by J Randall
“US Embassy, miss. I don’t believe they’re open this time of night.”
Tired after the fast pace of the last two days, she didn’t want to engage in tourist babble with the cabby. “Just get me to the embassy.”
The curtness of her voice was all the driver needed to hear. If he was to have any chance of getting a sweet tip he’d have to keep his mouth shut. Driving out of Heathrow Airport and heading for London, he did just that.
* * *
The cabby stopped the taxi in front of the US Embassy and switched off the meter. “Miss, we’re here.”
Standing on the curb as the cab rolled down the street, Gloria smiled at the driver’s surprise at receiving a five-pound tip.
She waited for ten minutes before a Jaguar with British diplomatic plates pulled over to the curb. The driver’s window rolled down and a male voice asked, “How much for an all nighter, miss?”
She sashayed around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Don’t be silly, Nigel, you can’t afford it. And, besides, it isn’t for sale—it has to be earned.”
She sat beside the driver and they exchanged knowing glances then both erupted in laughter. A second bout of laughter followed before Nigel Porter pulled away from the curb and headed toward Vauxhall Cross.
Gloria and Nigel walked through an airport type metal detector and were scanned by two guards with hand wands, who cleared them through the security areas and permitted them to be ushered to a conference room. Gloria made a mental note of the participants seated around the immense mahogany table whom she recognized.
Nigel’s manager, Farrelly, pointed to two chairs against the wall, indicating that they should be seated.
The Director of MI6, Sir Thomas Parks, sat at the head of the table.
To his right was Gloria’s boss, Walter Terrance, Director of the UN Security Council Investigative Agency, who raised his head when she came in and nodded at her.
The third man looked familiar and was later identified by Nigel as the London CIA station chief. And there were various straphangers who, unlike Gloria and Nigel, happened to get to the meeting early enough to find a front row seat.
Nigel had briefed Gloria a procedural update as they drove from the embassy to MI6 headquarters. They would be expected to give testimony on their contacts with the Israeli operatives and their analysis of the meetings. Gloria would convey the story she had already briefed to Walter Terrance before catching the flight to London.
Her visit to Edward Rogers, at Walter’s insistence, had been a brilliant idea, but it wouldn’t be briefed. Telling the UN Ambassador about the meeting with the Israeli and giving him the canister ensured total US support for any actions the UN initiated.
The narrative that Nigel would brief had previously been cleared by Sir Thomas Parks.
Their time came and they proceeded to recount their clandestine meetings.
Then they were shown to a windowless, soundproof waiting room where an armed guard secured the door. They weren’t disappointed in being shown the door, so to say, as they understood the ‘need to know’ philosophy inherent in their respective intelligence agencies.
* * *
The straphangers had all been dismissed by 2330 hours and three men remained in the room: the CIA station chief, Robert Irwin, and the directors of MI6 and the UN Security Council Investigative Agency.
“Walter, your young lady, Ms. Caruthers, is very impressive,” said Sir Thomas Parks. “Of course, we trained her, so we would not expect anything less.”
He twisted one end of his handlebar mustache between two fingers and added, “I suppose that the Israelis would not have contacted her if they did not hold her in high esteem.”
“Thank you, Director,” replied Walter Terrance. “She’s one of our most capable investigators and, I must add, she speaks Arabic and has extensive field experience…Your man Nigel seems capable.”
“Quite so, one of the new breed, but very capable.”
The Director aimed his bulldog jowled face, with its large, veined nose, to the CIA station chief. “What do you think? Can we depend on our cousins?”
“Absolutely, sir,” said Irwin. He was a fast mover in the intelligence community and, at thirty-eight, was one of the youngest station chiefs in the CIA. His suit was beyond his salary, but he came from a family of old money in Virginia.
“I’ve been directed by Langley to offer complete cooperation as long as we have mutual access to all intelligence gathered. I’ve been advised that the military will be at the disposal of any joint operation undertaken.”
“Of course,” said the Director. “As you and I appreciate, it must be under UN jurisdiction. Sad as it is, I must admit, your superiors and mine are too political to allow one of us to work subordinate to the other. But we do have a common goal.”
The Director glanced at the notes he had taken throughout the previous four hours. “Gentlemen, let’s review what we know.”
“If I may, sir?” asked Walter.
The Director nodded and Walter continued. “There have been numerous acts of terrorism—for lack of a better term—in various countries around the world. A significant number of these acts targeted military personnel and equipment. In incidents involving UN personnel no trace of either personnel or equipment could be found. Frankly, we’re at a loss.”
“Robert,” the Director requested from the station chief, “your comments please.”
Somewhat unsettled by the Director’s using his Christian name, Irwin peeked at his notes then began. “First, I would like to say that all available material pertaining to the loss of personnel and equipment was given to both the British and the United Nations.
“As you’re aware, Director, our best computers and analysts were unable to find a connection or surmise logic to the incidents. The CIA has delved deeply, as I’m sure the British have, and have come up empty.
