Fredo's Dream: SEAL Brotherhood: Fredo

by Sharon Hamilton

  On the computer screen, Fredo noticed the camera and sound were turned off. “You want this on, yes?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. Turn it on.”

  After the white bird was out of sight, the men circled around Fredo and the computer screen. He brought the other chair so it would be more steady, and he sat. The bird flew over rooftops, flew over backyards, the sounds of chickens and dogs barking, occasionally a dog barking at the drone itself. Coop watched the screen and tested his skills following a couple cars up the steep road towards the top and then moved on when the car found a garage or driveway to turn into. He kept it at sufficient height that, except for the occasional dog, no one noticed it moving above them.

  At last the drone arrived at the villa. On first glance, it appeared not much was disturbed until they saw a body floating in the pool, a stream of blood leaching into the otherwise blue water.

  “So that’s today. The body wouldn’t leak more than about twelve hours in water like that. That’s new.”

  “Can you get down closer?” asked Kyle.

  Coop kept the machine double the roof height and searched the sky to find the angle of the sun. “Don’t want to cause a shadow someone would recognize.”

  Before he lowered it any farther, he did a quick surveillance of all the windows and doors, looking for anything they could see from the outside. One sliding glass door was broken, shards of the pane spilling out onto the patio in the direction of the pool.

  Cabrera turned his head and squinted. “Can you get that car there? That little dark one?”

  Coop pulled back and then swung in lower, away from any visible window in the house. He clicked pictures of it. “We can enlarge this later and see if we can find a plate.”

  “Look at that,” he said, pointing to the roof of the car. That’s when the red strobe light became visible.

  Fredo was stunned. “So it looks like the locals are investigating.”

  “Search to the right, over there in the bushes,” ordered Cabrera.

  With magnification, Fredo saw the legs of a body lying on its side. “Okay, we got two dead. But I’m not sure we’ve counted the police in the hostages, so that means we got the Secretary, one other dead guy, and an additional police officer.”

  Voices could be heard coming from inside the house. Behind a set of closed white drapes, a red explosion formed as something slammed against the glass on the inside. Several in the group began to swear.

  “Do one more loop quickly, and then bring her home,” said Kyle. “If we have any hope of rescuing anyone up there, we gotta go.” While Coop recorded the entire perimeter of the house and grounds, Kyle stood and walked over to Cabrera. Placing his hands on the man’s shoulders, he began, “Fernando?”

  “No, Lansdowne.”

  “We gotta get up there and now. It would be a whole lot faster if we had a bird.”

  “No. The population here demands there be no helicopters. Crime is a problem. We’d have them up here all the time. The answer is no, my friend. Sorry.”

  The drone returned to the exact same spot where it took off. Coop quickly removed the batteries and stowed the parts and controller in a smaller, more portable pack.

  “Okay, then we get up as far as we can in the Suburbans, but we pack light, gents.” With another look to Cabrera, he decided, “I gotta go with my guys, Fernando. They go first, the first two vans. Then you guys come up behind. If we bring four vehicles, everyone in the world will know.”

  “Agreed. And we’ll stagger the drop-off. There is a small park just down the hill where the trucks turn around. They won’t be able to see it from the villa. But they’ll hear it.”

  “You gotta leave someone back here to be our scout. Pick one of your guys,” said Kyle. Cabrera made the choice and left him a radio with binoculars.

  Everyone scrambled off the rooftop, leaving the Cabrera’s man to stay behind and spot from the position at the hotel.

  The men loaded their weapons and packed everything they could carry, and Kyle’s squad put on their Kevlar. Fredo only had three mics, so he gave one to Kyle. He kept one and gave the other to Armani, who was the first sniper. Danny would hang with him to be his second. T.J. checked his medic kit, making sure nothing was loose and that he had swabs, saline solution and duct tape for emergency patches. Then he absorbed some of the contents of Coop’s kit so Coop could insert the drone and controller.

