Hunter Killer (2005)

by Robinson Patrick

  Rashood’s journey from Damascus in August had been careful. But not careful enough. This time the journey was indeed untraceable. “It would be nice if we could avoid running into a couple of assassins trying to blow our heads off,” said Michel Jobert. “Especially since Jacques Gamoudi is not due here until next week.”

  Rashood grinned. “He was very efficient that night, hah?” he said. “I think that character might have hit us, but for the table Jacques threw forward.”

  “Think? He would have hit us,” said the General. “I never even saw them. And, Mon Dieu! Was Jacques ever handy with that damn great knife he carries.”

  “Saved us,” said Rashood. “I’m glad he’s on our side.”

  General Jobert, despite being the Special Forces mastermind behind the plan to topple the Saudi monarchy, could never accompany his men on the mission. Should he be captured or even killed, France’s complicity in the operation would be blown forever.

  As for the French troops who would take part, well, the First Marine Parachute Infantry Regiment would send them in without identification. They would conduct the operation within hours of arriving on Saudi soil and then leave immediately. Unlike Ravi Rashood, who would have to do rather more to earn his millions-of-dollars reward.

  The following morning General Rashood and his eleven-man team from the desert gathered for a briefing before they met their forty-eight French comrades who would join them on the mission. They had breakfast together in a mess hall, and then reported to an underground ops room in which were arranged a number of chairs. At the front of the room were two tables, behind which were two large computer screens.

  One showed the south shores of the Red Sea, with the old French colony of Djibouti to the west, and to the east, the mysterious desert kingdom of Yemen, the earliest known civilization in southern Arabia, a place that was active along the trade routes a thousand years before Christ. The other showed a much smaller-scale map of the Yemen border with Saudi Arabia, stretching along the eastern coastline of the Red Sea.

  When the team was assembled, Generals Rashood and Jobert came in, accompanied by three French Special Forces commanders, all Majors in their early thirties: Etienne Marot, Paul Spanier, and Henri Gilbert. Today everyone, including the new arrivals from Arabia, was in work uniform: boots, combat trousers, khaki shirts, and wool sweaters, with black berets.

  The eight Hamas/al-Qaeda men were seated in one row, three back, and while each of them had a smattering of French, directly behind them were two Arabic-speaking ex–Foreign Legion troops, who would act as interpreters.

  The heavy wooden doors were closed behind them and two guards were on duty outside in the well-lit passage. Two more stood guard at the head of the short flight of stairs that led up to the corridor beyond the officers’ mess.

  General Jobert began the briefing, informing those assembled that this was not nearly so dangerous an operation as it may appear. Certainly they would need to be at their absolute best in combat, but by the time they launched their assault, Saudi Arabia would be in chaos—the lifeblood of the oil wells would have ceased to flow, the King would be under enormous pressure to abdicate, and the entire Saudi military would be in a state of mass confusion, unsure who they were working for.

  Nonetheless, this was a room full of tension, as many young men prepared themselves to fight hundreds of miles from home, in a small group, in territory they had not seen before.

  “I am sure,” said General Jobert reassuringly, “the Saudis will be wondering who they are expected to fight for—the old regime, or the incoming one. And according to our principal source, the man who will become the new King of Saudi Arabia, the Army in Khamis Mushayt will be happy to surrender. No Arab soldier much enjoys being on the wrong side. That’s a Middle Eastern characteristic.”

  He told them that in the broadest possible terms they were expected to attack and destroy the Arabian fighter-bombers parked at the King Khalid Air Base, five miles to the east of Khamis Mushayt. “A separate force is then expected to occupy the headquarters of the Army base and demand the surrender,” he said. “This will almost certainly mean taking out the guard room, and possibly the senior commanding officers. General Rashood will personally lead this section of the operation.”

  The General then handed over to the most senior of the ex-Saudi officers—Col. Sa’ad Kabeer, a devout Muslim, descendant of ancient tribal chiefs from the north, and an implacable enemy of the Saudi royal family. Colonel Kabeer had commanded a tank battalion in Saudi Arabia’s Eighth Armored Brigade in Khamis Mushayt. He would lead the opening diversionary assault on the air base.

  Colonel Kabeer rose to his feet and nodded a greeting to the men before him. And then he told them, encouragingly, “The Saudi army has always suffered from a great shortage of man power. Thus there is always weakness. In addition, the head of the armed forces is a Prince of the royal family, as are numerous C-in-Cs and battalion commanders.

  “We should remember that at the time of our opening assaults, every one of them will be terrified that their enormous stipends from the King are about to end. It would not greatly surprise me if several of them fled the country before we fired our opening shots. I am in complete agreement with Prince Nasir, the Crown Prince, that the Saudi Army will cave in the moment we attack. So we should conduct our operation with maximum confidence, knowing that right is on our side, and so is the incoming ruling government.

  “I should like to begin by outlining the precise location and state of readiness of our target…” The Colonel stepped back and pointed to a spot on the second computer screen. “This is Khamis Mushayt. It is located in the mountainous southwest of the country, in the Azir region. This, by the way, was an independent kingdom until 1922, when Abdul Aziz captured it. The entire area still has very close ties to Yemen, from where we launch our assault.

