Mission Compromised

by Oliver North

  “We must keep moving,” the old man said quietly to Newman as they noticed a few men some fifty yards away who were looking at the truck. “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes, I'll be all right,” Newman said to his new friend.

  “My name is Habib. We should go now.” Habib started the engine and pulled back out to the track taking them not northward but west. Newman could see by the sun that they must be heading toward Syria. And while Newman was anxious about where he was being taken, he knew that his wounds were severe enough that he lacked the reserves to flee, even if he had known where he was.

  Habib noticed Newman looking about and shouted over the noise of the engine, “That is the Euphrates. Do you remember? It is one of the two great rivers mentioned in Genesis. The other is the Tigris.”

  “Genesis?”

  “In the Bible… Adam and Eve… Eden was somewhere between the two rivers. The earliest paradise was not far from where we are now.”

  “Ah… the Bible.” But Newman's planned escape route followed the Tigris River, not the Euphrates. He knew the aircraft that had come to his aid earlier in the day would never think to search for him along the Euphrates. And the QRF, coming in from Turkey, was to search for anyone from the mission escaping and evading on the way north, to Turkey. Newman tried to push back the pain he was feeling to envision the course of the Euphrates.

  The wounded Marine closed his eyes again. He had no choice. He had to trust that this old man who called himself a Christian would help him.

  THE

  BELIEVER

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Road to Anah, Iraq

  ________________________________________

  Tuesday, 7 March 1995

  1600 Hours, Local

  Newman awoke just as the truck passed through the little riverside town of Al Fuhaymi. His driver was listening to an excited voice talking in Arabic on the truck's radio. A sign on the outskirts of the village gave notice of the next settlement big enough at least to warrant a name: “Anah — 25 km.” The throbbing pain from his burns had subsided a little, and the breeze from the open truck window was a soothing, cooling touch to his face and upper arms.

  The old man stopped the vehicle at an isolated bend of the sluggish river to their right. He took two gas cans from the bed of the truck and filled the gas tank.

  “We must remove anything that would identify you as an American,” he told Newman when he got back in. “There is a checkpoint up ahead with guards that may not accept my offering as an incentive to blind their eyes. We cannot take that chance.”

  He unloaded the remnants of Newman's uniform and equipment and headed for the river.

  “Wait,” Newman shouted. There are some things there I simply must have. Please.”

  The old man came back and Newman painfully pawed through the charred remains of the parachute-material knapsack he had made. He removed a signal mirror, a flare launcher, a pistol, the extra ammunition, the money belt—into which he placed the dogtags and wedding rings of his dead crewmates—and the EncryptionLok-3. “I must keep these,” he said to the old man.

  Habib shrugged and proceeded to the river with the rest. Once there, he bundled everything with some heavy rocks and cast it into the water. He returned to the truck, took the items Newman had kept, and placed them under a load of sponges in the back of his truck. He then pulled back out onto the road.

  Habib glanced over at the American. “Do you feel any better, brother?”

  “Yes, a little. My hearing is coming back some, and the burns seem to be better. Thank you. I owe you a great debt for rescuing me back there.”

  “No, you must thank God. He sent me to you.”

  “What are you saying—that God sent you to rescue me?” Newman asked.

  “Yes,” Habib replied. “I did not know what He wanted me to do, but He called me to that spot and impressed upon me to wait there, that He would send someone who needed help.”

  “No kidding?”

  Habib shook his head; he didn't understand the expression. Newman tried again. “Are you saying that God specifically talked to you and told you to come and rescue me?”

  “Oh, no.” Habib laughed. “He is not always that precise when He calls me. I just felt He was calling me to a place. What He wanted me to do would be revealed. But I stayed one night in another town, and all night in that spot where we met, and nothing happened, no one came. I was just ready to get into my truck and drive away when the helicopters came. Then I knew why God told me to come there, to stay there, until He was ready for me to help.”