  Kyle’s twelve piled in the first two Suburbans, and they raced out of the town center, briefly got caught in traffic, and then found a route that lead to the La Palma Park road up to the top. Within minutes, they found the park entrance, which had been cabled closed. Danny cut it loose with bolt cutters, and they stowed the vans in the back corner of the lot under dense foliage.

  The beautiful blue of the bay below, dotted with three huge cruise ships in port as well as the glistening ocean beyond, painted a picture of a peaceful little island perfect for a sunny exotic vacation. Away from the bustling city center with its collection of bicycles, scooters, small cars and tourist busses, it probably resembled the island a hundred years ago, the only exception being the maze of electrical wires and cisterns atop roofs.

  Kyle laid out instructions on where everyone was to go. Armando and Danny were to get high and be able to pick off anyone trying to escape. The rest of the squad had their designated assignments.

  While they waited for word everyone else was in place, Fredo glanced down at the blue water, aware that some of the most deadly places looked like paradise.

  The spotter confirmed no further movement at the villa. Kyle got word they were all in place.

  It was time to do what they did best.

  Piece of cake.

  Chapter 19

  ‡

  SAYID QABBANI PREPARED himself for meeting his spiritual father, his teacher. He was searching for someone to cook for the leader so that when the man came to his tiny apartment, Sayid could honor him with a good home-cooked meal prepared by loving hands of a true believer. He was unsuccessful so decided to consult his regular teacher at the local Center.

  Malmoud Suleimani was not pleased Sayid had qualified for a visit from the infamous holy man. His distrust of Kahn surprised Sayid.

  “We are Americans, Sayid. You have been born and raised here. We take on traditions in this country that perhaps wouldn’t be as accepted in the country of your parents’ birth now, but were very much in favor for hundreds of years before the craziness. Peoples of different faiths even worshiped at the same temples, even though they no longer do today.”

  Sayid was having a hard time listening to the man.

  “Being tolerant enables us to live in peace among the Christians and Jews and people of other faiths here. We are an experiment in tolerance, brought here to spread peace and understanding. This is the way I choose to see it. We have been brought here by the Prophet so we can be examples of the true teachings. It used to be so in Syria. All religions lived together relatively peacefully. That was before all the madness. If it can work here, perhaps it can be reintroduced back to Syria.”

  Sayid would have agreed with his teacher a few years ago, but the more studying he’d done over the internet and the two trips he’d taken, the more he understood that tolerance was the weaker side of devotion. Allowing the margins of one’s faith to slip away or shift slightly made for sloppy habits. Sloppy habits created a lazy mind. A lazy mind soon disengaged the heart, leaving no devotion to the Prophet or his teachings.

  “You are wrong, Teacher. We must prepare the way. There is work to do to hold the standard, to conquer new lands in order to establish the kingdom. And I agree, if we can do it without war, all the better. But I’m not afraid to fight.”

  “But the Americans have the right to their country, their beliefs. We came as guests, generously accepted as a refugee peoples your parents benefitted from. We must honor their hospitality.”

  “No, I disagree. How can you say that?”

  “Because it is the wise and the
true way. These people are our hosts, not our enemy.”

  “But, Teacher, they are non-believers! Of course they are the enemy. You doubt what is written in the book? All shall come under the shield of the Prophet. If they do not honor Him, they are not afforded protection.”

  “I do not understand my faith the same way, Sayid. I do not teach this. Where have you learned such nonsense?”

  That’s when Sayid decided he could not trust the teacher. He had perhaps said too much. If he consulted anyone, it would be the great holy man himself. The internet cautioned against those who only gave lip service to their faith and were not willing to die for it.

  He ended their conversation quickly and decided he’d never have further contact with Suleimani.

  Later in the day, he received a text message to telephone the great Amid Khan as soon as was possible. Could the visit be cancelled? He hoped not.

