PointOfHonor

by Susan Glinert Stevens

  He disconnected from the Internet and shut the machine off. Turning to the waiting giant he said, “Now, what have you done in the past few hours?”

  Shu’s eyes brightened. “The car and body have been disposed of as you requested.” The car had been abandoned in one of Washington’s many ghettos. By morning, it would lucky to still have fenders. The corpse had been stripped of clothing. The hands and head were chopped off and fed into separate trash bins miles apart. The rest of the corpse, weighed down with several diving belts, was dropped unceremoniously into the Potomac River.

  “Good.”

  “I have arranged for additional lodging and transportation tonight,” he announced. “Come, we must leave now. I have kept you here for too long already.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are correct.” He turned back to the dead screen. “The machine?”

  “It will be taken care of,” promised Shu. He turned and snapped his fingers quickly. The keepers of the safe house scurried in like frightened children. Shu spoke quickly in their native dialect. His were short, sharp orders demanding instant obedience.

  The man and woman immediately began unscrewing the computer’s case. Within a few minutes, the hard disk would be removed and replaced with another. There would then be only games and the couple’s modest checking account. They usedQuicken to keep their affairs in order. The hard drive used byGoldenrod would be bubble wrapped and lowered into a false furnace duct.

  Goldenrodlooked at the scanner. “The papers must be burned and flushed. There must be no trace.”

  Shu nodded. This was a duty he left to no one else. He disappeared into the bathroom with his Bic lighter and made sure no trace of their mission remained.

  Goldenrodfound the remaining two men who had accompanied him on this mission. “You will drive to New York, enter the UN mission there, and leave the country. You must be very careful to obey all traffic laws, and not get caught. It would be best if you waited until Monday morning so that you can leave in heavy traffic. Until then, you will be invisible. You are not to go outside or appear next to the windows. Do not answer the telephone or make phone calls. You will be traveling on false papers. They are fine for a cursory examination, however any proscribed scrutiny could cause problems. We are at a sensitive point, and you must avoid problems.”

  Both men scrambled to their feet and bowed toGoldenrod . He simply acknowledged their obsequiousness with a curt nod and dismissed them. He walked back to where Shu waited with his coat in hand.Goldenrod turned to fit his arms into his topcoat. He took one last look at the safe house before darting into the crisp Washington night.

  A white Ford waited on the curb. It had been borrowed from another group of illegals—Chinese agents posing as American citizens. It was safer to use a car they totally controlled rather than risk using a credit card that could later be traced to the car—the fewer electronic signs left, the less chance of being tracked.

  Shu drove them south on the Memorial Parkway past the entrance to Arlington National Cemetery and across the bridge behind the Lincoln Memorial. They turned north and detoured around the Embassy. It was hard to miss the continuously flashing lights of the District squad cars or the constant throb of two helicopters crisscrossing the skies.

  By now, it had become a pure show. The FBI knew they would never catch their man with anything incriminating. Although, it never hurt to make their night as sleepless as possible either.

  Shu delivered them to the Days Inn, Uptown. Just beyond the parking lot the Burger King sign had turned off. The car rolled up under the teal green canopy that proudly announced the hotel’s name. Shu left the motor running and emerged from behind the car carrying two suitcases. They were empty suitcases, but only Shu knew that. To the hotel staff, it was two weary Oriental travelers running late. The tall one was kind of ugly—he reminded the girl behind the counter of Lurch on theAdamm’s Family .

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Al Jabar Air Base, Kuwait

  Sunday, November 16, 1997

  6:00 P.M. (+3.00 GMT)

  The hugeGalaxy C-5B dropped from the sky towards the ten-thousand-foot runway. A pair of F-15Eagles flew by the transport having ferried it across the dangerous Iraqi airspace. TheEagles circled Kuwait City and headed north back towards Incirlik, Turkey. Incirlik was the massive NATO airbase home to British, French, and American aircraft responsible for the enforcement of the northern Iraqi no-fly zone. TheEagles waggled their wings before kicking in the afterburners and disappearing across the desert.

