He filled the back of the tank with supplies and headed toward the Concorde. As he drew closer, he noticed an attack helicopter and a fuel truck off to the south side of the Concorde. The Concorde’s position had blocked him from seeing it sooner. Both the attack helicopter and the fuel truck had also managed to escape destruction by being located so far from the center of the base. With each runway being about two miles long, the Concorde and attack helicopter were nearly a mile away from the center of the missile attack.
He continued to examine all his options as he approached. He noticed that even within a quarter of a mile from the Concorde, he could see craters where the sub-munitions from the missile had exploded.
That would cause quite a problem for take-off, he thought. Maybe I should take-off in the desert instead.
He drove the tank up to the side of the Concorde and began carrying the supplies inside. He would load the Concorde with more than he thought would be necessary. This trip had taught him that he should take nothing for granted.
He walked up the mobile stairway that lead up to the Concorde and opened the door. It was dark inside and smelled musty. Sitting in the sun had heated it up to the point where it was almost unbearable.
“Hello?” Rob called out to no one in particular. That was kinda dumb, he thought as he turned to leave. There’s no one around here, so who’s going to answer?
Then, as he was about to step out of the aircraft, he heard a noise behind him. He could feel his hair stand on end as he twirled around. A closet door was opening - the same closet he had hid in before. A pillow fell out onto the floor, and a familiar old man stepped out - the rabbi.
“You!” Rob exclaimed. “I thought you were an angel the way you just disappeared!”
“Well, I thought I was about to be.” He looked awful and smelled even worse. “It has not been easy living in this airplane the past two weeks. What took you so long?”
Rob helped the old man out of the closet. “Why didn’t you come with us?”
“You know the answer to that. They would have killed me. A Jewish rabbi wouldn’t last long in an Iraqi prison. Besides, I’ve been expecting you. I know what kind of man you are, and I knew you wouldn’t leave me to die in this desert.”
The old man’s faith in him touched him deeply. “Well, I had to get you.” He smiled. “Who else is going to help me fly this thing?”
He spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon loading supplies aboard the Concorde while the rabbi watched from the shadow of the wing. It was the first time the old man had been outside in weeks. He had survived all that time on the little food and water he could scavenge from inside the airplane.
Rob managed to find the small arms locker to stock the airplane with more ammunition just in case they needed it. But while he was doing that, he came up with another idea. He would give this airplane some teeth.
Salah Ad-Din Territory
Iraq
Taylor and several other Marines had worked most of the night preparing tools and other equipment for the nuclear warheads. Now that morning had arrived, the work became somewhat easier with the sun to give them light.
Overseeing the operation was Sergeant Black-Hawk, known as “Hawk,” a Native American of the Navaho tribe. He had grown up on a reservation and learned many of the Indian ways from his grandfather. Though he had long since forgotten most of what he learned as a child, he still understood and believed in a respect for nature that was once so much a part of the Indian way. His respect for nature made what he was doing now so difficult to follow through on.
Taylor, a self-proclaimed perfectionist, did not mind Hawk’s slow methodical approach to his job. The care and time that Hawk put into the crafting of each instrument was impressive to him. Wright, on the other hand, obviously did not share Taylor’s enthusiasm, constantly complaining that the simple task of booby-trapping a warhead had become a career assignment for the little group. But Taylor had conceded that they couldn’t be too careful when handling nuclear weapons.
At the same time, they were all wondering what happened to the hummer Wright had sent out to find supplies. It had not yet returned despite his orders to return by morning.
Wright was agitated. His scouting unit had still not returned, and the warhead was not yet booby-trapped. Night was approaching and supplies were dwindling. By morning, the water would be gone, and he would have to make some tough decisions. What little fuel was left he put in one of the trucks. He would use the truck to drive the warheads away from their position so they could then be detonated. He only hoped that during the night his men would return with the badly needed supplies. It could be that the radio was damaged, making it impossible for them to call. He had to proceed under the assumption that they would return.
Logan was sitting on the ground leaning against one of the trucks when he noticed Terry standing at the other end of the truck smiling at him. He felt his face flush, and he immediately looked away. He was obviously embarrassed, and he struggled to ignore it. He was very attracted to this beautiful woman and didn’t understand why she would pay him any attention.
She walked over and stood in front of him. The sun was setting, and the dimly lit western sky showed off her beautiful figure. He tried to look up into her eyes, but his eyes stopped at her blouse, which was unbuttoned almost halfway down her chest.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you mad at me? Do you want me to leave?”
