The Nabatean Secret

by J C Ryan

  Dylan instructed them to gather all electronic equipment and plug them into the power in the lounge. He took the Blackjack out of his backpack, booted it up, and placed it on the table to scan and collect data from all the devices. His men didn’t ask about the device; they were intelligent enough to figure it out for themselves.

  It would be hours later before Dylan, his men, and the Russians were finally all back in Moscow. By the time Dylan, who refused to be evacuated with the wounded, and his men arrived in Moscow, a celebration was underway.

  The Spetsnaz troops, including their leader, had experienced a profound change of heart. Many had already consumed their first bottles of vodka and were starting on the second.

  After the third Spetsnaz had bear-hugged him and thanked him for saving their asses with tears in their eyes, he was in a pretty good mood himself. The Spetsnaz leader was confined to a hospital bed, but he’d sent an apology and his profound thanks to his new American friends.

  The Vice-President intervened before Dylan and his men could get into the party mood. Time to go home, and time for Dylan to be glad they weren’t searched on departure.

  They would have liked to take the Nabatean scoundrel, Mathieu Nabati, with them, but it was not to be. At least they had a copy of all the information on his vast array of electronic devices.

  Chapter 96 - Eight more councilors

  Barely two hours before the strikes in the rest of the countries were to take place, the President of China made his decision. Better safe than sorry, former Secretary of State, Abraham Goudy, had urged, and China’s President had pondered a bit of history before deciding to risk his friendship with one of the Vice-Chairmen of the National People’s Congress by allowing the Ministry of State Security to pick him up and question him.

  Polite but cold, the President thanked Goudy for his information and assured him China would take care of the problem. Just as politely, he suggested Goudy waste no time in returning home.

  Goudy was not entirely happy with the outcome, but there was nothing more he could do. At least he got President Zhang to agree not to jump the gun and agree to wait until the other operations started. And at least he’d be able to go home.

  There was no discussion of allowing US representatives to sit in on the questioning, despite Goudy’s urgent pleas. Nor was any information shared. No details of the arrest were made available.

  Careful observance of Chinese government rolls later showed the vice-chairman’s seat vacant, but no death notice appeared. From those facts, Bill Griffin concluded the man had been kept alive for questioning, determined to be untrustworthy, but not killed. One could never be sure, but the Nabatean appeared to be out of circulation in any case.

  It would only be weeks later that information from US covert operators in China revealed someone who’d been of previous interest in Shanghai was killed in a shootout with the MSS police. The name matched that of the second Nabatean in China, and the date corresponded with the day of the coordinated roundup of the Nabateans.

  ***

  Missions to close allies went almost as expected. With full cooperation of the respective governments, US personnel were involved in the apprehension of every Nabatean council member.

  Rather than resist, two of them, the one in London and his counterpart in Tokyo, committed suicide.

  MI6 rushed in at the sound of a handgun but found the Nabatean with a small hole in his right temple and the left side of his head gone—most of it still dripping off the wall on his left.

  The Tokyo scene was just as messy. The Nabatean woman was pushing a sword through her stomach in classic hara-kiri style when Japanese security personnel entered the house.

  They rushed her to a hospital, but she’d lost too much blood and damaged too many internal organs. Doctors were unable to save her.

  In Japanese tradition, she had performed what was considered an act of restoring honor by one who had failed and shamed friends and family.

  In India, the Nabatean councilor calmly surrendered. When told his co-councilors were dead or detained, he became very keen to secure a deal—he’d inform against them for any sort of comfort in prison, where the Indian special police assured him he’d spend the rest of his life.

  An initial search of the Saudi’s residence had the Mabahith taskforce think he had escaped. But then a locked and impregnable room led the Mabahith men to believe he was inside. They waited him out, and when he emerged, arrested him promptly.

  Well aware of what was in store, he began talking before he was out of his house. They didn’t even have to use enhanced interrogation techniques on him, though the two CIA agents thought they eventually would, just to make sure they got all the information he had and that what he told them was the truth.

  ***

  Within an hour after the launch of the final phase of Operation Rock Concert, President Grant was handed a note from one of the senior CIA members. He was part of the group in the Situation Room monitoring the unfolding of the global operation.

  The message from Omar Said consisted of only three words—Done. Coming home.

  It would only be three days later when Omar and his companion were back in DC that Sean got the details about the missions to Iran and Syria to take out Alireza Karimi-Shah in Tehran and Hassan Al-Suleiman.

  Hassan Al-Suleiman was taken out by a sniper with a high-powered rifle from about eight-hundred yards.

  Alireza Karimi-Shah in Tehran was taken out with a car-bomb, which was remotely detonated at ten minutes past Zero Hour.