  TheEagles ensured theGalaxy arrived in Kuwait unmolested by the errant MiG Fighter, or the attack radar of a SAM-6, orRoland antiaircraft battery. The ladenGalaxy was no match for either threat, but theEagles changed the equation. The Air Force had always claimed the F-15 was the dominant air superiority fighter.Desert Storm removed all doubt. Those Iraqi pilots who had attempted to challenge theEagles during the war either bailed out (if they were lucky) or became intermixed with the debris that had once been their aircraft. The domination of the aerial battlefield enabled the BritishTornado , the carrier basedIntruders andHornets, andBig Ugly Fat Fellows to deliver the bombing campaign’s massive ordinance load.

  Jonas Benjamin watched theEagles vanish over the horizon and felt, rather than heard, the sonic boompop as they left. Al Jabar Air Base was the home of the 8thAir Expeditionary Fighter Squadron consisting of six F-117Nighthawk stealth fighters. TheNighthawks flew through the dizzying flak storm surrounding Baghdad during the opening Gulf War salvos.

  TheGalaxy rolled off the main runway and towards a far hanger. A platoon of Marines already surrounded the hanger, and two Bradley Fighting Vehicles held vigil as the huge plane rolled towards its final stop. Jonas tapped his driver’s shoulder and pointed towards the hanger. Night was coming and he had a briefing to give before Harper hopped off into the growing darkness. Fleetingly, Jonas wondered if war was somewhere over the horizon as well. They should have killed Saddam when they had the chance.

  The HMMWV rolled passed the Bradleys and inside the hanger. Jonas figured they had two hours before Harper’s vehicles and gear were ready. TheApache Gunships would take an Army crew the better part of a night to get ready. They were for the extraction phase of the operation. Jim Harper could probably penetrate the Data Center without detection, but getting out in one piece might require a little more firepower than they could haul in on their backs.

  Jonas stepped out of the HMMWV and towards the satellite communication center. He settled down in one of the chairs between technicians and brought up Louis Edwards’ profile. Two mouse clicks later, a real time connection was created between Kuwait City and an office inside the Central Intelligence Agency’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

  Louis Edwards’ visage swam into focus on the monitor. An automatic encryption cipher became active. “Jonas, a busy day I see from the reports sitting on my desk.”

  Jonas nodded his head. “Yes, sir. Harper’s team just arrived. I’d guess jump off will be in about two hours.”

  Louis glanced at something off screen and nodded. “All right. Give him my best, and all that.”

  “I will.”

  “Anything new on the barrels?”

  “Nothing new since this afternoon and my findings on the Fao Peninsula. I think we have to assume everything is gone by now.” The trip to the Fao Peninsula after his talk with Barnes had turned up little more than a scuttled boat, a pair of bullet-ridden bodies, and a deflated life raft. The barrels were gone. The Iraqis had beaten them to the prize. After three hours of walking around a beach surrounded by a platoon of very twitchy Marines, Jonas decided there was nothing there to pursue and left.

  “Yes, I’m afraid you’re right. Let’s hope Jim can get us the information on where it went.” Louis paused. “One last thing, make sure Stillwell’s body armor fits. He’s an irritating fellow, but basically, I think he’s on the money about what might be going down.”

  “You mean the China angle?”

  “Yes. I
’d rather have him back than dead.”

  Jonas made a note to mention the concern to Harper. “I’ll give you a call after mission jump off.”

  “Very good.” The image went black.

  Jonas rubbed his eyes. Except for some bad sleep on a supersonic flight from Washington, he had been working on this problem since midnight on Friday. He turned to the Air Force Staff Sergeant managing the center, “Which way to the conference room?”

  “Through those doors,” he said, pointing.

  Jonas followed the extended finger. “Sweep it one more time. Our guests are here.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Sergeant Ralph Hanson. He snapped his fingers to two men examining one of the monitors. He gave quick instructions and turned back to his charge. Jonas Benjamin was already walking towards theGalaxy .

