Frontal Assault sts-10

by Keith Douglass

  Two uniformed men without arms met him just outside the big doors. He was expertly frisked and then led inside. Two armed men stared hard at him, motioned him forward. One walked in front of him and one in back. They went into the basement instead of upstairs, where Murdock guessed they would go. They went down two floors into a safe room through a heavy steel door. It clanged shut once he was inside, sounding like a bank vault closing. The large office looked like a living room with upholstered chairs, a coffee table, a sofa, a large-screen TV, bookcases, and several oil paintings.

  “Well, Commander Murdock. A SEAL. I have great respect for you men and what you do. I took part of the training, but it was too rugged for me. What class were you in?”

  “It was one-eighty-two, General Nassar. You seem to know a lot about the SEALs.”

  “I was in the States on a training/exchange program. At one time we thought here we might have such a unit. But it wasn’t practical, so I recommended that we not form one.”

  “Yes sir, General, I understand. Now, how can we end this stalemate?”

  “I would prefer to leave the country under your safeguard.”

  “How would we do that, General?”

  “A car to the airport. My family is already there. I will use the royal jet, a Gulfstream. We would be granted safe passage to the airport and then on to Libya, which has granted me sanctuary.”

  “In exchange for this safe passage?”

  “I will surrender the remainder of my forces. Most of the troops deserted when they heard about the invasion.”

  “Do you have any other conditions, General Nassar?”

  “Only that I be allowed to take personal luggage and certain assets with me.”

  “What assets?”

  “That would not be revealed.”

  “Not acceptable, General. Those assets would be gold or funds or diamonds that must rightfully belong to the Bahrainian people. We could not agree to that. Your luggage will be searched at the airport.”

  The general sank lower in his leather executive chair.

  “Very well. Get confirmation from your forces.”

  “I’ll need the phone you used to talk to Captain Browser.”

  The general pointed to the phone on his desk.

  A moment later, Murdock spoke to Captain Browser. He told him the conditions the general had set down.

  “Sounds like a winner. Let me check by radio with Colonel Albers with the B troops. It’s his baby, and I’ve been keeping him up to date as we go along. He has to agree to the final conditions the general makes.

  Murdock held on the phone. Two minutes later, the captain came back on the line.

  “It’s a go, Commander. The sooner the better. Tell the general that he should proceed now to the front of the building, where we will have a car to take him to the airport. He should first order all of his troops out of the building without any arms and put them in military formation in front of the flagpole. Then he comes out.

  The general waved at Murdock. “One more condition. I must talk to the captain.”

  Murdock gave the general the phone, wondering what else the crafty Arab had in mind.

  “Captain, you must have a superior here. Tell him there is one more condition. To insure that my plane is not shot out of the sky once we take off, I insist that Commander Murdock be my guest on the flight to Libya. That’s not a condition I will negotiate. It’s the SEAL with me in the airplane with my family and me, or it’s no deal, and we go back to square one.”

  18

  Manama City Airport

  Bahrain

  Murdock and two others inspected the luggage of the twelve family members. They found only reasonable family jewelry, three cameras, a video camera, and assorted goods. No stolen millions from the monarchy. Murdock figured that had already been wired to a Swiss bank.

  It had taken an hour to get Colonel Albert’s approval for Murdock to go along as the “guest” of the general. With a U.S. Navy SEAL on board the business jet, it was certain it wouldn’t be shot down. The colonel had asked Murdock if he would go. He said to end the standoff and the bloodshed, he would.

  “Hey, I’ve never been in Libya,” he told DeWitt.

  The twelve family members boarded the plane, then Murdock went up the fold-in steps, and the plane rolled to the takeoff point.

  The general came around and offered Murdock a drink. He settled for a beer. It was warm and tasted awful.

  “What will you do now, General?” Murdock asked.

  “Now, my young friend, I am retired. I do not need to work to make a living. Eventually, I hope to come to the United States. Life is so much more civilized there. That may take some doing, but it is my hope.”

  “One more question, General Nassar. Americans are not welcome in Libya. How will I get back to the Middle East?”

  “I have arranged that. You will be traveling as my aide without a passport, and you will be given diplomatic immunity to return to Cairo and from there back to Saudi Arabia and on to your huge aircraft carrier.”

  “How can I be sure of that?”

  “I made two phone calls before we left. I talked to a high government official, and he guaranteed to me that it will be so. He knows that you are an American. He knows that you will be coming as my diplomatic guest. We will put you in some better clothes so you don’t look like a terrorist. I think some of my brother-in-law’s clothes will fit you.”

  They flew over the water to Iraq, then across it to Amman, Jordan, where they refueled and then angled across the Mediterranean Sea to Libya and soon into Bengasi, the capital. Murdock wore the civilian clothes and felt like a geek.

  “The pants are too big and the jacket is too tight,” Murdock said to the general.

  He shrugged. “It’s a costume for you. You need it. These people are not as polite as they could be. They may give me a hard time and most certainly will challenge you. It might take me two or three hours to get to the man in the government I called. He probably has forgotten to talk to his police here at the International Airport. Trust me. It won’t take long.”

