The Shaman

by David Nees

  He lumbered off looking like an alien with his pack making a large hump on his back and the goggles strapped to his head with their single intake lens sticking out from his face. After putting two miles between him and his drop point, Dan stopped to take off his jump gear. Night was beginning to fade. He could see the darkness begin to recede in the eastern part of the sky. Soon it would be dawn, which would bring new challenges as the heat rose. It was June and the desert would get to over one hundred degrees in the daytime; possibly too hot to hike while fully loaded. He’d go as far as he could and then hole up until the evening.

  Dan changed from his insulated jump suit into brown pants and shirt with a soft-brimmed, tan hat. He jammed his parachute and its pack in a rock cleft and donned his tactical vest, made to look like a civilian garment. Next he strapped on his side arm, a Beretta M9, and shouldered an M4A1carbine with its telescoping butt stock. His sniper rifle, a Barrett MRAD, remained disassembled in his pack. He ate an energy bar and drank deeply from a water bottle. Then, with a look over his shoulder towards where he had landed, he set out south towards his objective.

  Jane Tanner, his CIA handler, had mentored him through his agent training and given him this assignment. Dan considered it a diversion from his core mission. The task had an impromptu feel to it. Jane, however, considered it business to be done. The point of the black ops they were setting up and why they had recruited Dan was to strike any target, anywhere. Two days from now, if all went well, Dan would be at the rim of a mesa overlooking a hacienda nestled in a river valley. The house and the ranch surrounding it had the uninhabited mesa to the north and hills to the east. South and west the land stretched away flat for miles. The approach road went through the eastern hills. It was actually a multi-mile driveway. There were no other dwellings along its route which ended at this isolated ranch.

  From the mesa, Dan was to assassinate the current most powerful drug lord in Mexico, Jorge Mendoza, leader of the Sinaloa cartel. He had called a meeting of the other cartel leaders to convince them to stop their fighting one another, set up some rules, and increase the flow of drugs and money. All the major cartels would be represented: Beltran-Leyva, Gulf, Juarez, Tijuana, and Los Zetas. Mendoza’s goal was to create a super council to partition territory and resources, eliminate infighting, and to open up new channels of income. Working together he felt they could consolidate their hold on the government and increase their control over the Policía Federal as well as the local police forces.

  Jane’s sources were from NSA communication intercepts. Additionally she had limited corroboration from the CIA informers on the ground, HUMINT resources. She was worried about the damage the cartels could cause if they stopped fighting one another. She knew how effective the US mafia had become after they apportioned territory to the ruling families. Mexico was nearly a failed narco state at this time and Mendoza’s plan could push it over the edge. The intel was imperfect, but the threat the plan could present to the U.S. was enough for Jane and her boss, Henry Mason, to decide to do something about it. If Mendoza was taken down, the cooperation amongst the cartels would collapse and infighting was sure to break out.

  Chapter 3

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  O n the West Wharf was the Karachi International Container Terminal. It was the main terminal in the port city of Pakistan. One evening in May, five tractors pulling forty foot containers drove onto the piers. The containers passed through customs. The declaration paperwork indicated the boxes held a variety of textiles and bales of cotton fiber bound for Mexico.

  These containers were special however. They did hold cotton fiber in bales, stacked firmly up against the doors five feet deep and along the sides to provide sound insulation. But just behind the rear bales, six thousand kilos of heroin were stacked and strapped in place. The remaining space in each box housed twelve men. The tops of the containers were modified to provide a concealed gap that allowed air to enter. There were panels along the lower sides that allowed air to escape. These would remain closed until the containers were in place and the ship sailed. Since the boxes were lighter than most freight, they were scheduled to be packed high on the deck, not down in the hold. This insured a good flow of air to the men inside. They would endure a thirty day voyage to the Mexican port of Veracruz in the Gulf of Mexico.

  The men were prepared for the deprivations of the trip. They had trained for six months. They would do a partial fast for the 30 day trip to minimize the human waste that had to be dealt with inside the containers. It would be a brutal experience but these were brutal men. Their mission was to sneak into the U.S. via the southern border and disperse throughout the country. They were the test case; more would be sent along if they were successful. They would implant themselves into Muslim communities and connect with the members of the local mosques. The men were taught to seek out and identify disaffected youths who they could begin to radicalize. These men were the advance guard of a multi-year invasion planned by al Qaeda.

  Others who would arrive had orders to plan and execute terror attacks on designated targets. The two-pronged approach, infiltration and radicalization along with direct terror operations were certain to sow disruption in American society. Along the way the men would rely on Muslim apologists and activist groups to lecture the public about rights and freedoms as the terrorists went to work tearing down the society.

  The heroin was to cement the connection between the terrorists and the Sinaloa cartel. It would be a financially lucrative connection, both for the organizers back in Pakistan and the cartel. The drugs also greased the skids for the infiltration plans of Al Qaeda.

  The men in the container could not tell exactly what was going on. They felt the trucks stop and then minutes later they were abruptly lifted up, swung to one side and put back down. The men looked at each other wondering what was going on. They could not be aboard; they hadn’t been lifted high enough. For the next four hours they sat without moving. Then the men heard the metallic sound of something clamping to the metal box. This time they were lifted up, higher and higher and then swung outward. More slowly they felt the container lowered and clamped into place. They were on the ship.

