The Bid

by Adrian Magson

  Within seconds, she had the answer that had been eluding her.

  “The White House has confirmed that following an inspection and meeting with officers, staff, and their families at USAF Altus, the president will attend a parachute demonstration by approximately thirty trainees exiting a giant Globemaster Three cargo aircraft. He will then go to an area of land outside the base perimeter, which has been donated by local land owner and farmer Philip J. Duncan. This land is to be converted into a remembrance garden in honour of the fallen who passed through Altus over the years, having given their lives in the service of their country in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other theatres of conflict in the name of freedom. Groundwork on the field, which is yet to be formally named but is now widely expected to include the word freedom, will begin in the next few weeks, and …”

  Freedom. Field.

  Ruth felt a jolt of energy go through her and picked up her phone. First she called Vaslik and got him to turn on his television, then called Brasher and prayed he was awake.

  He was. “What’ve you got?” he asked. His voice sounded dulled by lack of sleep but he was alert enough to know she wasn’t calling just to say hi.

  “I know where the target area is,” she said. “It’s a parcel of land outside the base to be used as a remembrance site. I don’t know where—and I doubt the base office will tell me now with the president going there to show his support. But I think that’s where Malak might make his strike.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make some calls and get back to you. How did you hear about this?”

  “It was in a local news bulletin. The land’s been donated by a local farmer to be used as a remembrance garden. It hasn’t been formally named yet but the clincher is in the name. There’s talk of the title incorporating the word freedom.”

  Brasher swore softly. “That’s close enough. You were right all along, Ruth. Christ, I should have listened harder.”

  “No need to beat yourself up. Until now it would have been guesswork, anyway, because if Malak had sensed too much interest he’d have simply changed his plans and we’d have lost him for good. Right now we need to get to combing within a few miles of this Freedom place. I’m guessing Malak and Chadwick will be somewhere away from the base itself, but that’s still quite a lot of ground to cover and we don’t want to risk alerting him.”

  “I agree. Incidentally, my guy got an answer from Donny about geo-fencing. Malak knew all about it and had him disable the devices. It means they can fly anywhere he chooses.”

  Malak had indeed thought of everything, Ruth reflected. Not that it made much difference now; it was possible that the area to be known as Freedom Field lay outside the geo-fenced perimeter anyway.

  “There’s something else,” Brasher continued. “Word has just come in about two men seen acting suspiciously outside Fort Sill army base yesterday evening. They were in army combat uniforms, but the person who reported it in was the wife of a serving officer and said they didn’t move or look anything like serving personnel.”

  “Fort Sill? I remember seeing that name.” Ruth had a momentary surge of alarm at the idea that Malak had changed his plans after Donny’s arrest and was going to launch an attack somewhere else instead.

  “Right. It’s a combat training and field artillery school about fifty miles east of Altus. The men were approached by military police and pulled automatic weapons. They killed one MP and wounded another before they were taken down and arrested by a backup patrol.”

  “Not Malak or Bilal?”

  “No. They turned out to be two unknown Middle Eastern males with false IDs and very little English. But one was carrying a sandwich wrapping from Chicago O’Hare International with a display date from two days ago. Our initial assessment is that they were probably flown in as a distraction attack. If so, it means that whatever network Malak’s connected to is well organised.”

  And the rest …. Ruth didn’t think she had to add to Brasher’s worries by pointing out that the men had somehow managed to fly in; get equipped very quickly with false papers, a vehicle, and automatic weapons; then find their way to Fort Sill without being spotted. That pointed to resources and training.

  “So what happens now? Are we still going in?”

  “Just about. After your talk with Donny and the attack on Woods County jail, I reported up the chain of command about Karina’s death and what we’d learned so far. Washington received only a partial call from her just before she died, but it was enough to get an internal investigation going into the circumstances leading up to her death and why she’d been going over my head.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What are they going to do?”

  “There were some calls from the most senior levels for a full-scale alert. I managed to resist that on the grounds that Malak would simply disappear along with the drones and whatever poison he’s planning on using. They and the Secret Service agreed, but as of now it’s no longer in my hands.”

  “Do tell.”

  “There will be two Globemasters overflying the base, not one. The first will drop the genuine demonstration team at eleven hundred hours. But we got the landing target moved slightly away from the base center on the grounds of security to the president. The drop will be close enough to be seen and draw attention away from the second plane, which will carry a team of our own Enhanced SWAT personnel. I hope we can get those men dropped right on the nail.”

  “Assuming we can tell you where that nail is.”

  “That’s correct. Anybody suspicious is going to find a fully armed body of men dropping on their heads, hopefully before they can get those drones in the air.”

  “What about Chadwick? He’s an innocent in the middle of this. Will they know what he looks like?”

  There was a brief hesitation, then Brasher said, “They’ve been briefed and issued with photos, yes. But this could be a messy intervention. I wish I could guarantee his safety, but I can’t. He’ll have to take his chances. I’ll get back to you for more information on the location of the target.”