  Two police cars waited when the steps came down on the Gulfstream. It wasn’t an honor guard.

  An officer met General Nassar, who had also changed into civilian clothes. They talked for five minutes. All the time, Nassar was getting more and more agitated. At last he shouted something and started back up the steps.

  Two policemen pulled him back down and walked him to a car. Then the officer came into the plane and shouted at the others and motioned them outside.

  Murdock didn’t have the slightest idea what the man said. He went out with the others but was at once picked out as not being a member of the family and taken to one side.

  “You are American,” the officer said in accented English.

  “Guest of Mr. Nassar,” Murdock said.

  “Your passport and papers.”

  “I have none, they were lost in Bahrain. I’m the guest of General Nassar.”

  “You are CIA spy. We have watched for you. Clever. You will come with me.”

  “I’m not a spy. The general made me a hostage so his plane would not be shot down by the Americans who liberated Bahrain from the general.”

  The captain of the guards laughed. “Amusing fellow. We’ll see how amusing you will find your new accommodations.”

  “Ask the general. He’ll vouch for me. He must be Libya’s friend. You let him land here.”

  “Of course. We wanted the plane. It is confiscated. Now belongs to Libya’s Socialist People’s Army.”

  Murdock tried to relax. He should have expected this. He went with the captain to the same car where they had taken Nassar. He was propelled into the backseat, where Nassar sat scowling.

  “It’s all a mistake. As soon as I can get to talk to General Buruk, we will straighten it out. This officer thinks he’s a big man. He will take credit for capturing my plane. It’s his now, he says. He said no one told him we were coming.”

  “B
ut they let you land.”

  “The tower must have known. In Libya, the chain of command is not as good as it could be.”

  The captain of guards leaped in the front seat of the car, and it drove rapidly off the tarmac and out of the airport.

  Ten minutes later, Murdock was pulled away from Nassar and pushed into a cell in the basement of what Nassar had called a branch police station.

  Murdock looked around. No way out. The cell was six by eight and had no bunk, no blankets, not even a chair. In one corner of the room sat a five-gallon bucket that had recently been used as a urinal.

  He found a dry spot along the far wall and sat down against it. Two or three hours to straighten it out. Murdock wondered.

  Two days later, he still sat in the cell. Night and morning he did exercises. He had been fed twice. The food was strange but adequate. At least he was alone in the cell. He heard other inmates jabbering away in Arabic. He swore again that he would learn something of the language of the land he had to work in. Next time.

  Near the end of the second day, a jailer came and unlocked his cell, said something to him, and pushed him along a corridor. They went up the steps to the first floor, and he was pushed into a room that had two chairs and a table.

  A well-dressed man sat in one of the chairs. He said something in Arabic, then changed to English.

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Murdock, our guest from Bahrain. At first we thought you were a CIA spy. Now we know that you are not. You are simply a common criminal. You will be deported today as an undesirable alien. A friend has purchased a ticket for you to Cairo. You will be on the ten-oh-five flight. Is that satisfactory to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are one of the fortunate ones. I have never known the military police to release anyone put in this jail in less than three months. Indeed, a fortunate one. I will be your guard until you are on the plane. You’ll wear wrist and ankle shackles. No option.”

  A man came in the room and fastened the iron and chain shackles on his ankles and wrists. Then the man in the neat suit led him out the front door to a police car that took them both to the airport.

  “A common criminal?” Murdock said. “What have been my crimes?”

  “The report I saw shows you as a thief, a robber, a molester of children, and a radical against the state. It is enough. No more talk, or I might change my mind, shoot you, dump you out of the car, and cash in your airplane ticket. Quiet.”

  Murdock never said another word until they were at the airport gate. The policeman talked in Arabic to the check-in clerk, pushed a ticket in his hands, and marched him to a loading door that had not opened yet. The man shouted, and someone quickly swung out the door.

  Down a long corridor, then into an airplane. He was relieved to see that it was a large jet with seats six across. The attendant looked at his ticket, said something to the policeman, who shook his head vigorously.

  “Egypt has agreed that you may stop over there in the plane, but you must not leave, and you must keep your irons on. Understood?”

  Murdock nodded.

  His seat was the last one in the cabin. He figured there would be no one around him.

  When the regular passengers boarded a half hour later, the plane was only half full, and no one sat within five rows of him.

  Murdock slept. No one brought him any food. When he awoke from time to time, he realized no one was served anything. Economy flight, Libya style.

  When they landed at the Cairo Airport, an Egyptian policeman came on the plane before anyone left, was pointed to Murdock, and sat in the seat across the aisle from him.

  Murdock didn’t try to talk with him. Was it still Arabic? He didn’t remember. The passengers deplaned, some new ones came on, and just before the plane took off, another man came in, talked to the attendant a moment, then hurried back to where Murdock sat.

  “Commander Blake Murdock, U.S. Navy,” the man said, grinning so wide Murdock was afraid his eyes would close.

  The sudden English surprised him. “Yeah. Yes sir. Something went wrong in Libya.”

  The man laughed and strapped himself into the seat. The policeman hurried up the aisle and evidently went off the plane.