  “That's great,” Newman said. Guess he's never heard the word “coincidence. “ If Habib wanted to give God the credit, Newman had no problem with it. He was too grateful for his rescue to argue about its cause.

  “It must be very wonderful to live in America,” Habib said after awhile.

  “Yes, it is. It's a great country.”

  “I should say. Imagine, living where all of the people are believers.”

  Newman thought carefully before he answered. How could he tell Habib that not everyone in America had the kind of faith that someone like Jane Robinette had shown? “I am afraid that you've been misinformed, sir. Not everyone who lives in America is a Christian. I… uh… I'm not even sure that I'm a Christian. You know, the way that you… and some of my friends… define a follower of Christ.” This was getting uncomfortable. “Where are we going?”

  “We are going to Anah today. My son and family will meet us there. We trade along this route, beside the Euphrates. After we get to Anah, I will introduce you to my son, and he will help you get to Turkey.”

  “What makes you think I'm going to Turkey?”

  “You are not?”

  “I… I'm not sure where I'm going. I was going to try and get back to Turkey by following the Tigris. But you don't seem to think that's very wise. I guess I'm open to suggestions.”

  “Your first concern should be of safety. Iraq is not a safe place for you.”

  “No kidding,” Newman said, under his breath.

  “The Euphrates will be a much safer way to get to Turkey than the Tigris. According to the radio, Saddam has launched a major attack against the Iraqi National Congress forces north of Mosul. The way to Turkey on the Tigris will be paved with the bodies of those who oppose Saddam if your Air Force does not help them.”

  “Oh, they will,” said Newman, recalling the plans he had seen months ago when he worked at the Marine headquarters.

  “Well, they had better come soon. According to the radio, Saddam has been attacking all day, and there has been no help yet.”

  Newman couldn't fathom why the promised help hadn't been delivered, but he decided it was best to avoid discussing such issues with a virtual stranger. He decided to concentrate on his own predicament. “How far is it to Syria from where we are going?”

  The old man thought for a moment. “When we leave Anah it will not be far to the border of Syria. But Syria is not safe for you either. They might think you are a spy. They might even return you to the Iraqi border authorities. I am not sure which fate would be worse.”

  Command Center

  ________________________________________

  UN Headquarters

  New York, N.Y.

  Tuesday, 7 March 1995

  0830 Hours, Local

  General Komulakov hadn't been able to get back to sleep after the calls to Dotensk and Harrod the night before. There were simply too many loose ends. Ironically, now the failed mission of Lieutenant Colonel Peter Newman had become the Russian general's nightmare. He had decided the UN command center was the best place to manage the rapidly-unfolding events.

  Shortly after he had arrived at the command center, Dotensk had called him to report that Kamil had launched two HIND helicopters to locate and kill the downed Marine. While he awaited a report on the outcome, Komulakov decided to take a shower, shave, and put on a fresh change of clothes. Just as he was turning on the faucet in his p
rivate lavatory, he heard a knock at the door. He turned off the water and opened the door a finger's width.

  “Yes, Major Ellwood, what is it?”

  “Sorry to bother you, General, but the line from Iraq again, sir,”

  “All right, I'll take it in here. Did he give the EncryptionLok-3 encryption password?”

  “Yes… right here on this paper, sir.” Ellwood hesitated a moment.

  “Something the matter?”

  “Uh… no, I—I mean, well, I was thinking how odd it is that you've been sending and receiving so many calls to Iraq during Colonel Newman's mission.”

  “I suppose it does. We are very fortunate to have an operative on the ground, so close to the enemy. It will certainly prove to be helpful now that the mission is unraveling.”

  “I see… thank you, sir.” Ellwood went away. Komulakov shut the door and took the call from Dotensk, after first keying in the encryption password.

  “Yes, Leonid?”