He struggled to his feet so he could look her in the eyes. Somehow he felt more comfortable standing.
“Oh, no! Of course not. I was just thinking about things.”
“Things?” She drew near him.
He found himself pressing his back tightly against the truck.
She smiled, ever so slightly, and looked away. “I’m so scared. Are we going to die? I mean, we have no water. What shall we do?”
He was relieved. So this is why she had come. Her fear he could deal with, but her being attracted to him was much harder to handle. “I can’t promise you that everything will be okay. I won’t. But we’ve been in bad situations before, and everything has always worked out. Somehow this will work out, too. You’ll see.”
“I wish I could share your optimism, but I can’t. I...” She covered her face with her hands and started to cry. “I’m just so scared. I’m sorry.” She pressed her head against his chest.
He slowly lifted his arms and put them around her. He gently lifted his hand to stroke her long dark hair. “I... I understand. It’s not easy for any of us.”
She put her arms around him and held him tightly. He tried to control his breathing. He did not want her to know the effect she was having on him.
Moments later, she lifted her head and looked at him with tear-stained eyes. “Can I sleep near you tonight? I don’t want to be alone. Please?”
He didn’t want to sound too anxious. “Well, yes. I understand.”
She knelt down on the ground and looked up at him. He understood. He would get some blankets to lie on.
Marie was lying with the children when she noticed Logan pick up his blanket and walk around the back of a truck. That’s strange, she thought. He always slept near her and never let her out of his sight, especially when Rob was not around. Maybe it shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. She realized that for the first time that day, she was actually thinking about someone other than Rob, and she was glad about that.
Now curiosity was not one thing that normally bothered her, but this was so unlike Logan. He was always so predictable, and now he was behaving completely out of character. She looked around. The children were sleeping peacefully, and the only movement she could see in the twilight was that of a few soldiers working on some tools. She laid back down and stroked her little girl’s hair, still wondering about Logan.
Tactical Ready Room, USS Roosevelt
Persian Gulf
Miller studied his audience. Two dozen highly trained Special Forces soldiers were sitting in th
e conference room in front of him. They had arrived directly from Fort Bragg an hour before and would now be sent immediately into action. He had chosen to use this aircraft carrier as a base of operations since the situation in Saudi Arabia was far too volatile. He turned to look at the maps in the front of the room and addressed the soldiers.
“This is a satellite photo of the compound in which the passengers are being held. Continual surveillance of this compound has shown little movement of soldiers in or out the past four days. Intelligence has studied over a hundred photographs of this compound and cannot find any significant military threat there or in the area around it.”
He moved on to the next photograph. “This is a photograph of the passenger in question. His name is Rob Anderson, and he must be retrieved at any cost. You will be flown in tonight, and once you have taken the facility and recovered Rob Anderson, one helicopter will return with him while you secure the compound and round up the remaining passengers and any American military personnel there. Once Anderson is safely aboard this vessel, a C-130 will be sent in, along with air support, to retrieve you and the passengers. You are NOT, under any circumstances, to break radio blackout.”
He turned to face his audience. Over Captain Brodie’s protests, he had allowed no one else in the room. There would be no information leak. These men had no idea what their mission was until now, and they would stay here until it was time to leave. As he looked into the determined faces of the men in the room, he understood why they were in training for their other assignment, an assignment they would most likely be performing now had they not been needed for this mission.
“Get a smoke or whatever you do,” he said to the men. “You have less than a hour before you leave. You will remain in this room until then, and under no circumstances are you to say a word to anyone else aboard. I’m sorry we can’t give you any maps of the compound or better prepare you. This mission came about rather quickly and is of utmost importance to the security of the United States. Under no circumstances will you fail!”
He paused to let his words take effect. “None!”
Al-Fallujah Air Force Base
Near Al-Fallujah, Iraq
Rob finished supplying the Concorde and was able to refuel it from the nearby fuel truck. Now he would implement the idea he had earlier. He smiled as he used the portable welder from a maintenance truck he found earlier. The work was going smoothly. He laid the torch down and stepped back to admire his project. “Now that’s what I call teeth.”
In front of him, clinging to the underside of one wing, was a completely self-contained cannon pod. The pod had a rotating five-barrel thirty-millimeter cannon. All this pod needed was electricity. He wired it directly to the aircraft’s exterior lighting. Now all he’d have to do to fire it is turn the lights on! “Well, Rob,” he said aloud, “one down, three more to go!”
