Battleline (2007)

by Jack - Seals 05 Terral

  Wallenger's moment of glory came at a White House news conference when he confronted Press Secretary Owen Peckham with accusations about the massacre. Although the reporter was more or less blown off by Peckham, he had made a big impression, managing to keep the story going for weeks, even though no proof of its veracity was ever presented.

  WHEN Wallenger reached the GNB offices, he went straight to the network president, Don Allen, with the scoop. He couldn't wait to tell Allen about this latest coup, and he was looking forward to the next White House news conference with fierce glee.

  .

  AL-BAHRSHATT, KUWAIT

  7 JULY 1430 HOURS

  KHALIL Farouk was the agent-at-large of the Jihad Abadi terrorist group controlled by the Iranian government. The man had been instrumental in recruiting the Englishman Arsalaan Sikes--ne Archibald Sikes--into the organization after talking him into deserting from his British Army unit stationed in Iraq. At the moment Farouk was in this seaside town on the Persian Gulf to recruit mujahideen for a special operation.

  The terrorist agent's point of contact was Kaif Jamil, who was coordinator for several insurgent groups scattered throughout the Middle East. Jamil's specialty was the recruitment, training, and placement of suicide bombers. He did his work under the noses of the American forces stationed in the vicinity, and had even sent supernumeraries into Palestine to help out Hamas from time to time. The cover story he used to conceal his true activities from his neighbors was that he managed a labor-hiring contract firm that filled requests for semiskilled workers needed in both industry and agriculture.

  At this point in time, Farouk and Jamil were seated in the back room of the latter's place of business, and Jamil stared in unabashed disbelief at Farouk. "How many men did you say you wanted, Brother Farouk?"

  "Fifty."

  Jamil stared at him open-mouthed for an instant. "Uh . . . you said khamstash, correct?"

  "No," Farouk replied. "I said khamsin. Fifty, not fifteen."

  "I never inquire into actual locales or purposes in these operations of martyrdom for obvious reasons of security," Jamil said. "But my curiosity is piqued to the extent I almost feel like asking." He cleared his throat. "Ahem. But I shall not."

  "How long will it take you to gather the martyrs, and where may I collect them?"

  Jamil stroked his beard. "Let me think . . . two weeks, I believe. There are several of our jihaden who are now planning attacks. I am sure they will gladly relinquish some of their shahiden if the cause is great enough."

  "I assure you it is a most vital and auspicious sacrifice the shahiden will make," Farouk said. "It will aid in the liberation of an entire Islamic nation from the cruel grip of the infidels."

  "I am not surprised, Brother," Jamil said. "The fact that you require fifty sacrificial bombers is most impressive." He leaned back and let out a deep sigh. "Where do you wish these martyrs to assemble for you?"

  "In Pakistan," Farouk said. "They are to arrive at Ali Jinnah International Terminal in Karachi. They will fly PIA from two Saudi cities--Al Hadidah and Riyadh--as well as Qatar and the United Arab Emirates. Divide them any way you wish, but the sponsor feels that if they arrive from at least four different locales, it will assure complete security and secrecy."

  "That can be arranged," Jamil said. "However, there will be expenses-plane tickets, passports, logistics, rations, and other items. I estimate ninety thousand U. S. dollars."

  "The funds will go to your bank in Saudi Arabia, Brother Jamil," Farouk said. "Am I to assume your estimate of the price includes the explosive materials?"

  "Of course," Jamil said. "I will see that all of that is dispatched to you in our usual manner. Now let us turn our attention to the shahiden. What day do you desire their arrival in Karachi?"

  "You say you need two weeks, so let us allow a bit of extra time," Farouk said. "Is it possible for them to arrive on the twenty-fifth of July?"

  "I see no problem with that."

  Farouk stood up. "Excellent. If you have any questions or information, I can be reached the same as always. Ma'al salama, Brother."

  "And good-bye to you, Brother."

  .

  ZAHEYA POSITIONS

  9 JULY 1030 HOURS

  SIKES Pasha was in a bothersome mood. "I didn't think you blokes would ever do anything like that." He was seated in Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah's bunker with Captain Naser Khadid.

  "May I give you a bit of advice, Major Sikes?" the brigadier said. "And please accept it as friendly counsel given from an older soldier to a younger."

  "Yes, sir," Sikes said.

  "Never commit yourself to one course of action in a strict style," the brigadier said. "It limits your options terribly. There are times when circumstances dictate changes in tactics and strategy."

  "But I thought one of the important decisions behind Iran taking over all Middle East insurgencies was to put a stop to the waste of people in suicide bombings," the Brit said. "It was even said wot a shame it was that them suicide blokes wouldn't be able to make no more babies to grow up for Islam's struggle."

  "The individuals who are going to be employed would martyr themselves within a few months at any rate," Khohollah argued. "If it will serve our cause to have them do it here in this valley to our front, then look upon it as Allah's will."

  "To tell you the truth, I ain't all that religious," Sikes said.