“We activated two sleepers who have been undercover in the terrorist community for years. Again, nothing. The French offered Ilich Ramirez Sanchez—‘Carlos the Jackal’—a reduced sentence if he had information deemed helpful. Of course, he wouldn’t talk.
“Our efforts continue and as always we remain optimistic that we’ll find the organization responsible for these acts. However, with the loss of the Chinese nuke, it may be too late.”
“Thank you, Robert. The Firm has run into the same stone wall as our cousins. We too remain optimistic, but as you pointed out, it might come to naught if the nuke does its damage.
“A few points I feel are important. The loss of the nerve agent by the Israelis appears real. I don’t see this as a ploy to gain sympathy for the mess they have gotten into with the Palestinians. The nerve agent in the hands of a terrorist organization could do more damage than the missing nuke.
“Last, I feel it’s essential that we have a fresh set of ears on the ground in Iraq. Finding out what happened to the missing inspectors is imperative. In fact, I would suggest two sets of ears. Walter, is Ms. Caruthers up to it?”
“My thoughts exactly, Director.”
Irwin protested. “Sir, we already have very capable people on the ground in Iraq.”
“I’m sure you do. As I mentioned earlier, this must be a UN operation or the politicos will fight over territorial rights. If that happens, will we not all lose in the end?”
“Yes, sir, I see the point,” Irwin admitted reluctantly.
Sir Thomas keyed the intercom and received an immediate answer from the other end. He asked whether the two operatives were still in the building.
Having gotten the confirmation he expected, he directed that they be invited back to the conference room.
CHAPTER 17: AWAKENING
THE MEMORIES OF THE PAST FEW DAYS…or weeks…weren’t clear. They seemed a dream and Derrick Willy remembered pieces of the dream as one remembers waking in the middle of the night to relieve one’s bladder.
His earliest memory was of other men on cots next to his, but he had been unable to comprehend who the
y might be or why he or they were here.
The flickering glow of the oil lamp moved the shadows like an eclipse each time one of the two men tending them walked past it.
When one of the guardians would offer him water, he would drink. At first he was very weak and had trouble moving his head as he watched the guardians feeding and cleaning him and the other men.
Unaware of where he was, but feeling a deep hunger in his stomach, he whimpered when he saw the other men being fed.
“Are you hungry?” Aamir asked him in Arabic. “I’ll be there in a moment. You must wait your turn.”
The guardians had gotten accustomed to the childlike behavior of those in their care.
At first Derrick didn’t understand what the guardians were saying, but the sound of their voices was very soothing. As his understanding slowly returned, it blew away some of the fog that clouded his mind and he began to wait patiently for the food his weakened body so sorely needed.
After being fed a mixture of grain and milk and having his thirst quenched, Derrick would lie on the cot quietly observing the pictures in his mind as the neurons in his brain fired at an accelerating rate. The flood of memories and data into his consciousness overwhelmed him.
I’m Derrick Willy.
The realization of who he was and the significance of the incident at the weapons factory slowly surfaced. Then, when he looked at the other men lying on their cots, he recognized his colleagues and he saw someone whom he couldn’t remember ever having seen before.
He knew that there had been four missing inspectors and four men were on the cots next to him. But something was wrong.
As he studied each man and recalled his name, the name of Billy Dumont didn’t surface until he realized that Billy Dumont wasn’t here. The stranger wasn’t Billy Dumont. The stranger…?
The jelling of his memories caused him to wail and moan so loudly that he woke one of the guardians.
Aamir got up from his sleeping cot and tiptoed to where Derrick lay. “What is it, baby, do you have pain or did you have a bad dream?”
Derrick began to answer, “Where—” and just as suddenly stopped and angled his face away from the man standing by the cot. He had suddenly realized that he hadn’t heard an intelligible word from the men lying beside him and a sudden panic caused him to become quiet.
Hisham, the other guardian, became aware that his friend was up. “What is it?”
“He’s okay. He must have had a nightmare…See, he’s going back to sleep. And we should do the same. Night is the busiest time for us with all of the babies awake.”
Aamir returned to bed.
Hisham asked, “Will the Imam bring us more cloths when he goes to Baghdad?”
“I’m sure he will. He knows we don’t have enough water to wash the diapers and we can’t shave them more than once a week. I don’t believe he would allow us to leave the cave at night to bury the soiled wrappings if the smell didn’t offend him so badly.”
“It doesn’t offend me,” said Hisham.
Aamir thought for a moment. “Nor does it offend me, but we have devoted our lives to caring for children and now our babies are the infidels.”
Anyone seeing the two men would have thought they were brothers, but they were much closer. They were lovers.
Both were no larger than boys and the effeminate look of their shaven faces hid the strength in their arms—the strength they needed to move and turn the men under their care.
Their skin was dark, but not quite the ebony of some of the members of their tribe. They had the same coffee colored eyes and black hair, which they kept rolled under dirty turbans.
The main difference between them was their noses. Aamir had a narrow, skinny nose and Hisham’s was wide and flattened against his face.
Derrick had recognized the words as Arabic, but understood very little of the conversation. His initial panic was replaced with confusion then despair until sleep once again took over the healing process.