  They gave each other blessings from the Prophet. Sayid was nervous, but the holy man had a gentle, uncritical voice. He was older than he expected.

  “You sound like a strong young man, Sayid. Your test was quite impressive and left your mark on the San Diego Christian complex. Much will be asked of you in the coming weeks. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Teacher.”

  “Good. I have need of a place to stay for a few days. Can you provide me with this?”

  “Yes. I would be most honored. You said you would be coming Saturday? Is that still the date?”

  “No, Sayid. I will need to come tomorrow and to stay a week. Do you live with a woman?”

  “No, Teacher. I am alone, single.”

  “Ah, perfect.”

  “But, Teacher, I have a simple apartment. Nothing close to what you have been used to.”

  The teacher clucked his tongue in a high-pitched laugh he’d heard some of the older women do. “You have no idea what I’ve lived through or been used to. You would not say such things.”

  “Sir?”

  “All will be revealed soon. I will text you before I arrive in San Diego. You can pick me up? You have a car?”

  “No, Teacher. I own no such thing.”

  “Then you will borrow one.”

  “But I do not drive.”

  There was a pause. “Is there anyone you trust who could drive you?”

  He thought about his boss, Carlos. “There is Carlos, the man I work for, but no one who practices our faith. There are public busses.”

  “Not acceptable. Very well. You will text me your address, and I will find passage to your home. I will arrive tomorrow with a car. And I think the first thing we will do is teach you to drive.”

  “Teacher?”

  “Yes, my son.”

  “I work tomorrow. I thought perhaps you were coming on Saturday. I do not work Saturday.”

  The long pause on the other end of the line worried Sayid. At last he heard a great sigh of resignation. “Then you will quit.”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 20

  ‡

  FREDO AND COOP came upon the body in the parking lot near the police car. Coop verified the man was dead. He’d had his throat slit. They carefully checked the foliage near the body for signs anyone had been lying in wait and found no such evidence. They had good visibility on the front entrance.

  Fredo rummaged carefully through his bag of tricks. He was to place an explosive charge on the front door which was made of solid mahogany roughly two inches thick. He remembered these well and noted that if need be they’d make good cover, unlike the crumbling and often-patched plaster walls. He listened to Kyle’s message, coming from the rear of the structure.

  “Body is not Lyman and appears to be a local uniform. Someone is on the phone inside.”

  He relayed Kyle’s message, coming from the rear of the structure, to Coop and the two others who had come with them. One by one, they hugged the front of the house, looking for some access to view the inside, but drapes were pulled everywhere. It was not ideal to go in blind, but the element of surprise might be enough to protect them.

  Fredo attached a breach device at the front door activated by a remote detonator. He gingerly protected the trigger, tucking it inside his vest pocket.

  “Blow and go set,” he whispered.

  “On my count of three.”

  “Roger that.”

  “At your ten o’clock,” messaged Armando. Fredo stood away from the house and peered up and to his left, spotting Armando flattened on a rooftop, the barrel of his rifle peering from behind a cistern. He couldn’t see Danny, but knew he was there somewhere. From this vantage, Armando would have unobstructed sight to both the front and back entrances.

  All of a sudden, a skirmish broke out inside, and they could hear sounds of someone being beaten. Fredo could make out just enough in Spanish to determine that one of the hostages was a woman, probably part of the housekeeping or cooking crew. Although she was apparently not the one being beaten, her terrified screams pierced the quiet mountaintop. A large crane was startled from a nearby tree and flew off gracefully. A dog began to bark.

  A conversation was being conducted by telephone. The speaker was relatively calm, but firm, speaking in an Arabic dialect Fredo couldn’t make out. Coop scanned the driveway and foliage up the hill. Fredo continued to listen to the speaker’s demands and then heard the crack of something being struck against flesh. A man’s voice responded in pain, but barely able to speak, more like a groan. He knew they were running out of time.

  “I count three voices. One woman, Spanish, one Arabic male, and another male, injured.”

