all started. It seemed like a lifetime. He supposed his old friend was right, but he had to do it this way. “She’s missing just now, Rudi. Find her for me.”

  Gehrman grimaced in frustration. “And then what?”

  “Get her away from here in case the reactor blows.”

  Wadud came out of the administration building on the run.

  “We have to move now!” he shouted. “Whalpol reached Habash. They’re blaming us for Zwaiter’s death. Habash promises retaliation.”

  “They’re going to kill the hostages?”

  “Worse. They want you right now. I think they mean to blow the reactor.”

  “As soon as we’re on the way in, Faulkner is going to clear this place.”

  “They’ll touch off the explosives as soon as that starts happening.”

  “Then I’ll turn myself over to them,” Roemer said.

  “The moment you showed up over there they’d set off the explosives anyway. Habash is as crazy as the general. You’re the main issue now.”

  Colonel Faulkner came out of the administration building, Manning right behind him. “We just received a Situation Two; my people are in and decontaminated. They’re waiting for you.”

  “What about the evacuation?” Roemer asked.

  “Manning will get the civilians out, but I’m keeping my people here.”

  “We’re going to hold them back from the airport to the north and the Siegburg exit to the south,” Manning said.

  “We’re not screwing around any longer,” Faulkner said. “Number-one priority is disarming the explosives. If it means killing General Sherif and every one of his troops, it will be done.”

  A helicopter came in low from the south.

  “That’s your father’s body,” Faulkner said. “It is up to you if you want us to use it as an … offering.”

  Roemer had turned numb. “Do it.”

  71

  THE AUTOBAHN WAS already blocked off by the time the truck bearing Roemer, Wadud and the two Mukhabarat agents pulled up behind a tall van parked off the highway below the holding ponds. It was very cold, but the wind had died and the stars shone as brilliant points.

  Trautman and two of his engineers waited inside the van with the silver radiation suits, in radio contact with Colonel Faulkner and Whalpol.

  “The others are already in place,” Trautman said as Roemer and the others pulled on the bulky suits.

  “Any trouble getting in?” Roemer asked.

  “Apparently not.”

  They climbed out of the van and started up the hill into the dark woods. They reached the holding ponds ten minutes later. The area was guarded by a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Radiation warnings were posted around the perimeter.

  A haze of vapor rose from the glistening, warm water, though ice had formed around the edges of the large, rectangular concrete ponds.

  Trautman unlocked the gate and they went inside, climbed up over the earthwork ramparts and made their way to the pool that had been partially drained. Three large pipes were exposed. Two were blocked by a thick steel mesh; the third was open. An aluminum ladder led down to the pipe, three meters below the lip of the pond.

  “It’s nearly five hundred meters into the pump room,” Trautman said.

  They stopped above the open pipe. Roemer pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Situation Two?” he radioed.

  No answer.

  “Too much earth between here and there,” Trautman said. “But we’ll be able to hear you from the other side.”

  Roemer tucked the walkie-talkie inside his suit and sealed the jacket.

  Trautman checked the water with his Geiger counter. “It’s not bad,” he said. “While you’re inside the tunnel you won’t have any radio communication with anyone.”

  They’d each brought an extra handgun to carry outside of their suits in case they ran into trouble before they were decontaminated. They would have to leave those weapons in the decontamination closet. Roemer stuffed his into an outer pocket.

  “You each have sixty minutes of oxygen built into the suits, which will give you more than enough time, even if you do run into some trouble,” Trautman said.

  “We’d better get started.” Roemer pulled on his hood. Trautman and his technicians made sure they were sealed in and their air supplies turned on; then they gave the thumbs-up.

  Roemer started down the ladder first. Awkwardly, he felt for the lip of the pipe, and swung his legs inside.

  He had to hunch over. His shoulders brushed the sides of the pipe.

  Wadud came next, and then Salman and Bouchiki. As Roemer moved a few meters up the pipe, the darkness closed in on him. His knees bent, his left hand brushing the pipe ceiling as a guide, he moved on up the pipe.

  Within seconds they were completely cut off from the outside. Inside the radiation suits, sounds were muffled. The cool bottled air had a metallic taste.

