“I thought I’d find you here,” he said.
I’d say he sneered, but that would be overstating his enthusiasm.
“Have a seat,” I told him. “There are plenty across the room.”
“Har-de-har. The ambassador is impressed. He’d like to talk to you tomorrow, at your convenience.”
“What’s he impressed about?” asked Doc.
“Whatever the hell it is you did at the armory. Apparently bailed the Indians out.” He scowled. “You’re a lucky man, Marcinko. Always stepping in shit at the right time.”
“That’s my middle name.”
Over the next hour or so, I fielded a bunch of congratulatory calls. Even Minister Dharma called, asking when we were going to “debrief.”
No, no, you read that wrong.
Dee-brief.
Try it again.
Deeeeeeee-brief.
She was still the most beautiful woman this side of Karen Fairchild. And maybe the other side of Karen Fairchild.
“Debriefing you will be a pleasure,” I told her. We made an appointment for the following evening.
Leave it to Doc to bring the reality-based world back into the picture. He took some cocktail napkins and laid them out on the table, sketching out the operation that we had allegedly foiled. According to the Indians, an unknown number of tangos had engaged in a brief firefight along the eastern side of the facility after the mortar shelling. They withdrew without casualties, and without inflicting any.
“Bogus mortar attack,” said Doc, holding up a finger — no, not that one.
“Wimpy assault on the strongest part of the base.” Another finger.
“No attempt on the main gate, which was the original plan espoused by India for Islam.”
Finger number three. Of course Doc used the same finger each time.
“Number four.” This earned two middle fingers for some reason — must have been that new math. “We’re the heroes of the hour. Why?”
“I smell a rat, too,” I said.
“Don’t look at me,” said Shotgun. “I was in the shower for hours.”
* * *
What? Demo Dick looking a gift horse in the mouth?
Could it be because most of my acquaintance with horses comes at the other end?
Let’s review what we know, or rather what we knew then. Because I’m sure by now at least a few of you are confused.
Don’t feel bad. I was ten times more confused. You’re seeing this after the fact, with a few red herrings and false leads removed. (Sean’s fun and games in Karachi, for example, which while entertaining turned out to be entirely unrelated to our story here.) I was in the middle of it; I felt like I was trying to count confetti in the middle of a hurricane.
Let’s reduce what we know to bullet points. You can count them off with your saluting finger, if you like:
THE TERRORIST GROUPS
1. Red Cell International was hired to help a new Indian special operations unit prepare the country for the Commonwealth Games.
2. In the course of said preparation, Red Cell International traveled with said spec ops unit north of the border to kick some terrorists’ butts, specifically butts belonging to a group called India for Islam.
3. At the end of the operation, four individuals were returned from Pakistan. One was a low-level recruit who offered very little of value. Two, co-targets of the operation, were supposed to be the masterminds of the attack. They turned out to be members of a rival organization, People’s Islam. They were sprung from jail in a well-planned and possibly rehearsed operation. The fourth — an Indian spy — was killed before he could really give much useful information.
THE HELICOPTERS
4. Shortly thereafter, an unknown group hijacked two high-tech helicopters from an Indian development lab.
5. Said hijackers appeared to have been connected to People’s Islam, the same terrorist group whose spies had been captured by the Indians and then sprung.
6. The helicopters were later located on a Chinese ship.
THE NUKES
7. At roughly the same time, an attack was made on an armory where most of India’s nukes were being gathered. Said attack was one of the wimpiest ever launched by a terrorist organization.
An exaggeration — we usually give terrorists more credit than they deserve — but you get the general picture.
* * *
So what did all of that leave us?
Let’s start with our two terrorist organizations — India for Islam and People’s Islam.
We hit India for Islam because they were planning to disrupt the Commonwealth Games. We knew this because of intelligence that had been gathered beforehand.
During the raid, though, we discovered no clear evidence of a plan to attack the Games. What we did find was that the group’s assault target bore a remarkable resemblance to the base where the nuclear warheads were being gathered.
So was the initial intelligence wrong? Misguided?
Those things happen, more often than anyone admits. There are many reasons. In this case, though, it seemed to me that the intelligence had been passed along from sources who wanted to hurt India for Islam and help People’s Islam.
The first part is obvious, based on the results: the intelligence about what they were planning was wrong, but the location was absolutely right. And that was the key to the result — India for Islam had been busted up pretty badly.
But what about the second part? How did that help People’s Islam?
Well, first of all, it brought two of their operatives into the country very conveniently, at a time when Indian security had been heightened. Now it’s possible that any of a dozen other methods might have been used to bring them here, but at the end of the day, the bottom line is that the pair were in India.
What I’m saying here is that People’s Islam ratted out their competitors, and used Special Squadron Zero as a taxi service. A slight leap from the evidence, perhaps, but it does fit.