  “Copy that. I got three, no four males.”

  Fredo had an idea. “Can I hot the car?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Slowly, Fredo pulled out the detonator and handed it to Coop, who held it gingerly in the palm of his great hand, nodding. Then Fredo ran back to the police car and opened the passenger door, careful not to make a sound. He packed the center console with a wad of C4, stuck a detonator cap in the middle of it, and closed the lid. He unwrapped and pressed another strip of the explosive underneath the dash where it couldn’t be seen. Closing the passenger door, he ran back to join the rest of his team.

  “This is taking too long,” Coop whispered. “Ask him what the holdup is.”

  “Car is hot.”

  “Stand by.” About thirty seconds later he heard Kyle’s voice and counted to the rest with his fingers. “On my mark, three, two, one, go!”

  Coop pressed the detonator, and simultaneously, they heard breaking glass as the front door flew off its hinges, sending long, sharp splinters of wood everywhere. Inside the house, they heard automatic gunfire.

  Coop and two others dove through smoke and debris at the front while Fredo waited outside to pick up anyone who managed to escape. He heard a second woman screaming on the other side of the house as a barrage of automatic gunfire sprayed the interior.

  The firefight was over in a matter of seconds, which was how it usually went when they were on a mission. Fredo remained alert, sensing something was about to shift. These were the dangerous times for a SEAL if they dropped their guard too soon.

  He was not surprised when, all of a sudden, three men in dark clothing bolted through the gaping front door opening, headed for the little police car in front. Fredo hung back in the encroaching jungle at the side but maintained a view of the car and the men running toward it.

  “Three going for it,” he whispered.

  “Send them home.”

  As soon as the passenger door closed, Fredo detonated the C4, and the car erupted in a ball of fire, sending pieces of metal flying, including a flaming trunk lid that landed at Fredo’s feet.

  He started to hear the “clear” shouts by several of the men inside. A contingent with Cabrera approached the corner and split into two as Cabrera and three others entered the front and a handful of men went around the back.

  The all clear sign was given, and Fredo relaxed for the first time in twelve hours,
nearly peeing his pants. Squinting up to the rooftop, he caught sight of Danny climbing down the side of the structure while Armando was on his knees, protected by the cistern, scanning the countryside with his scope, looking for escapees. When they made eye contact he gave Armando the thumbs up, which was returned.

  They heard sirens snaking their way up the winding road toward their location.

  When Fredo walked inside the house, the carnage was everywhere. There were at least six dead terrorists. One woman in a white apron had been shot through the stomach and was crumpled up near the shattered window, blood spattered all over the drapes blowing in the breeze. Fredo recognized one of the security team who had worked with Lyman last year, shot but alive. Lyman was on the floor, his face a bloody mess and unrecognizable from beatings, but breathing. He found a cook huddled in one of the cabinets in the galley kitchen, unharmed.

  In the back bedroom, the room where Zak had been shot nearly a year ago, lay the body of the Secretary of State, Porter Harrison. His face had sunken, his eyes, still open, were glassed over and bore an expression of surprise. Fredo felt sorry for the man who had tried to negotiate the cesspool that was politics in this part of the world and had lost.

  Coop and T.J. prepared DNA samples of all the victims including the Secretary, as was required.

  Cabrera was now in charge, and Fredo had a renewed respect for the man, who seemed to be familiar with the newly arrived units from the Guarda Civil. He did a good job running interference, keeping the police away from any of their squad. His men answered questions politely and explained in sketchy detail how the gunfight happened.

  Kyle was on the phone reporting back to San Diego and making arrangements for the body of the Secretary as well as his security detail to be returned to the States. The two survivors would be airlifted to a Naval ship arriving from the coast of Morocco.

  Fredo wanted to call Mia, but he thought the sounds of sirens and all the rescue equipment might scare her. He decided to find a more private spot back at their room, over a beer and after a nice cool shower.