  "Well," Khohollah said, "at the present time we have much more to worry us than the fate of suicide-prone martyrs. We should turn our attention to how the arrival of the twenty reinforcements was discovered by the Americans."

  "And soon enough to do something about it," Sikes added. "It's a bit o' bother, alright. Those were twenty damn good blokes wot was wiped out."

  Khadid, who had been content to simply listen to the conversation, now joined in. "There is a leak, no doubt. A turncoat somewhere within our organization, and I would think the traitor is back in Iran somewhere. Perhaps he's serving on or near the General Staff."

  "Whoever he is or whatever his position, it is baffling how he managed to get the information out," Khohollah said.

  "I'll leave them intelligence blokes to work on that," Sikes said. "It ain't my cup o' tea worrying about spies and the like. I'll put me mind on keeping me defenses proper and manned. I can you tell you one thing for sure, gents. This next attack against them Amercians is gonna be a sight to behold, hey?"

  CHAPTER 10

  WHITE HOUSE

  OFFICE OF THE PRESS SECRETARY

  12 JULY 0945 HOURS

  OWEN Peckham, the White House Press Secretary, sat at his desk slowly sipping a cup of coffee. He was tired, but not so much physically as one would be from overexercise or hard work. His fatigue was mental and spiritual, and the man was emotionally beaten down. The problems of disaster relief, border security, crooked lobbyists, the war against terrorism, and a myriad of other unpleasantness he had to deal with were draining him of all enthusiasm for his job. He wondered what else would pop up to plague him.

  Peckham checked his watch, noting that within a quarter of an hour he would have to go out into the press room, where eager denizens of the media were ready to fire salvos of provocative questions at him--each journalist able to gain prestige, pay raises, and career advancement from beating up on the poor White House Press Secretary.

  His attention was diverted when Arlene Entienne stepped into his office after a couple of raps on the door. Peckham gave her a nod and a smile. "How're you doing, Arlene?"

  "Pretty well under the circumstances," the White House chief of staff answered, giving him a close look. "Are you coming down with a cold?"

  He shook his head. "I'm just way down-period."

  "Dear Owen," she said, sitting down in the chair to his direct front. "You've been through a hell of a lot."

  "Oh, it's no more than you do, except I have to deal with those birds of prey out in that press room."

  "And for that you have my sincerest sympathies," Arlene said. "
But I think today they'll be beating a herd of dead horses. We've been through the same issues for several weeks now. The troubles in the Middle East are down to some suicide bombings, and that happens so often it doesn't attract much attention anymore. Those cold-blooded reporters are in a constant need of bad news to keep themselves in the limelight."

  "Yeah," Peckham said, "you're right. They'll even reveal classified information if they run across any they think is newsworthy. Today I'm going to disarm them with a string of terse announcements. Maybe I'll create a vacuum they can suffocate in."

  "I think you've got everything under control," Arlene said, standing up. "I just dropped by to see how you were doing. I've been worried about you."

  "Your concern is much appreciated," Peckham said.

  .

  WHITE HOUSE PRESS ROOM

  1000 HOURS

  OWEN Peckham stood at the end of the short hall leading into the press room, with his hand on the doorknob. After three deep, steadying breaths, he opened the portal and stepped inside the room.

  Now showing a confident and cheerful grin, he strode up to his podium and set his notes down on it. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! So nice to see you today." He nodded to several people he knew personally and had hobnobbed with at various social functions around Washington. "Hello, David. How are you, Betty? Jim, you're looking quite chipper today."

  The crowd of journalists, all well known to the American public, sat in anticipation of the coming press conference, hoping something would happen, such as Peckham making a glaring slip in which some phenomenal misconduct by a member of the White House staff would be revealed.

  "First I have some announcements to make," Peckham said. "As you know, indictments have gone out this week regarding the lobbying scandal. At this point I have no statements to make regarding that unhappy situation until the accused have shown up in court to plead their innocence or guilt. That's the American way; at least as long as we follow the principle of those under indictment being innocent until proven otherwise."

  But that did not deter Joyce Bennington of the Boston World Journal. "How far into the White House has this situation penetrated?"

  "As I said, Joyce," Peckham replied, "no statements will be issued at this time." He turned to his notebook. "The border security question is firmly resolved with the approval of not only National Guard but also active duty military units bolstering the Border Patrol until all the safeguards such as fences--both physical and electronic--are installed."

  Brian Mackenzie of the Ontario People's Advocate spoke up. "Does the President really feel these drastic steps are necessary?"

  "I wouldn't employ the adjective 'drastic,' " Peckham said, smiling at the Canadian. "I believe 'necessary' would be a more appropriate description. Anyhow, I'm surprised you're not up there in Canada looking into your own immigration procedures." He shifted into an impersonator, speaking in a contrived Canadian accent. "And I believe they've proved somewhat inadequate, hey?"

  Some chuckles showed appreciation for his mimicry, and a wag in the back of the room spoke to the Canadian journalist, also out to hassle the guy, "You Canucks better start being more careful about all them foreign hosers getting visas to come to your snow pile, hey? There's probably more terrorists in Toronto than Baghdad, hey?"