What didn’t fit was the attack on the nuke base. Because although it appeared that India for Islam was aiming at that base and not the Commonwealth Games, the attack that had been made did not match the plans we’d seen. It also seemed designed to fail.
Ah, you say, but there was an increase in radio traffic. Maybe the attack was carried out by the second or even third string.
Shotgun made that point to Doc as well. And it was a good argument — good enough to get me to call Shunt.
“Shunt, can you still access the Indian intelligence network with Special Squadron Zero’s codes?”
“Does the pope shit in the woods?”
Ask a stupid question, get a ridiculous answer. Before I was finished with my second Sapphire, Shunt had reported back on the increase in traffic.
“Mostly e-mail and text,” he said. “Interesting.”
“Why?” I asked.
“They’re using a real sissy encryption, and these e-mail addresses are all a few months old.”
“Maybe that’s all they have working now.”
“Then how come they used a better encryption to gloat about the demise of People’s Islam? They rotate to new codes and contacts every few days. They’ve never gone back.”
* * *
If you were a terrorist, even a stupid one, and you knew your comm system had been compromised, would you still use it?
No, I said you’re a terrorist, not a high-ranking member of Homeland Insecurity.
* * *
So maybe the idea wasn’t to actually threaten the base, but to generate headlines about an attack — the kind of headlines that hit the Internet, newspapers, and television news?
Hmmmm, you say.
But why would India for Islam do that?
Hold that thought.
* * *
Now let’s look at the other major thread of the story so far — the helicopters. Those were pretty clearly stolen by People’s Islam, which may or may not have been taking advantage of the turmoil over the br
eakout of the two prisoners.
We know People’s Islam was behind it because of the raid to the north, where the dead were all members of the group. The Chinese were also clearly involved — that was their ship where the helicopters were taken, and their destroyers waiting for them.
Let’s make a guess here — the Chinese paid People’s Islam to get the helicopters.
Were they working together because of the Maoist legacy? Just for the money? Just by chance?
Maybe all of those things. Let me be very careful how I phrase this; after all, I wouldn’t want to anger our Chinese masters, since they hold billions of our debt. But here, in politically correct language, is what I think happened:
The slimebag Chinese commies hired scumbag terrorists to steal high-tech weapons from their neighbors, not really caring that in the process they were probably enabling the slaughter of thousands if not millions of innocent civilians.
Just saying.
It would be nice if there was a little more backup to that charge. Like, for example, a large piece of money going from a Chinese account to a terrorist account.
Would that satisfy you?
I hope so, because during the afternoon following our fun and games at the armory, I put a call in to the CIA to fill Admiral Jones in on what had happened over the past few days.
In exchange, the admiral cleared me to talk to one of his analysts, on the condition that I not bitch about Omar. The analyst straightened me out on a few things; I pointed him in the right direction on People’s Islam.
The interesting thing is that it took him literally a matter of seconds to find the transactions between the Chinese and the terrorists, even though they were using front companies and a pair of banks in Eastern Europe. Yes, grasshopper, it turns out that our government knows about a lot of these transactions, and is supposedly powerless to stop them.
I won’t share my opinion on that.
How much money was involved?
“Four million two hundred thousand in this transfer,” said the analyst. “Probably it’s just an installment, though.”
“Why?” I asked.
“From what you’re telling me about that helicopter, it would have been worth at least a hundred times that. These guys may work cheap, but not that cheap.”
No matter how much the pay really was, it was a hell of a deal for a weapons system that cost well over a billion to develop. But I digress. The bottom line was this: China had hired People’s Islam to steal the helicopters.
* * *
So what was People’s Islam going to do with the money?
“Something big,” said the analyst. “But what? Who knows.”
You could argue — as Doc did — that it no longer mattered to us. The Indians had now signed off on our contract — and paid in full.
“Best thing for us is to kick back, admire Trace’s stick work, and cut for home,” said Doc when we reconvened that afternoon for lunch near the school. “Quit while we’re ahead.”
But for better or worse, the quit-while-you’re-ahead gene is missing from my DNA.
( IV )
Speaking of butts, Trace’s was in top form the afternoon following the attack as she and the rest of the Scottish team took on New Zealand in the last pre-Games scrimmage. Trace was a demon, racing up and down the pitch, doing what she does best, whacking balls.
I’m not a sports reporter, and I can’t pretend to know anything about field hockey. It looked to me like Trace was dominating the field — she scored two goals in the first few minutes while I was watching. But she didn’t look very happy about it. She frowned and growled and stared and kicked the ground. At one point, she looked like she was going to spit — an extremely un-Trace-like action, as she’s always been a bit of a priss when it comes to personal hygiene.
More than normal competitiveness was at work here. If I had to guess, I’d say she was angry that she had missed out on all the fun and games we’d been having in dear old India. She’d missed the helicopter assault into Pakistan, she’d missed Junior’s water sports, our troll through the sewer — well, that she might not have resented missing. Still, I’m sure the cumulative effect was wearing down her normally sunny disposition.