  Jim Harper bounded down the ramp. A less exuberant group followed him with less energy. Harper came to a halt several feet from the ramp and looked about the sky. He seemed to be taking in the desert, the feel of the air against his skin and the smell of the earth. The trademark Mossberg shotgun was slung over his shoulder and the customary baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

  Harper started a slow walk towards the hanger. The sun was fading fast now. Night was coming and the day’s heat dissipated quickly. A nervous energy gripped him. The excitement of the chase was beginning to consume his conscious mind. The very qualities that gave so many handlers difficulties in managing Harper made him the consummate operative for covert ops. He was sniffing the air like a springer spaniel—ready to run, ready to fight. Harper turned suddenly to see Jonas slowly walking towards him from the hanger.

  A puzzled look transformed to one of recognition and then a grin emerged. Harper broke into a run towards Benjamin. “Jonas! You running this op?” They slapped each other on the hand.

  Benjamin smiled. “Yeah, me and little help from my friends here. Welcome to Al Jabar.”

  Harper looked around him again. “Yes, Al Jabar. It has been a while since I was last here.” He laughed, “They’ve fixed the place up some since then.” Saddam started oil fires as a scorched earth policy that had poured thick plumes into the sky. The shattered remains of Saddam’s mostly Soviet and somewhat West European military machine had been dragged away for target practice. The horrors of war and the torture inflicted during Iraq’s invasion were cleaned up but not forgotten.

  “I see you’ve brought your toys.” Jonas nodded to the shotgun.

  “Yes. I made a couple of promises. You’re here to make sure I keep them.”

  Jonas nodded and hoped theApache Gunships did not break down under the harsh desert conditions. He clapped Harper on the back as they headed towards the lighted interior of the hanger. “I managed to get you some additional help.”

  “Really?”

  “I talked with the Admiral running theGeorge Washington task force. The long and short of it is that I have a couple of Marine companies for a week. They’re going to list it on the books as desert training.”

  “It could get to be little more than that,” cautioned Jim.

  “Yes, I know that. The Marines know they are going into a hot zone situation. Full gear, full rations and I can have twoEagles over you within half an hour, tops.” Jonas tensed. “This is for your ears only, Jim.”

  Harper hardly missed a beat as they stepped into the hanger. “You think we’ve got the same problems as before.”

  Jonas shook his head. “Something—I don’t know—I just can’t put my finger on it.” But he could. The image of Arthur sitting so prim in his chair during the Pentagon briefing yesterday continued to haunt him—a man who seemed to have all the answers, but none of the risk.

  “What’s the story on Stillwell?” Harper shifted gears suddenly.

  They stepped through the monitors, receiver stations, and JSTARS and AWACS computer links into the conference room. Jonas kicked the door shut and settled into a chair. “When we saw the reconnaissance photos on Saturday morning, the National Security Advisor executed a preplanned response to the crisis. They had an entire script ready to go. Kind of like a checklist of things you do before leaving on vacation.”

  “Espionage in a box?” quipped Harper.

  Jonas shrugged. “Your name popped out and Stillwell’s came up as the weapon expert. The others are a security team, so you can work.”

  “They don’t seem to like that idea very much.”

  Jonas perked up slightly. “Really?”

  “Not terribly happy about some old guy who’s been retired coming in to steal the show.”

  Jonas waved it off. “They’ve got their orders. They make sure you have the time to do what you need to do.”

  “Four men? Somehow, I think you’ve underestimated the Iraqi sensitivity towards their data. If this is truly the same nerve center it was before, we’re going to have company.”

  “Yes. That’s why you have Stillwell. If you can’t effect a rip-off of their database, then he needs time to look at the data and assess where it is most likely they are producing the junk.”

  Harper shook his head, not believing his ears. “Jonas, if I don’t have time to rip off the database, I doubt I’ll have time to take Stillwell on a guided tour. Don’t you guys remember the last time we went in there? The Iraqis got very upset, and they have guns. Big, black, loud guns, and they like to shoot them.”