  "Now, now," Peckham said, "let's not make light of our neighbors to the north."

  But he couldn't suppress a grin at that one; Mackenzie was a royal pain in the ass. "And to change the subject, all the misspent money on hurricane relief has been identified and the people responsible for this mismanagement face penalties for these oversights and mismanagement. I'm sorry, but I have no names to give you right at this time." He paused and surveyed the crowd. "Now I'm ready for more of your questions."

  A short, pudgy man quickly got to his feet, quickly identifying himself. "Dirk Wallenger, Global News Broadcasting."

  Peckham flinched inwardly in spite of the friendly smile he showed to Wallenger. "How are you, Dirk?"

  "Fine, thank you, Owen," Wallenger said. "I am wondering if you have any comment or news regarding the wounded Arab prisoner who was summarily executed by an American Special Forces group in western Afghanistan on the seventeenth of June."

  "I know nothing of the incident," Peckham stated, truly puzzled. "May I inquire as to your sources?"

  "I'm afraid not," Wallenger said. "But I can ensure you that they are impeccable and accurate."

  "I'll have to investigate the incident and get back to you on that," Peckham said. "But I can tell you now that the White House has not received word from the Pentagon about any prisoners being executed."

  "Maybe not," Wallenger said, "but would the people in the Department of Defense inform the President of such an incident?"

  "Of course they would," Peckham said.

  "Does that mean you deny it?"

  "Dirk, I can neither deny nor confirm it until inquiries have been made." He pointed to another journalist, knowing that the opening rounds in a new slant of the antiwar campaign had just been introduced.

  .

  OVAL OFFICE WHITE HOUSE

  1400 HOURS

  "I just wish I knew where that tubby little son of a bitch gets his news tips."

  The President's voice was edged in anger as he sat at his desk looking across at Owen Peckham, Arlene Entienne, and Colonel John Turnbull of SOLS.

  "If he's been given the correct location it has to come from somewhere within the Persian Empire caper," Arlene said.

  "That's what I was afraid of," the President said. "Evidently something critical has occurred in one of our most sensitive areas." He glanced at Turnbull. "Isn't that where we're having a standoff with an Iranian Special Forces team?"

  Turnbull nodded. "Yes, Mr. President. It's been dubbed Operation Battleline." He shifted in his chair. "Maybe this Wallenger punk is blowing smoke. The screeching leftists haven't had a chance to raise hell for a few months now."

  "He's a radical, alright," Peckham said, "but he would never make a statement at a White House press briefing unless he knew it to be true." He quickly added, "Or had some evidence that made it seem to be true."

  The President had to admit that Peckham was right. "I believe Carl Joplin and Edgar Watson are in the vicinity of Persian Empire, are they not?"

  "Yes, sir," Arlene said. "They're the other half of the Lamp Committee." She was referring to a small group including her, Colonel Turnbull, Joplin, and Watson, that had been set up to deal with the mysterious intelligence informant who had been code-named Aladdin. "We thought it best to have them handy in case this situation with Aladdin broke wide open."

  "It's hard to believe that such a thing could happen," Turnbull said. "I've become extremely familiar with that SEAL officer Brannigan over the past year. His men are considered wild and almost unpredictable, but I doubt if they would kill a wounded EPW in cold blood. If such a thing happened, they must have had a reason." He paused for a moment. "But it could have happened in the heat of battle or if something awry threw a desperate situation further out of kilter."

  "God!" the President said. "I hope not.

  But we have to make a thorough investigation of this thing. Arlene, send word to Carl and Edgar to look into this and get a report back to me ASAP."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  .

  GNB STUDIOS

  WASHINGTON, D. C.

  15 JULY 2258 HOURS

  THE broadcast area was quiet as Dirk Wallenger settled down at the desk on the set. His notes were arranged in front of him, and the teleprompter was keyed up and ready to go. He was eager for the night's program to begin, and everyone in the studio realized the importance of the news about to be broadcast. Even the network president, Don Allen, stood behind the cameras to witness the event. The credits began rolling at 11 P. M., announcing the Wallenger Report with Dirk Wallenger. At exactly the right moment the floor director looked at the commentator and counted, "Five, four, three, two, one, go!"

  "Go
od evening, ladies and gentlemen," Wallenger said the instant the red light glowed on the camera to his direct front. "This is Dirk Wallenger with breaking news from the war in the Middle East. And do not expect to see anything of this story for a few days on other broadcasts. This information came to me through my network of concerned informers. My expose of the incident will force the other TV news organizations to acknowledge it happened and they will have to report it to the public in spite of government censorship." He paused for effect. "I regret to say that there has been yet another heinous crime committed by members of the American armed forces in the Middle East. This sad event occurred in the west of Afghanistan, up in the Gharawdara Highlands, where a group of Special Forces Green Berets sneaked up on an international aid group from several Arab countries and attacked them. The result of this armed assault was the massacre of all with the exception of three who managed to surrender and save their lives despite the hail of gunfire directed at them.