Not in a million years would she admit that, of course. And if you just heard the sound of a book crashing through a window, you’ll know she just read that passage.
I was standing behind her team’s bench during the scrimmage, trying to learn the fine points of the game in between fielding calls on my sat phone. Junior and Mongoose had checked in, and after being summarily spanked for putting their bodies in gear before engaging their brains, were awarded with forty-eight-hour passes and upgraded rooms at the overpriced hotel they’d collapsed in after their foray. They were planning on coming up the following morning so they could catch the opening of the Games; whatever debauchery they were hatching in the meantime I didn’t want or need to know about.
Among the other calls were several from Indian journalists, who by now had heard the rumors of my exploits inside the base.
Never one to turn down free publicity, I gave them all the same reply:
No comment.
This had the effect of making them even more interested in me. Eventually, one enterprising cub reporter found me at the scrimmage. He cringed as he walked toward me — it definitely pays to have a reputation.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, coming up to me. “Are you Richard Marcinko?”
“Who the hell wants to know?” I growled.
“I am Kenyon Ganesh from the New Delhi Delhi Times.”
“What is that to me?”
“I am a reporter, Sir Marcinko.”
“Delhi Delhi Times?” I asked. Secretly, I liked the fact that I’d just been knighted, but I didn’t let on. “What the hell is that?”
“Very good newspaper, Sir Marcinko. New Delhi Delhi Times.”
“Are you stuttering?”
“It is the name of the paper, sir. A very interesting history indeed.”
“Not to me.”
“You are the famous Rogue Warrior we have heard so much about.”
“No.”
“Well, very good, Sir Marcinko. I am wondering, when you were at the base…”
It was like having a conversation with a telemarketer. He either had an answer for everything, or just ignored what didn’t fit into his script.
“I’ll tell you what, Kenyon,” I said finally, “I’ll answer a question if you answer a question.”
“Oh, this would be very pleasing, Mr. Rogue Warrior.”
“How did you get the name Kenyon? It’s not Indian.”
“Oh, this is an easy question. My mother is a great admirer of America…”
Apparently, his mother had named him after the Grand Canyon, but messed up the spelling.
Fair enough, I told him. What’s your question?
“Do you think this attack on the armory is part of a combined terrorist movement?”
He was wondering if this was part of a wave of coordinated terrorist attacks on India, and if they were being orchestrated by Pakistan.
“It’s more like a domino theory,” I explained. “Terrorists don’t necessarily work together. The people on the ground — the small groups that actually do the dirty work — they’re usually isolated. They have their own beefs with each other. Sometimes those are just as murderous as the ones they have with you. But you have to look at the entire effect.”
All these little groups are working in the same direction. They’re helped directly by ideologues — another word for crazy maniac murderers — who are giving them money, resources, and religious and intellectual cover, if you want to call it that. The best known of these umbrella groups is al Qaeda, but it’s not the only one.
They’re also helped, directly and indirectly, by countries that can use them for their own agenda. In our case, China saw People’s Islam as a means to an end — getting India’s new secret attack helicopter. China didn’t necessaril
y endorse the terrorist’s methods and certainly didn’t share their immediate goals, but that was irrelevant.
Pakistan had also been involved, helping India for Islam and probably providing the location of the nukes. The benefit to them was more direct, even if the game was more dangerous.
All of these forces tend to align. One attack encourages another, weakening the system. A strike in India leads to a fresh round of recruiting in Great Britain, which helps a group flourish in Brooklyn, New York.
It’s a new kind of domino theory: whether planned or not, coordinated or not, the effect of all these attacks would eventually threaten not just Indian society, but the entire West as well. You have to think like a terrorist: after India falls, Great Britain will be next, then the U.S.
Do all terrorists think this way?
The people strapping the bombs to their chest at the India for Islam level almost certainly don’t. They’re wrapped up — literally — in their own paranoid and murderous delusions. Farther up the ladder, though, there’s quite a lot of thought going on. Whether you and I would be horrified by it is immaterial. So is the question of whether it should be classified as rational or not.
It’s critical for us in the West to understand what the nature of the threat really is. We have to deal aggressively with what seem to be small, isolated groups because of the cumulative effect. And we have to help countries like India and, God really help us, Pakistan, because they really are on the front lines. They are the first dominos that will fall.
I realize it’s a tough metaphor for anyone who’s lived through the Vietnam era, but it becomes self-evident when you step back.
* * *
“God, that was some lecture you gave that kid,” said Trace after I finished with the reporter. “What are you, getting ready to write another book?”
“Just setting him straight.”
She smirked.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” said Doc, zipping his trainer’s bag. “You were a terror out on the pitch today.”
“Wait until the Games open tomorrow,” she said.
“I hope you have something left,” Doc told her. “I’m putting five hundred rupees on your team.”
“What is that, fifty cents?”
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