  “Things seem to be going from bad to worse. The HINDs went to where you told me Newman was hiding. As they launched the attack, two jets came at them from the north and shot them down.… Yes, yes, they're all dead. It was all observed on radar by the Iraqi Air Defense site at Tikrit South. Kamil now says that his HINDs were led into a trap, that they were ambushed. He thinks that I deceived him. He then sent a platoon of his Amn Al-Khass troops to the site. They got there just as the trucks from Tikrit were arriving with a company of Army regulars. They scoured the entire area for Newman's body. They found the body of a young black woman under freshly-dug earth and the body of another male buried by the lake, but your man was nowhere to be found. They found tire tracks around the wreckage of the two HIND helicopters and some signs of blood beneath a rock shelf where the HIND munitions hit, but nothing else. Newman must have escaped.

  “Kamil's men are checking to see if the tire tracks can give them some idea of the kind of vehicle it was. They now think that there are many more UN assassins on the ground and that they radioed for the American jets to attack the helicopters. Kamil's troops killed the one team yesterday, but there may have been another.”

  “Leonid, listen to me. That was not part of the plan. There are no other UN teams. Didn't you tell me yesterday that they had ambushed fifteen men who had crossed into Iraq from Turkey?”

  “Yes, Kamil sent his men to the locations you gave me and they killed all fifteen of them.”

  “Well then, there are no more. The Americans would have notified me if they had any more distress calls from any of the others. And since I have had no calls, we must assume that the one who escaped the HIND attack is the only one left. Tell Kamil to keep searching. He can use the offensive against the opposition forces in the north as a cover for his efforts. This man is surely headed back to Turkey, and Kamil must find him.

  “Tell Kamil to have his men keep searching a path ten kilometers on either side of the Tigris, all the way north to the Turkish border. Meanwhile, I'll double-check with Incirlik and anywhere else he's likely to check in, and get back to you.

  “But, Dotensk, listen to me. We must find him and kill him. He can bring down the whole apparatus if he is captured by another Iraqi unit and tortured or, worse, rescued and begins to investigate why his mission failed. Be sure that Kamil understands the consequences of our downfall. If the American is not caught and killed, Kamil and his family will never get out of Iraq. Let him know that if they find out about us, then Saddam will find out about his disloyalty and treachery. If he wants those nuclear weapons, he must find and kill Peter Newman. I will do everything I can to help you, but it is really up to him. He must find him before he escapes from Iraq.”

  “Yes, I understand, General. I just hope we aren't already too late. If he has transportation, he could be across the Turkish border by now.”

  “Well, have Kamil set up more checkpoints on all the highways going north from Tikrit. Use planes, soldiers, guard dogs, whatever he can. Just do it!”

  Komulakov disconnected the EncryptionLok-3, thinking about the remark earlier by Major Ellwood. He thought his answer had convinced Ellwood, but how could he be sure? Things are unraveling; I can't even control my own staff. He wondered if he ought to have a little chat with Ellwood to try and determine the level of his concern. No, he thought, that would only draw more attention to the situation. It may be that Major Ellwood will have to meet with an accident.…

  As he walked back in to take his shower, Komulakov's worries intensified. Here he was plotting the death of yet another soldier—he was spending all his time just putting out fires!

  It was so much easier in the old days. He stepped under the shower head and felt the hot water play over his face. Back in '86, we took out all those operatives that hijacked the Polish munitions train: one in Poland, the priest; another in France, the banker boy; and that shipping tycoon in Lisbon. And all of it was done in the space of twenty-four hours, in three different countries. The success of that operation had been the guarantee that he would be promoted to General.

  Things were much easier in the KGB days. Loose ends were so much easier to tie up. Rolling up the Polish train hijackers in '86, for example, had been done when he could call upon dozens of Department V operatives in practically every country on earth. Now, he was reduced to using this petty Iraqi potentate who couldn't even find one Marine lieutenant colonel in his little desert country.

  Sure, they might get Newman, and even kill him. But then there is Ellwood. What does he know? And are there others? What about Newman's wife—what does she know? It seemed to Komulakov that he could spend the rest of his life taking care of annoying details.