  “There is huge hostility to the Saudi King down here, because they believe he has abandoned his Bedouin roots and sold out to the West. In the totally unlikely event of failure, there will be no hostility to us locally, I am certain of that.

  “Khamis Mushayt, right here, is a thriving market town with with a modern souk. There’s a population of around thirty-five thousand and the town is situated twenty-two hundred meters above sea level. Except for March and August, when it rains like hell, it has a moderate climate, and there is a lot of agriculture and vegetation, should we need to hide.

  “The Saudi Army’s Field Artillery and Infantry Schools are both located at Khamis Mushayt. And it’s also the headquarters of the Army’s Southern Command. There are three brigades deployed here in the south to protect the region from any invasion from Yemen. The Saudis have, rightly, never trusted them. There’s the Fourth Armored Brigade at Jirzan, on the west coast, the Tenth Mechanized Brigade at Najran, in the mountains, and the Eleventh at Sharujah to the east…right here on the edge of the Rub al-Khali—that, as you know, is the empty quarter.

  “Now, you should all take a note of the GPS numbers for the King Khalid Air Base, in case anyone gets lost. It’s precisely 18.18N 29.00°, and 042.48E 20.01°. The base controls all military air traffic in the area. There is, by the way, no commercial traffic. That all goes to Abha, twenty-five miles west.

  “At King Khalid we’re looking at two flying wings. One with McDonnell Douglas F-15s, the other with squadrons of British Tornado fighter bombers. In addition, there are elements of the Fourth (Southern) Air Defense Group to provide protection from air attack on the airfield. We probably should knock that out very quickly.”

  General Rashood, who would assume overall command of the three attacks, then stood up to discuss deployment. “As you can see,” he began, “we have a sixty-strong squadron. Six of these will command a small headquarters, central to our communications with each other, and with Colonel Jacques Gamoudi in Riyadh, if necessary. There will be no direct communications with France under any circumstances whatsoever.

  “The remainder of you will be split into three teams, each
of eighteen men. Each team will arrive on station separately because it’s far less risky.

  “The first diversionary attack will be on the air base’s main entrance and will be carried out by a group of al-Qaeda fighters, who will rendezvous with us when we arrive. They will provide our explosives, detonators, det-cord, and timing devices—all acquired locally. And when they launch their own attack at the gates, they will use small-arms grenades and handheld antitank rocket launchers.

  “Meanwhile, Teams One and Two will cut their way through the wire and into the airbase on the far side. They will proceed to eliminate all the aircraft they can see, both on the ground and in the hangars. We already have excellent local charts and maps of the airfield, which will be distributed later. At the rear of the room you will see a large model that looks like a layout for model trains. It is in fact a very good scale model of the base.

  “At the conclusion of the raid, which I anticipate will be conducted against only very light opposition, both airfield teams will move up to a secure point halfway between the base and Khamis Mushayt.

  “Shortly before that, Team Three, led by me, will attack the main military compound. We will blast our way into the barracks and take the headquarters at all costs. We will inform anyone still standing that the King Khalid Air Base has fallen and that half the fighter planes in the Saudi Air Force have been destroyed—hopefully there will still be a fierce red glow in the sky, especially if we locate the fuel dump.

  “And then we will demand surrender, before we blow the place to pieces. We’ll force them to drive us immediately to the commanding General and his Deputy—that’s two arrest parties of six each—and we’ll hold them at gunpoint until the C-in-C broadcasts to the entire complex ordering a complete surrender. If they resist, we’ll execute them. Which will terrify everyone else. But don’t worry, they’ll surrender. They’re only toy soldiers.

  “One thing of course to remember on a mission as highly classified as this: We leave no colleague on the battlefield. Anyone hit, injured, or dead will be brought out and returned with the squadron in France. That’s one thing we can learn from the U.S. Navy SEALs. In all of their history, they have never left a man behind.”

  Already those with whom General Rashood would fight were beginning to smile and talk among themselves. For the first time, they were thinking they could pull this thing off. And perhaps the most important issue was the new concept of strong local support: The explosives coming from people in the town who hated the King. The readiness of the al-Qaeda fighters—Saudis, who would be joining them. And above all the feeling that they were representing the next King. This was not some terrorist attack on the innocent. This was proper soldiering, with proper objectives, conducted under professional military commanders.

  “Any idea how we’ll get in there without anyone knowing?” asked a trooper.

  “No, ’course not,” replied Rashood sarcastically. “I thought we’d just hang around and see if there was a bus going our way. You have any spare Saudi riyals? We might need them for the fare.”

  The whole room fell about laughing. Despite the brutal reputation of the trained killer who stood before them, Ravi Rashood always knew how to speak to his team.

  “Just checking,” replied the trooper. “I’m used to coming in by parachute. And I didn’t think you’d think much of that.”

  “Correct, soldier,” said Rashood. “If it eases your mind, the answer to your question is, by sea.”