  “We’ve been hunting you for three days over four continents. Where the hell you been?”

  Murdock told him. He motioned to his chains. “Can I get these off?”

  “Commander, you outrank me. I’m only a lowly captain in the army. Military liaison at the embassy in Cairo. I just happen to have a key. The Libyan police do this quite often.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Next stop, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. No more police. I’d say you’ll have a debriefing by our embassy people there. They like to keep up to date on Colonel Mu’ammar al-Qaddafi’s jail cells. I bet you can tell them something along those lines.”

  The shackles came off, and the captain pushed them under the seat. “Oh, I’m Captain Thomas Utts, sir.”

  Murdock held out his hand. “You know what happened in Bahrain?”

  “Yes. Once you got General Nassar out of the picture, the prime minister, who had been in Qatar, returned to the country and was named the new head of the government until a successor to the king can be determined. Our Marines and your SEALs went back to the amphibious ship in the gulf, and the prime minister thanked the U.S. for liberating his country and with such a small loss of life and almost no property destroyed. That could be a record for a U.S. Marine invasion.”

  “What about the SEALs?”

  “My guess is that they are back on the Enterprise by now. Oh, one more message. The doctor on the carrier reports that the reattaching operation on your man Adams went well, and they are waiting to see if all of their handiwork is a success.”

  “Anything on Holt?”

  “Your radioman. Yes, the same doctor told me by phone early this morning that Holt’s blindness was temporary. He has back almost fifty percent of his sight, and the percentage of recovery is increasing every day. He said something I didn’t understand about shock more than damage, and some of it may have been psychological. Holt told the doctor he saw Adams’s severed arm lying on his stomach. That was the last thing he remembered seeing.”

  Murdock felt his stomach rumble. “Hey, they serve dinner on this flight? They have any food on board at all?”

  “This is a Libyan airliner, remember that.” He chuckled. I’ll go see what kind of clout I have with the attendants.”

  Ten minutes later he came back with a covered tray. On it were two hot meals, a lunch sandwich, and two cups of coffee.

  “For you,” Captain Utts said. He sat down and watched Murdock eat.

  “I’ve heard the chow isn’t exactly officer’s mess quality in Qaddafi’s jails.”

  Murdock mumbled and took another bite of the pepper steak. He was sure that he had never before eaten such marvelous-tasting food.

  As soon as they landed at Riyadh, Captain Utts hurried Murdock out of the airport to a waiting embassy limo that drove quickly to the Air Force base nearby. There Murdock was provided with a set of cammies and boots that almost fit him. Then the car drove him to the embassy.

  On the second floor, three men sat waiting for him. None wore a uniform. Their questions were simple and followed a pattern that Murdock quickly sensed. Had he been mistreated? Was he given adequate food? Was he in an unheated small cell with no furniture or sanitary facilities? Had his release come about due to help from General Nassar? Had he been forced to wear wrist and leg irons during his time at the airport in Bengasi and on the plane?

  His answers were quick, pointed, and soon they both realized that he had nothing of value for them. They thanked him and called in captain Utts, who took him back to the Air Force base where a COD waited for him with its engines warmed up.

  Four hundred eighty miles later, the COD landed on the deck of the Enterprise, and Murdock let out a long-pent-up breath. Home again… well, for a time.

  Ed Dewitt and Senior Chief Dobler were on th
e flight deck to welcome him.

  They shook hands, and Ed grinned. “Damn, good to get you back here, Skipper. This bunch of wild men have been driving me crazy.”

  “Ed, Ed, Ed. I’ve told you before about this. It’s a matter of command presence. You must make the men understand that you’re in command at all times, and they must want to follow you. Of course, the easy way is to dump all the tough stuff off on the senior chief.”

  He shook hands with the man. “Dobler, good to see you again. Thanks for keeping the JG in line.”

  They grabbed a white shirt and were led off the flight deck without getting anyone killed.

  “Is the dirty mess still open? I’m starved. I could go for about three sliders right now with all the trimmings.”

  “Sliders?” Ed asked. “Skip, you have been away too long. How about a nice, thick T-bone steak?”

  “Nope, sliders. That was all I could think of in the damn Libyan jail. Sliders it’s gonna be.”

  Three sliders it was.

  19

  Hussein’s Palace #23

  Near Baghdad, Iraq

  Saddam Hussein paced the twelve-by-fourteen-foot room. This one was on the sixth subbasement floor of the concrete-and-steel bunker built far belowground to prevent entry by any of the American smart penetrator bombs. He had seen the result of them daggering through three floors of concrete and steel before they exploded, but never six.

  He no longer worried about his personal safety. He was angry, nearly furious with the state of his campaign to take over the Persian Gulf. He stared hard at his top adviser and friend of twenty years.

  “Jarash, my right hand. Where have we gone wrong? What is there left for us to do to throw off this yoke of the U.N. restraints once and for all and be a free nation again?”

  Colonel Jarash Hamdoon rubbed his face and took a long breath. “I don’t know what to say. Your plans were good. Our best military and governmental minds put together the master plan that would bring all of the gulf states under our control.