  Chapter 97 - He didn’t care

  Sean couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused at Connie’s insistence she could help with Graziella’s capture. The Secretary of State was all for putting on a Peruvian Army uniform, arming herself, and if there were horses, saddling one to ride out with them. He had to believe she was kidding; nevertheless, he explained to her in all seriousness that President Grant would have his ass in a sling if he allowed Connie to be anywhere near a dangerous operation.

  “This isn’t a horse ride out on your ranch to catch a few cattle-rustler wannabes,” he finished.

  “Honey, you are so sweet. I know that.”

  “You scared me there for a minute, Connie.”

  She turned a look on him that was devoid of her usual teasing glint. “Sugar, I know you have a girlfriend waitin’ for you. If I were twenty-five years younger, she wouldn’t have a chance, but as it is, you’re like a son to me.

  “You take care, for both our sakes, you hear?” She kissed his cheek. “Now get goin’.”

  Sean’s jaw dropped. He’d had no idea Madame Secretary knew anything of his personal life. Wondering what being “like a son” to her would mean for him in the future, he grinned, gave a snappy salute, and left to join the rest of the raiding party.

  He was to lead his six Executive Advantage operatives and six Peruvian Fuerza Delta troops. The Fuerza Delta was based on America’s Delta Force model and was one of two Special Forces units in the Peruvian Marines. The six had been chosen partly because they could speak English well enough to follow Sean’s instructions.

  Sean and both teams boarded two Mil Mi 17 choppers in Lima and headed to Machu Picchu, approximately three hundred miles distant. They had just under two hours to finalize the plan of attack they’d formed in Lima before leaving.

  With the help of satellite photos, they knew the layout of Graziella’s compound. What they didn’t know was how many guards she had, their weaponry, and how they were deployed within the mansion or the grounds.

  Sean was a careful leader. He preferred to scout first and give his men the best chance of survival. Therefore, he assigned his troops to each major area of the compound in twos, instructing them to observe and report back but not to move in until his order.

  They had an advantage in the PeriD’ice anti-surveillance devices, which proved effective in defeating Graziella’s electronic security measures and allowed Sean and his troops to surprise Graziella and her guards
.

  As he’d suspected, she was heavily protected. One of the Peruvians literally stumbled over a guard as they approached, and in the ensuing scuffle, the guard got off a shot. The Peruvian killed the guard with his knife, but the damage was done—the alarm raised. Before Sean’s men had a good read on the situation, guards were streaming out of the house to meet the threat.

  Sean’s two-man squads immediately sought cover and strafed them with automatic fire. They mowed down eighty-percent of the storming guards within seconds, the rest went to ground.

  When the shooting started, Sean gave orders to two of his men to use their grenade launchers to take out the satellite and other communications antennae on the roof of the mansion so Graziella couldn’t get messages out to the rest of the world. A few well-aimed shots took care of that, and then the raiding party inched toward the house, making sure they left no live enemy behind them.

  Sean assumed Graziella would have kept some of her guards with her. He led four of his men into the house while the others assisted the Peruvians in the mop-up outside. They cleared the rooms methodically, working their way from the front entry right and left, with Sean cautiously moving between them, taking cover behind furniture as he went.

  It took nearly half an hour to clear the way before they found a room guarded by two men.

  On approach, one of Sean’s men stumbled over a rug, alerting them. Sean and his companion opened fire, but one of the guards was able to shoot and kill the fallen operative before he could recover. Both guards succumbed to double-tap gunshots immediately afterward.

  Sean was in a savage mood over the loss of his friend and teammate when he kicked Graziella’s door down, dodging back around the wall immediately. He called out.

  “Graziella Nabati! Surrender now, and no one else needs to get hurt.”

  The response was a burst of fire from an automatic weapon that shredded the door frame where Sean’s head was a split second before. Sean’s right forearm was grazed by one of the rounds, but it didn’t slow him down.

  His remaining teammate was unhurt and answered the gunfire with a burst of his own.

  Sean shouted at him over the noise to cease fire. They needed Graziella alive.

  When no further gunfire from inside the room ensued, they assumed either the person who’d shot before had been killed, seriously wounded, or had given up.

  Nevertheless, Sean and his man peeked quickly around the damaged doorframe and pulled back immediately. They repeated that several times, each time allowing their eyes to make quick snapshots of the layout of the room, as well as where someone could be hiding, waiting to kill them when they came in.

  After a minute of the standoff, Sean knew someone would have to make a move. He dropped to the ground in a belly-crawl position, held up three fingers and lowered one at a time. When the third finger folded down, he and his man slithered into the room, leopard-crawling as fast as they could.

  From his vantage point on the floor, Sean saw Graziella huddled in a corner next to the bed. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

  An automatic rifle lay on the floor nearby.

  Sean surged to his feet, ran the few yards toward Graziella and kicked the weapon out of her reach. His man cleared the rest of the room, finding no one.