  Fifty meters in, the pipeline angled steeply and the going became more difficult. Roemer began to sweat. He imagined that the demolitions team had been discovered and killed; Sherif’s people were in the control room now, ready to throw the switch that would divert reactor water through this pipe. At least Leila was out of this. If she was still somewhere within the KwU compound, Rudi would find her and take her away. Zwaiter had been gunned down; she was burned out. There was a good chance she had returned to Bonn to get as far away as she could from whatever was going to happen to her father.

  The angle of the pipe steepened again. Roemer had to bend into it, using his hands to keep from slipping back. Colonel Faulkner’s people had made it up to the pump room, so he didn’t think it could get much worse. But the going was tough.

  The pipe seemed to go on forever. Once he slipped and Wadud stumbled up behind him.

  “Are you all right?” Wadud shouted, his voice distant.

  “Fine,” Roemer shouted, and they continued.

  He thought about his father. The pain had mostly gone, though he was glad he wasn’t topside now to witness his father’s body being offered up at the building gate.

  Roemer figured they had been inside the pipe for about twenty minutes when he realized he could see. Ahead, a diffused light barely outlined the curve of the pipe.

  They took out their guns.

  Roemer continued quietly forward. A few meters from the circular opening he stopped to listen. He could hear machinery running, but nothing else.

  Gripping his gun in his gloved fist, he looked through the opening into a large, high-ceilinged room crammed with machinery. Pipes ran in every direction.

  On the far side of the room an open door led to a corridor. One of Faulkner’s men, a German Army Gewehr 3A3 assault rifle at the ready, leaned against the door frame. He spotted Roemer and urgently beckoned for him to come out.

  Careful not to rip his suit on the jagged edges of the torched opening, Roemer climbed out into the floor of the pump room.

  The soldier spoke into a walkie-talkie as Roemer helped the others out of the pipe.

  A second soldier appeared in the doorway. He pointed to the far end of the room. “Decontamination,�
� he mouthed.

  They trotted along the line of pipes into a large, white-tiled room and then into a long, narrow area with red arrows painted on the floor. Multiple shower heads lined the ceiling and walls.

  ATTENTION, a notice read. ENTER DECONTAMINATION STALL FULLY CLOTHED. FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS. SHOWERS ARE AUTOMATIC.

  Roemer stepped in. Water mixed with foam spurted out of the shower heads, deluging him. Halfway through the stall, the water cleared and blow-dryers came on. Another notice advised him to wait for a Geiger-counter check. A red light would mean he had to go through the process again; green would mean he was decontaminated and could discard his outer clothing.

  The light turned green. Roemer stepped out of the stall and peeled off his radiation suit.

  Wadud appeared a moment later. He pulled off his hood and took a deep breath of fresh air.

  “I’ll be out in the corridor,” Roemer said. “Hurry it up.” Trautman’s men, sergeants Menzel and Brecht, were waiting at the far end of the pump room.

  “Any troubles?” Roemer asked.

  “Plenty,” Menzel said, keeping his voice low. He glanced down the long corridor, at the end of which was a set of stairs leading up. “One of Sherif’s glory boys is parked at the head of the stairs. We’re not going to have a chance in hell of getting near the reactor.”

  “Can he be seen from the control room?”

  “They can see him, all right.”

  Wadud came out of the pump room. “Salman and Bouchiki will be right with us. What’s wrong?”

  Roemer explained. Wadud pulled out his VP70 Hessler-and-Koch nine-millimeter automatic and Kevlar silencer, which he screwed on the end of the short barrel.

  “I’ll take him out. Hani can put on his uniform. It’ll get us in.”

  “Any sign of the hostages?” Roemer asked Menzel.

  “They’re probably on the top floor,” Menzel said. “The front stairs lead directly to the reactor room. If we can take out their man, we’ll have a chance.” He pointed the other way down the corridor. “The elevator is around the corner. But now the car is up on the third floor. We can get the door open and someone can go up the shaft. Unless they decide to bring the car down it should be okay. The back stairs are at the far end of the corridor.”