  Newman Home

  ________________________________________

  Falls Church, VA

  Tuesday, 7 March 1995

  0855 Hours, Local

  The phone was ringing. At first Rachel thought it was part of her dream and wished someone would answer it. She had gotten in very late the night before because of a delayed flight into Dulles Airport and had hoped for the luxury of sleeping late. Then she awakened, cleared her senses, and reached for the handset.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Newman?”

  “Yes, who is this?” Rachel fumbled for the clock on the bedside table, trying to focus on the glowing red numerals. “Sorry to bother you, ma'am. I'm Sergeant Major Dan Gabbard, and I work with your husband. I found your telephone number in his things and—”

  Rachel was suddenly wide awake. “Is he all right, Sergeant Gabbard?”

  “Well, Mrs. Newman… we all sure hope so. I know I'm not supposed to call you, that there's a regular channel for handling this sort of thing. But I wanted to let you know what was happening before you saw it on TV or—”

  “Saw what? What's happened? Where is Peter? What's going on?”

  “Well, let me tell you the good news first: he's alive.”

  “Thank God!”

  “He was on a mission. There was some trouble, and well… the plane was lost. But your husband parachuted safely to the ground. He radioed an American plane going overhead, and we got a message that he's OK.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I'm sorry, Mrs. Newman. I'm afraid that's classified.”

  “Well, is he in the United States or overseas?”

  Rachel could sense the pause, realizing her caller was calculating how much information he could divulge. “He's in the Middle East, Mrs. Newman. That's all I can tell you… sorry.”

  “How can I find out more?” Rachel asked, surprised by her own intensity. “I want to be there when you go in and rescue him.”

  “Mrs. Newman, I'm afraid that'd be impossible. But the bright side is that by the time you got here, he'll probably be rescued and on his way back there. I'll tell you what. I'll call you periodically to let you know what's happening. After all, we're family.”

  Family. Wasn't that the term Peter used for his compatriots in the Armed Services? She was beginning to understand the meaning.<
br />
  “Sergeant, earlier you said something about hearing about it on TV. What did you mean by that?”

  “Uh… well, you know how it is when a large plane goes down, it always makes the news. Especially when a U.S. plane goes down in another country—”

  “Was Peter's plane shot down?”

  “Someone else must have told you, ma'am. You didn't hear it from me.”

  “But he survived, right?”

  “Yes, ma'am, he did. He called in, like I said, and said he was OK. Let's just hope and pray that our guys can get him out of there before things get… uh… difficult.”

  “Yes, I agree. Thank you, Sergeant Major Gabbard, for thinking of me. I'll be depending on you to keep me informed. Thank you for calling. Good-bye.”

  As she hung up the phone, Rachel looked past the bedroom drapes and could see the rain pouring down on a gray early spring morning. She checked the digital alarm clock beside her bed. It would be late afternoon in the Middle East. She tried to imagine where her husband was, and what he was doing. She bit her lip. Rachel felt helpless and so far away. She also felt something else—deep inside she knew she still loved Peter.

  Oh, God, please look after P. J. Keep him safe. And if he's in a place he shouldn't be, keep him from being captured. Help his rescuers to find him and bring him home.

  Road to Anah, Iraq

  ________________________________________

  Tuesday, 7 March 1995

  1720 Hours, Local

  Newman was once again in pain from his burns as the truck bumped along the rough road to Anah. It seemed like forever since their last stop and he was eager to get out of the truck. The salve Habib had applied to his burns had helped for a while, but now Newman couldn't sleep for the pain.

  Habib sensed his new ward's discomfort and tried to take his mind off of the pain by carrying on a one-sided conversation. He told Newman a long story about how his family had been Christians for at least six generations. His ancestors were from Cyprus, and his family had lived variously in a number of places, depending on the needs of the family businesses. Habib was the current patriarch, and his sons and daughters were reaching the age where they could take over the heavier responsibilities of the businesses.