  “Not swimming, sir? The Red Sea’s full of sharks.”

  “Not swimming,” replied General Rashood smiling. “Something more dangerous than that. But with a much better chance of survival. We won’t be dealing with that part of the plan until next week.”

  General Jobert formally thanked the Hamas Commander and then outlined the ground that would be covered over the next two days. “The first session this afternoon will be devoted to commands,” he said. “Teams One and Two, both on the airfield and during preparation, will use only French since the majority of these specialist troops are from the First Marine Parachute Infantry Regiment.

  “Team Three, commanded by General Rashood, will be made up mainly of Arabic-speaking personnel, with some French support from this base. All of them, however, speak English, which is the native tongue of the General himself. Therefore, we have decided that, throughout the mission, those under General Rashood’s command will converse only in English.

  “However, any communication back to your six-men headquarters must be in French, and for that reason Maj. Etienne Marot will serve as General Rashood’s number two, with special responsibilities for communications. Do not, however, allow that to blind you to the real reason he is here. Major Marot commands the Army’s Special Operation Light Aviation Detachment; that’s a helicopter assault team. His business is to arrive in places when he is not expected.”

  There were a few chuckles around the room at that. And Major Marot himself, a tall, lean career officer from Normandy, permitted a wry smile beneath his wide black moustache.

  “I wish then to deal with our fallback positions,” continued General Jobert. “These are outlined on the maps you will be given shortly. By this I mean that should Team Three run into a five-thousand-strong Saudi Army guarding the barracks throughout the night, plainly we would not carry out our attack. But as you are aware, we do not build operations such as this without considering every possibility of entry, action, and escape.

  “Before I hand over to your divisional commanders, I would just like to confirm that we expect the total surrender of Khamis Mushayt to lead to a general surrender of the entire Saudi military machine. But, remember, the actual assault on the royal palaces in Riyadh does not even begin until your mission is complete.

  “This a just and proper war, born of the most terrible extravagances by just one family, to the utter detriment of the people. Everything depends on your work in Khamis Mushayt. That will be the military start of the chain of events that will bring a new enlightened reign to Saudi Arabia…a new King, who is already a great friend to France and indeed to all Islamic fundamentalists throughout the Middle East. You surely go with the blessings of your God.”

  General Jobert once again took his seat, and General Rashood introduced the next speaker, a distant relative of the royal family, who now commanded a battalion of al-Qaeda fighters based in Riyadh, Capt. Faisal Rahman.

  Like everyone else, Captain Rahman was dressed in semi-combat gear. He rose to his feet and wished everyone “As salaam alaykum,” the traditional Bedouin greeting, which he accompanied by another familiar gesture among desert Muslims, the right hand touching the forehead and the arm coming downward in a long, graceful arch.

  “I should like to tell you of a vacation in Spain made in recent years by a King of Saudi Arabia,” he said. “He arrived in a private Boeing 747 accompanied by an entourage of three hundred and fifty, and three more aircraft, one of which was kitted out as a hospital. His vast retinue swelled to over three thousand in a few days. There were more than fifty black Mercedes cars and an intensive-care unit and operating theatre built into his woodland palace near Marbella. This building is a replica of the White House in Washington, where else?

  “It cost fifteen hundred dollars a day in flowers! What with the King’s water being flown in weekly from Mecca, his lamb, rice, and dates coming in from other places in Arabia, the King’s bills were knocking hard at almost five million dollars a day. By the time the enormous court of Saudi Arabia left Spain, they had banged a hole in ninety million.

  “The Spanish call any Saudi ruler by one simple name: King Midas. And there are those among us who think this entirely unnecessary—this lunatic expenditure, reckless extravagance, founded on wealth essentially bestowed upon us by Allah himself.

  “It’s not as if the King earned it or even won it. He was given it, at birth. In our view, he is the custodian and guardian of the nation’s wealth. It’s not his to fling around any way he wants. And it certainly ought not to
be at the disposal of his thirty-five thousand relatives, who somehow believe they have the right to do anything they damn well please with it either.

  “I don’t know if you are aware of this, but every last member of the Saudi royal family travels free on the national airline, Saudia. Well, there’s over thirty thousand of them now, and since it is customary for princes to have a minimum of forty sons, sometimes fifty, there may be sixty thousand of them before long. That’s two hundred of them flying free every working day of the year. And since most of them fly at least twenty times a year, that’s four thousand of ’em a day! Jumping in and out of aircraft free of charge. I have one question: is that in any way reasonable?”

  The al-Qaeda commander paused. And before him he saw many heads shake, mostly in astonishment. There were also many nods of approval at his words. The numbers he quoted were indeed quite shocking. But there was a more shocking one to come.

  “Twenty years ago,” said Captain Rahman, “my country held cash reserves of a hundred twenty billion dollars. Today those reserves are down to less than twenty billion. Because of our close involvement with the United States, the government is paying ‘protection money’ to al-Qaeda. Hundreds of millions of dollars. Saudi Arabia was paying the Taliban to ‘protect’ Osama bin Laden.