  “That’s the mission brief,” explained Jonas.

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. Look, the best we can do is rip off the database and bring it home with us. Hopefully with ten fingers and toes.”

  Jonas did not want to argue the point. Those were the mission orders from the White House. Indeed, the problem could stem from the White House’s attempt to control intelligence operations. He had already stretched the mission parameters by getting the two Marine companies. The sense that something was terribly wrong flitted through Jonas’s thoughts again. He dismissed it.

  He pushed a black metal box across the briefing table to Harper. “Those are your ‘call home to mama’ signals.”

  Harper opened the box. Inside were two cylinders about the size of cigarettes. A chain was threaded through the rings on each of them. “They will send a continuous signal to one of the satellites we have permanently placed over the region. The green one is for normal pickup. The red one means you need the cavalrynow .”

  Harper slipped the chain over his head and around his neck. The signal devices slipped beneath his shirt and behind his body armor. “The cavalry includes the Marines, at least two—maybe four—F-15 or F-16 fighters, and theApache Gunships. Everything and everyone I can throw at your position. The fighters will probably get there first. Once you’re on your way into Indian country the Marines and the Gunships will be moved into Iraq as well.”

  Harper nodded. “I notice you haven’t brought the rest of my team into this briefing.”

  Jonas pursed his lips. “You can tell your team whatever you wish to tell them. They don’t have a need to know. The only one who knows about the submarine and the intended target site is Stillwell. The others—like I said, they are along to make sure you have time to do whatever you believe you need to do to satisfy the mission parameters. Nothing more.”

  “Then they don’t know about the signaling devices, the Marines, the aircraft, the databases, or much of anything else?”

  Jonas shook his head. “They know about nothing. Jim, the less they know, the better. They’ve got a job. If it comes to it, they’ll kill Iraqi soldiers. You’ve got to have enough time to finish your job. Stillwell can look over your shoulder if need be. He knows what the data looks like. He probably can tell you about the major players inside Saddam’s chemical warfare apparatus better than we can. He really knows his stuff. If you run into something that doesn’t make sense, ask him. He’s the absolute best when it comes to figuring out the data.”

  Jonas pulled out a remote control and pointed it towards the television propped on the end of the table. “I have re
connaissance photography of the Data Center site.” The television snapped on revealing an infrared depiction of the rugged hills surrounding the underground bunker. Five white circles appeared on the screen and Jonas hit the FREEZE FRAME button. “These are air shafts leading down into the facility. We count five from the air, but I suspect there are probably more. The sixth spot in bright red appears to be the heat exchanger. They have to keep those machines cool, that creates a heat bloom.”

  “How wide are the shafts?”

  Jonas pressed PLAY. “Big enough for a man.” Harper had transformed again. He was staring at the screen drinking in the details. The mind was churning with possibilities—formulating, rejecting, then reformulating plans.

  The video shifted around to a sideways view showing the quarry and the harsh metal door framed by hewn bedrock. The Navy could send air strike after air strike and no bomb damage assessment officer would ever be able to identify whether the target had been destroyed. It was literally built into the side of a mountain.

  “As you can see, there are no overt security features. The Iraqis are relying on stealth to hide their treasures. We guess their best response time is fifteen minutes. That’s with two four-man fire teams. Another five minutes and they can have three companies of Republic Guard. The problem for them is ingress and egress. There is one door in and one door out.” Getting in and out was the same problem Harper and his team faced. His mind wandered back to the airshafts.

  The infrared picture faded, showing a normal terrain shot from the air. It looked like nothing but rock and sand. “Unless they are already camped out inside.”

  “No. Any sizable security attachment needs to have more air ducts. They would have a supply problem. None of which exists here. We estimate ten people inside. The bulk of them have to be technicians.”

  “A self-contained facility?”

  “Completely. They repaired the holes you left and pulled the desert inside with them.”

  “We go in tomorrow night.”