  Ruth said goodbye and cut the connection. She felt conflicted. Part of her wanted to isolate Malak as quietly as possible and deal with him without using outside forces. She could understand the FBI response, which was to protect the president’s safety and the safety of the Altus personnel and their families. However, the hard truth was that no matter how carefully an operation was planned and executed, there was always a risk of it ending messily, leading to innocent casualties along the way. She just hoped that Chadwick wasn’t one of them.

  She got dressed and walked along to Vaslik’s room. The door was open and he was gingerly slipping on his jacket.

  “How is it?” she asked, helping him with the sleeve.

  “It’s a scratch.”

  “Of course it is. And you’re such a brave boy.” She grinned briefly, then told him what Brasher had arranged with the SWAT team.

  He winced. “I don’t like the idea of being too close to that. Identifying the crowd will be easy enough, but if they see us on our own in the target area from a thousand feet in the air, we could have ourselves a problem.”

  “What else can we do? We can’t stay away and leave them to it. By the time they get on the ground it could be too late.”

  He nodded. “In that case we’d better get to Malak and neutralise him first so we can wave a white flag.” He slipped his gun into his jacket and grinned. “You ready, Gonzo?”

  “I’m ready. And if you call me that again, Slik, there will be blood.”

  forty-eight

  James felt a shock deep in his gut. Was this what it had all been about? Had Malak just indicated in those few mocking, cynical words that this crazy scheme had as much if not more to do with money than extremism? That his entire organisation was a willingly gullible force, expendable and ready to die, with himself sitting at its head, unseen and untouched?


  “Why is your hatred of America so deep?” he said. “I take it you’re the organised and patient man and the others are the cannon fodder?”

  Malak grunted. “My parents and two sisters were killed by a missile strike when I was five years old. It was an American missile and they were in a school at the time.” His mouth twisted. “So much for precision and reliable intelligence. Isn’t that what the Pentagon is always claiming? Twelve other children and five teachers also died in that incident and countless others were maimed for life.”

  James swallowed hard. The pain in the man’s voice carried the ring of conviction. “Where did this happen?”

  “Where doesn’t matter. I was taken away from the place two days later and never went back. But I never forgot.”

  James thought about the timing and Malak’s approximate age. It had to have been during the first Gulf War, in the early nineties. An accident of war, perhaps, of bad coordinates or intelligence, or simply a lack of care in designating a target. None of it mattered now, except that whatever the cause, it had created a monster.

  Up front, Bilal said something and the van began to slow.

  A man was standing by the side of the road.

  “Turn in the gate here,” said Malak, putting a cell phone away. He looked at James and spoke carefully, the passion gone. “We’re going to change vehicles. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can use the opportunity to run. We’re a long way from anywhere and I still have the phone numbers of the men watching your family. I will call them if I have to.”

  James shook his head and remained silent. He was still stunned by the scenario Malak had unveiled, of a generation of future terrorist attacks driven by a man willing to use others to die in his desire for vengeance. The horrifying aspect was, it was an idea that he could see replicated by others with the same twisted zeal. If Malak succeeded in his ghastly plan, the idea would spread and, even if he disappeared, others would soon take his place.

  Bilal stopped the van and turned off the engine. The silence after hours of being in the noisy echo of the vehicle was intense, and James struggled to catch the sound of Malak’s voice. The terrorist had jumped out of the rear doors to greet the man waiting for them, and he began issuing rapid orders.

  Bilal came round the side and undid the cuffs, then dragged James roughly from the back and made him squat down by pressing his shoulder in an iron grip. James looked around and saw the man, a slim, dark-skinned individual in his forties, handing Malak a pile of clothing and boots. For a second he couldn’t identify the items in the gloom, but then the familiar pattern of the fabric became clear. They were combat uniforms.

  James looked past the two men and his mind raced ahead to what was about to happen, collating facts and stitching them together.

  He was looking at a light army patrol vehicle complete with ID plates and numbers. With the uniforms, it was obvious what Malak was about to do. He was planning on going right into the area near the Altus air base! He wondered at the sheer crazy effrontery of the man. Then cool reason took over and he saw the simple brilliance behind the move.

  After all, who would question another military patrol among so many? With security so tight and every spare man and vehicle called into use, they’d be all but invisible.

  His suspicions were confirmed when the newcomer patted the hood of the vehicle and said with only a faint trace of an accent, “Fresh out of the repair shop an hour ago. It hasn’t been signed out yet, so nobody will miss it for at least forty-eight hours. Those uniforms are all genuine, but don’t go talking to other patrols. Everybody is on edge and ready to go operational. It’s best if you stay on the move—and don’t forget to salute if you see an officer.”

  “Good work,” said Malak. He turned to Bilal and told him to get James on board and for both of them to change into the uniforms and boots. Then he said to the other man, “You’re coming, too.”

  “What?” The man looked startled. “No, you don’t understand. Now that I stole the patrol vehicle I have to leave—they’ll know it was me.” He held out his hand. “Give me the keys to the van and I’ll be gone. I’m already getting too much flak because of where I came from and I can’t stand it anymore. I said I’d help with this and the stuff for the men at Fort Sill, but that’s it. I have a family to protect.”