  At the docks Tariq Basara watched the containers under the glare of the floodlights; they would be the last one’s to be hoisted aboard. When they were finally loaded high on the deck stack and locked down, he breathed a sigh of relief. The first part of the plan had been accomplished. His driver looked over his shoulder at Tariq who nodded. They drove off.

  They rode through the dark labyrinth of streets in the Gulshan E-Sekandarabad section of Karachi. It was not far from the docks but seemed removed in time from the modern, urban setting of the container terminal. It was run by one Sikandar Jadoon, a gangster that controlled this section of reclaimed land. The driver had picked Tariq up in the northwest section of Karachi called Manghaphir. It was a Taliban controlled area, nearly a “no-go” zone for the overworked Karachi police. The driver took them across the sprawling city and now navigated the labyrinthine streets with assurance while Tariq was soon lost.

  The man he was to meet made him nervous. He was a wealthy, shadowy figure; an Arab with an international reach who did much of his legitimate business in Pakistan. He also was a benefactor and conduit of funds to people like Tariq; people who had a vision of how to change the strategy of the war with the west. The man liked new ideas that kept the enemy off balance. He understood, as Tariq did, that they waged a multi-generational war. They would do their part to weaken the west and then pass the fight on to another generation.

  The benefactor, Rashid al-Din Said, liked Tariq’s idea of men who would plant seeds for future, home-grown terrorists with the U.S. It was this idea of smuggling men into the U.S. who would do more than commit acts of terror that had caught his attention. Tariq was one of the few people who knew of Rashid’s connection to terrorist groups. That fact made him nervous. If any agency were to close in on Rashid, Tariq knew the man would take any st
ep to quickly eliminate any possible ties and he was one of those ties. But this risk was just one of the many Tariq took in his war against the west. He had grown up poor in the disputed territories in the northwest border area with Afghanistan. He was too young to have fought the Soviets but many of his uncles did so and told exciting stories of driving the infidels out. Now there was another infidel to drive out; not only from Afghanistan, but from all the mid-east. And since joining Al Qaeda, Tariq set his sights on the U.S. and the west in general. He would play his part and, god willing, rise to higher levels of leadership.

  Tonight he was to report the successful insertion of sixty men aboard a container ship that would unload thirty days later in Mexico. The start of their journey to America had begun. Tariq would also pick up a half million dollars to transfer to a certain bank in the Caymans. It was his down payment for the smuggling operation.

  The car turned the corner into an even narrower street. The driver slowed. Tariq noticed two men at the corner who observed his vehicle. Halfway down the street the car stopped. A man stepped out from a doorway and walked up to the car. Tariq could see the bulge of a handgun in his jacket pocket. He peered into the car and stepped back to open the door. Another man appeared in the doorway. He held an automatic rifle held in his hands.

  When Tariq stepped out of the car, the first man motioned for him to hold up his hands. He patted him down carefully, to his ankles, front and back. After a word to the driver, the car pulled away and the man motioned Tariq forward to the door.

  After entering the dark doorway, he climbed two flights of stairs in between the two guards. No one spoke. On the second floor the lead guard stopped at a door and knocked quietly.

  “Udkhul.” The Arabic word for “enter” came from within.

  The man opened the door. Tariq stepped into the room. It was softly lit. There were fragrant smells of lamb and spices. At the far end of the room was a low table with his host sitting on a large cushion beside it. He motioned for Tariq to come forward and join him. The man did not get up, a sign of his greater stature. He gestured for Tariq to sit across from him.

  “Come, sit. You have had a busy evening and I trust it was successful.”

  “Yes Sayyid.” Tariq used the Arabic expression of respect.

  “Well, let us celebrate.” He clapped his hand and a veiled woman brought a tray with sweet tea to the men. The two body guards stood at the corners of the room, not taking their eyes off of Tariq.

  Tariq savored the tea. Soon plates of food were brought to the table. He ate out of politeness. He was not hungry. He only wanted to get back to his own group and depart this city which offered so many possibilities for trouble.

  “So the men will endure? It will be a long time. They will see neither the sky nor the sun.”

  “They will endure, Sayyid. They are well trained and ready. They are not soft like the west.”

  Rashid smiled. “No they are not…and you are not. But will they find it difficult to be in the heart of the decadent west?”

  “No. We know we can use the freedoms of the west against them. This is our way. We don’t adopt them but use them and look forward to a time where we will purge all the faithful of such ways.”

  “And my ways, do they offend you?”

  Tariq caught himself before he could register any shock at the question. “No, Sayyid. You fight in the manner you are accustomed to. That benefits all of us.”

  “But you hope to see all of us return to purer ways.”

  “Inshallah.” Tariq said no more. The direction of the conversation seemed dangerous to him.

  “It is all right, my young warrior. We all have a part to play. There will be need for businessmen to operate, but we do want to purify the faithful and break their infatuation with the west, just as we want to cripple the west so they can’t control us anymore. That is a common goal we can work towards.”