Derrick’s mind and body continued to mend as he lay quietly on his cot. He came to understand that he was under the care of the two men he had seen earlier.
The mystery of where he was and why they were caring for him and his colleagues was minor compared to the humiliation and outrage he felt. His first conscious experience of one of the men removing the cloth wrapped around his pelvis then washing the urine and feces from his body almost betrayed him.
As the damp cloth was wiped over his crotch and backside, he wrenched his head away and clamped his teeth on his tongue, drawing blood. His reason quelled the impulse to strike out and forced him to remain quiet.
The emotional turmoil he felt at seeing the other men reduced to the condition of babies brought tears to his eyes. Derrick knew that if he was going to survive and provide any help, he had to keep it to himself.
CHAPTER 18: NEWS FROM NEW YORK
THE KNOCK ON BILL’S DOOR grew louder and woke him from a deep sleep.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Mr. Holden, you got a call on the secure line. It’s from New York.”
Bill knew that ‘New York’ meant the UN. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
He placed both feet on the floor and stood up as the duty officer’s footsteps faded. He pulled on a pair of khaki trousers and a T-shirt and slipped on a pair of loafers, wondering who would be on the phone at 0400 in the morning.
“Bill Holden here,” he spoke into the phone then placed a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn.
“Bill, how are you? This is Walter Terrance.”
“Mr. Terrance, to what do I owe the pleasure of talking to you? It has to be late on your end and it sure is damn early here.”
“I have something that I felt was important enough to get you out of bed and keep me from mine.”
“I’m all ears. What do you have for me?”
“I’m sure you remember Edward Rogers—the US Ambassador to the UN. We sat in his office last week after he got you out of the clutches of the scientists in Atlanta…
“Well, Rogers received a canister from an unnamed source, which he took to the CDC for evaluation. It appears that you may have encountered the same agent that’s in this canister when you went on your nightly excursions.
“Rogers contacted the ambassadors from the countries that had experienced unexplainable losses and asked them to revisit those sites. Apparently they may have encountered traces of the agent, because their people seem to have experienced the same physical impairment that you did. It tells me that there’s a wider conspiracy than just the incidents with your inspectors.”
“That’s news!” Bill said. “I’m not sure that it’s welcome, but it does answer some of our questions.”
“How’s your hypothesis coming along?”
“Just fine, Mr. Terrance. I believe that the effort we’ve put into the last few days predicts what the CDC will determine in a year or two.”
“Bill, I have something else I think you should be aware of. The Investigative Agency has sent two operatives to Iraq on a covert mission.” He paused to nudge Bill to respond.
“…Are you going to tell me that they’re working as inspectors on one of my teams?” The level of Bill’s voice had risen slightly.
“No, Bill, certainly not. They’re currently in the desert—the Syrian Desert, to be specific. Their mission is to observe. We have some photos of activities that could be related to the missing inspectors, as well as to other incidents.”
“Could one of those photos show a transport entering a shelter or cave of some kind, Mr. Terrance?”
“Yes! In fact, that’s a region they’ll be watching. Are you aware of it?”
“I received a fax of the picture and the coordinates from Mr. Rogers. What’s the significance of it?”
“We’re not sure. I receive situation reports every twelve hours and will provide you updates as I receive them.”
“I appreciate that. Anything I can do for you? Or do you have anything e
lse for me?”
“No, Bill, I just wanted you to be aware of our efforts here in New York.”
“Thanks for the call, Mr. Terrance.”
Heading back to his room, Bill had a lot to chew on before he met with his team at 0900 hours.
* * *
Bill directed his gaze to the men in the room. “I received information this morning that gave me some ideas on a course of action. It appears that the Syrian Desert might hold the key to finding our missing inspectors and that’s where I plan on going.
“You’re not soldiers and I’m not your commander, so I won’t attempt to tell you what you should do. Most of you have families back home and that must be a consideration.
“What I propose is going into the Syrian Desert—not blindly or on a wild goose chase, but with a purpose. I’ve received a fax with a picture and coordinates to go along with it.”
He laid the photograph on the table in front of the men. “It may or may not be helpful. All of you are brave and capable men, but I won’t ask anyone to risk his life on a hunch. I’ll leave the motor pool at 0400 hours tomorrow.
“Mind you, I plan on being armed and ready for any trouble I might run into. I ask that each of you do what you feel is right for your family, as well as for yourself.”
Bill briefed the men on his plan and left the room.
* * *
As Bill strode into the motor pool the next morning, he saw four 4-wheel drive Land Rovers lined up and ready to roll. The men were standing around smoking and making small talk. When they noticed Bill approaching they became quiet and waited for him to speak.
Seeing that every man was present, he felt guilty about the speech he had made the night before. On the one hand, he felt as though he had suckered them, but, on the other hand, they knew he would do the same for them if they were one of the missing inspectors.
“Gentlemen, it’s my honor to have such a magnificent group of men as yourselves to accompany me on this outing.”
The men cheered Bill for the remark. Someone who hadn’t experienced the brotherhood that soldiers feel couldn’t have understood the relief they felt.