  Malak reached behind his back and produced his pistol. “I think it’s you who doesn’t understand. Now, you either stop your whining and get in the vehicle with the others … or I leave you here with a bullet in your cowardly skull.”

  The man swallowed then did as he was told.

  forty-nine

  From a few miles out it was evident in the clear, early-morning sunlight that the area encompassing the city and base of Altus was considerable. Though it was level, with little natural cover such as woodland or dead ground, making a search in the short time they had available was going to be tough.

  Dave Proust had brought Ruth and Vaslik in from the north-east, pointing out the Wichita Mountains on one side and Quartz Mountain on the other. “They’re the only hills we’ll see from here on,” he told them. “The rest is flat as a pancake.”

  “That’s not good,” Ruth commented, eyeing the distant air base and surrounding terrain. Flat was both good and bad; it helped them see farther from the sky, but it also gave Malak plenty of time to see them coming and take evasive action. Either way, they had a commanding view of the problem they faced if Brasher wasn’t able to narrow down the location and scope of the area known as Freedom Field very soon.

  “I can’t go in too close.” Dave’s voice floated into their earphones. “Brasher got me special clearance, but we won’t be able to overfly the base. We’ll have to turn soon and follow the perimeter at a distance and hope we see something.”

  Just then Brasher’s voice sounded in their ears.

  “Okay, I got it. Freedom Field is a designated area of two acres situated a mile and a half to the northeast of Altus Air Base. That’s where the president will be going, so we estimate your search area will be somewhere outside that location.” He read out the coordinates and Dave made a note before beginning to turn on a course that would bring them round in a wide approach to begin their sweep. “You should be aware that the SWAT jump team is ready to go and there’s now another team on the ground awaiting instructions. We’re relying on you guys to give us a heads-up on Malak’s position, but I’ve had instructions that if you don’t respond with solid information by ten minutes before the designated jump time, both teams will go in. That being the case, I suggest you be ready to leave the area and give them a clear run.”

  “Got that.” Dave turned his head towards Ruth and Vaslik with a faint look of puzzlement. “Care to tell us why there’s a ground team as well?”

  “We got word from the MPs at Fort Sill,” Brasher said. “They found the car the two gunmen had used. It contained a thousand rounds of ammunition and packaging from three sets of army combat uniforms and boots. Another thing: a local store owner had his car stolen during the night not half a mile away from where the car was found. A neighbour saw it being driven west out of town with three men inside.”

  There was a silence, eventually broken by Vaslik. “Three more. We have to assume they’re armed.”

  “I think we can bet on it. I just wish I knew what with. If they’ve gotten rocket launchers like the men in Alva, it’ll be bad. My bet is they’re in the Altus area already. It’s only fifty miles on a straight road and they had several hours to get here.”

  Brasher disconnected and Dave waved a hand towards an area in front of them and slightly to their left. “On my map there’s a small lake out there somewhere. That’s where the coordinates will take us. If our guy is in position, he’ll be where he can watch the action.”

  “And upwind, presumably,” said Ruth. “He won’t want to get caught in his own spray. Can you check the current wind direction?”
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  “Good point—and yes, I can.” He busied himself on the radio and spoke to the control tower at Altus, and was given the latest report for the area. He thanked the person on the other end with a shake of his head and disconnected. “It’s blowing southwest towards the base but changeable. Ain’t that convenient? The tower also said I should leave the area immediately or be forced to land. He didn’t sound as if he was messing around; authorisation overruled. I’d better pull out before they send an armed ship to investigate.”

  “Does that mean the president’s already in the area?” Ruth asked.

  “If not, he’s real close.” He checked his watch. It was 10:30 a.m. “They must have brought the programme forward. We don’t have long. I’ll tune to the local police network for a heads-up.”

  He pressed a preset button and their headphones were filled with bursts of static and a relay of voices, contracted sentences, and, to the outsider, the unintelligible and mostly unexciting terminology of law-enforcement professionals.

  Dave took the helicopter on a wider curve away from the base, keeping the general area around the lake within sight. Not that there was much to see. The terrain looked devoid of landmarks save for a few scattered shrubs and trees and the rigid line of a road running from north to south. The road itself looked almost empty, with little signs of moving traffic and only a heavy haulage truck being loaded at a barn to one side. Ruth concluded that if Malak was hiding out here, he’d found a good point of concealment.

  “This whole area would have been checked by security, wouldn’t it?” she asked.

  “Sure would,” Dave confirmed. “They’d have had a Secret Service advance team here for about a week, with more flown in once word came in about Malak’s threat. They’d have checked and rechecked buildings and trees for at least a couple of miles out in case of a sniper attack, even without a direct threat. With Malak, they’d have doubled the precautions. Like those guys.” He was pointing down at two military patrol vehicles at the side of a small farm, with several men in uniform moving around the buildings.