  “Indeed. We have the same goals.” Tariq focused on the food.

  When they had eaten and the table cleared, Rashid motioned to one of the guards who went into another room and returned with a briefcase. He set the case down next to Rashid.

  Rashid flicked open the latches and turned the case around. Tariq looked at the neat stacks of one hundred dollar bills; five thousand of them. “Here is the down payment for your work. You have to deal with a dirty man. Try not to contaminate yourself.”

  Tariq nodded. He didn’t like doing business with the drug lord. “But it has to be done.”

  Rashid closed the lid and slid the case to Tariq. He leaned towards the terrorist. His voice came low and sharp; almost a hiss. “When this is done, someday you must kill him. Do it for me, and I will reward you well.”

  Tariq looked up at the rich man, his patrón. He had harbored his doubts about Rashid’s orthodoxy, but accepted the fact that the man wanted to help his cause. Now he saw a glimpse of perhaps a deeper motivation…perhaps a deeper commitment to the Islamic cause. “It will be an honor, when the time comes.” He sensed dismissal and stood. After thanking Rashid, one of the guards opened the door and Tariq went out as he came in, between the two large men, only now with a briefcase of money in his hands.

  Chapter 4

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  D an stood about six feet tall with brown hair and hazel eyes that seemed to change color depending on what he wore. He looked fit but not that muscular. His body though was more powerful than one might have suspected. In high school a coach taught him to concentrate on core muscle development along with the major muscle groups. The result was that Dan had a deceptively strong body that could absorb a lot of abuse without injury.

  He had joined the army after school and quickly came to the attention of his instructors for his shooting ability. He was encouraged to try out for sniper school and made it into the ranks of snipers. Dan relished not only the shooting but also the physical challenges encountered during the course.

  He had been hiking for an hour when the sun broke over the horizon. Almost immediately he could feel the temperature climb. Going to have to stop soon. There was no way he could hike through the day burdened with a fifty-pound pack when the desert heated up to its full extent. It would be a waste of water resources and he would risk exhaustion. Two hours later, he slipped off his pack and nestled himself under a rock ledge that gave him some shade. He propped up his left ankle as best he could and tried to relax. The ankle throbbed. He could feel the swelling and didn’t dare take off his boot. Only if it begins to go numb. He began to relax; his mind drifted back to the days after his recruitment.

  Jane Tanner worked for the CIA. More specifically she worked for Henry Mason who had maneuvered himself into a small sub-section of the SAD, Special Activities Division. He headed a five-person team that included Jane. They were technically under the Psychological Operations section but Henry reported to Roger Abrams, an old friend and CIA veteran who was the director of SAD.

  Jane had discovered Dan during his vendetta against the mob family in Brooklyn that had killed his wife and unborn child. He had been so successful in taking down their operations that his actions had come to Jane’s attention. She was charged with recruiting someone to pilot this new black ops program. To that end, she had enlisted several agents she knew in the Crime and Narcotics Center and HUMINT Coordination Center to keep their eyes out for potential assets for recruitment. Jane didn’t mention the mission objective and no one asked. A field agent stationed in New York City due to its attraction as a terrorist target noticed someone taking down members of a mob family in Brooklyn and brought it to Jane’s attention.

  After some work, Jane was able to make contact with Dan. When they finally met, Jane explained the operation and its objectives to him. The point was to take out the enemy terrorists before they struck, not after. As intel identified terrorists Dan, an ex-military sniper, would be sent around the world to eliminate the targets.

  Jane had arranged for Dan to disappear after his vendetta, making a de
al with the FBI and spiriting him away to Camp Perry near Williamsburg, Virginia to train for his assignment. When she presented him with his first assignment after completing his training, Dan thought it didn’t fit the mission objectives and expressed his concerns.

  They met on a clear early spring day in Washington, DC. The air was crisp with still a winter’s bite to it but the sun was shining stronger as spring approached. Brave daffodils, always coming out early, were showing off their yellow, announcing the arrival of a new season. The ground greedily soaked up the sun’s warmth even though people were still bundled in their coats.

  Dan had spent the night in the Key Bridge Marriott just across the Potomac River from Georgetown. In the morning he walked south through Gateway Park and down Lynne Street to a Starbucks. Along the way he stopped to look into store windows, using the reflection to check to see if he was being followed. He scanned the pedestrians as they passed by on their way to work. After purchasing a juice in the coffee shop, he checked the sidewalks and then crossed the street to enter an office building. The building spanned the narrow block and opened on to the adjacent street as well as the one where he entered. He traversed the lobby and exited one block to the west on North Moore Street. Within a minute Jane drove up and Dan got in the passenger seat. He glanced over his shoulder as they pulled back out into traffic.

  She circled around and headed back across Key Bridge into Georgetown. She drove north weaving through the neighborhood streets and finally headed west on Reservoir Road. They crossed back into Virginia over Chain Bridge Road and took the George Washington Parkway west to I495, the beltway around DC. Going north they crossed back over the Potomac River, took the Clara Barton Parkway back east to Glen Echo Park. The park, usually deserted this time of morning, had one car in the lot. Waiting in it was Henry Mason, Jane’s boss.