He worked late into the evening installing the other three gun pods, two facing forward and two facing back. Though he couldn’t tell that the cannons were aligned perfectly, he hoped to be able to move the aircraft around enough to hit, or at least scare off, any potential adversaries. His preparations were nearly complete. There was just one more thing he wanted to get done that night.
Near the command facility was a pay phone. It was partially collapsed, but there was still a dial tone. He removed a credit card from his wallet and dialed zero. After a few rings, a voice answered in Arabic.
“Hello? Do you speak English?”
There was no answer for a moment, then the voice answered in a strong Arabic accent. “Yes, how can I help you?”
“I am a Canadian journalist, and I wish to speak to the French Embassy in Baghdad.”
“How do you wish to bill the call?”
“I have a credit card.”
Rob tensed as he waited to be denied. Instead, the operator took his card number, and a moment later the phone was ringing again. He understood that his call might be monitored, but at this point, he could leave on a minute’s notice. Everything was in place now, so he hoped for the best.
A voice answered the phone, this time in French.
“Do you speak English?”
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“I need to speak to a French representative.”
He heard a click, then music playing on the line. He was on hold. Several minutes later, a man speaking near-perfect English answered. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Rob Anderson. I am an American citizen, and I was on a hijacked flight a few weeks ago.” He paused momentarily, waiting for a response. None came. “I and some other passengers have managed to escape and are now in central Iraq.”
“You say you were one of the passengers? Can I speak with some of the others?” The man was definitely skeptical.
“Listen,” Rob insisted, sensing that this man was about to hang up on him. “Please don’t hang up on me. I know you find this difficult to believe. How can I prove to you that I am who I say I am?”
“Let me speak to someone from the flight crew.”
“I can’t. They were all killed.”
“Then who landed the aircraft?”
“Please don’t hang up on me.”
“Answer the question, then.”
“I did. I had help from one of the other passengers who used to be a pilot.”
“Who hijacked the flight?”
“I don’t know exactly. There were about five of them, all Arab.”
“How did you manage to escape?”
“Well, there were some Marines who were captured. They were apparently trying to rescue us. They helped us escape.”
“What is the name of the rescue force commander?”
“What was his name, you mean. He was killed. His name was Dempsey. Colonel Dempsey.”
He heard another click, then the music again. This time he was on hold much longer. Finally, the music disappeared, and the man’s voice returned. “Can I speak to any of the Marines who rescued you?”
Rob hesitated before he spoke. He knew that this man would never believe his explanation. “No, they’re not here with me.”
“Where exactly are you?”
“I’m at a deserted Iraqi airbase that was destroyed in a missile attack.”
“How do you know it was from a missile?”
He knew he was in a corner and couldn’t back up any further. “Because we launched them.”
“We?”
“Yeah, we passengers and the Marines. We ran across an underground bunker northeast of Baghdad.”
“I really need to talk to someone else.”
“I told you there is no one else here, and our conversation is probably being monitored. Now, are you going to help me?”
Once again, he heard the familiar click and the music that followed. Again, several long minutes pasted as he waited on hold. Then the man returned. “Mr. Anderson?”
“Yes.”
“The nation of France wishes to remain neutral in this conflict. We see it as a problem between Iraq and the United States.”
“I understand, but I’m not asking you to rescue me.”
“You’re not?”
“No, nothing like that. We both know that I’m never going to be able to call out of this country while it’s in a state of war, right?”
“That is a fair assumption.”
“I know that you have some kind of secured link through a satellite to the outside world. What I want is for you to transfer this call to Washington.”
“We can’t do that, but we can connect you with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Paris, and they can probably get you through to Washington.”
“Well, let’s do it. This call is costing me a fortune.”
“It will take a few minutes for me to put the call through and connect you to the right people. How long can you stay where you are?”
“I have no idea. Please, just make the transfer.”
The familiar click and music began as he sat on hold. He wond
ered who was listening to the call and grew more and more nervous as the minutes drug on.
Finally, a woman’s voice came on the line. “Mr. Anderson, the French Liaison in Baghdad has informed me of your plight and requested that we transmit your call to Washington. I have made the necessary connections, and now I only need to know to whom you wish to speak.”
He hesitated for a moment. What if this were a trick? What if he wasn’t talking to the French at all? What if this were just an Iraqi trick? He decided that he had to believe the best and release his paranoia. “Can you get me Special Agent Dick Miller with the National Security Administration. Let him know that Rob Anderson needs to speak with him.”
Ron Schwartz - The Griffins Heart.txt Page 29