  Sean took Graziella by the arm and urged her to stand. He could hear no more gunfire from outside, and the lack of a response from inside the house told him it was secured by his men.

  He frog-marched Graziella outside and told her to call out to her guards to stand down, which she did.

  Two Nabatean guards rose from their concealed positions and were covered by Peruvian troops immediately. When the clean-up was complete and Sean had a tally, he’d lost one Executive Advantage operative and one Peruvian. Three were wounded, two Peruvians and himself. Although he didn’t regard his as a real wound.

  Sean had the wounded tended to first, then had the medic sedate Graziella, who’d gone into a screaming fit when she’d seen the devastation and the lifeless bodies of her guards.

  It was a merciful relief to everyone when her high-pitched bawling ended as the sedative rendered her comatose.

  The two remaining guards were handcuffed and pushed unceremoniously into the chopper, followed by an unconscious Graziella and the two wounded Peruvians.

  Sean sent the able-bodied men he had left to ransack the mansion for anything useful or informative, and they returned with various records, computers, and electronic devices they didn’t recognize. They loaded it all into the chopper.

  Sean boarded last, looking over his shoulder at Graziella’s mansion. The front door stood wide open. He looked at the body bag containing his fallen comrade and was tempted to set fire to the house, wipe it off the face of the earth.

  Instead he just clenched his jaw, got into the chopper, and signalled for the pilot to take off. Once in the air, he asked the medic to bandage his wound.

  Perhaps indigenous people would find the house, or more likely looters and other criminals. Maybe even a drug lord would take it over. He didn’t care.

  ***

  In Lima, Constance Pierce had been working her charms on the Prime Minister. After telling him about the Nabateans’ goals and methods, how they’d stayed below the radar anywhere they had operations, and everything else they were capable of, she had the poor man spooked.

  She relieved his anxiety by volunteering the US to deal with the diabolical leader, Graziella Nabati.

  “In that way, Peru would not become a target of the Nabateans, should they ever raise their ugly heads again,” she said.

  The Prime Minister wasn’t entirely naïve. Before allowing the valuable Nabati woman out of the country, he extracted a promise that the US would share all information with Peru and negotiated a beneficial trade deal as well.

  Chapter 98 - The risks

  Bill and Simone were painfully aware of the risks for both of them. Simone’s involvement, if discovered, was not going to go down well with the French authorities. She could very well be facing subversion charges—emotional as the French could get, they’d probably revive the use of the guillotine just for the occasion. Bill would probably be arrested and thrown in jail for espionage, at the very minimum, and the political fallout between the US and France would be catastrophic. Other allies might even side with the French.

  Notwithstanding their predicament, both were equally aware that an hourglass was running out, and no one had any idea how much sand was left in it. The Operation Rock Concert’s Zero Hour was nine hours away, but no one knew what the Nabateans’ Zero Hour was.

  The thermobaric explosives in the chambers below Graziella’s house, threatening the lives of the people working there, plus the threat of an antimatter bomb that could take out Capitol Hill and much of the surrounding area, not to mention one that would wipe out New York City, trumped every other consideration.

  There was definitely no time left to go through diplomatic channels.

  If this operation went pear-shaped and their involvement became known, that would be their only justification for their actions—they could only hope and pray the authorities would also see it that way.

  Bill had explained to her that only the US, with its firsthand knowledge of the Nabateans, had the skills and technical knowhow to prevent the imminent disaster.

  As a senior agent for the Direction générale de la sécurité, Simone’s duties included counter-espionage, counter-terrorism, countering cybercrime, and surveillance of potentially threatening groups. This operation would have fitted one hundred percent into her job description was it not for the fact that she was not going to inform her agency.

  Their first major issue was the information about the subterranean complex below Graziella’s house was scanty at best. In fact, the only information they had, provided by Sullivan, was that it consisted of at least four levels, and there were more than a hundred people working there.

  Simone had access to detailed maps of the Paris Catacombs—her agency, wo
rking closely with the police, had been keeping an eye on them for years because of the ideal hiding place it provided for criminals and terrorists.

  While she and Bill were talking, she logged into her work account from her laptop via an encrypted virtual private network and downloaded the maps. With the maps in front of them, she disconnected the link, and they quickly figured out that Graziella’s house was apparently surrounded by catacombs. Although they had no idea where the edges of the compound below her house were, it was clear that in some areas there would be common walls.

  “Sullivan told us the only way to access the chambers is from Graziella’s house, but I’m wondering if that’s correct. Not that I think Sullivan would have lied about it; maybe he wasn’t told about it,” Bill said. “The thing that has been bugging me since I heard about it is how those hundred employees get in and out of that place? They can’t all be going through the house every day. That would’ve raised red flags with the neighbors and police ages ago.”

  “Hmm, that’s true, but only if the people who work there are living on the outside—they could be living inside,” Simone responded.

  “Like moles…,” Bill mused. “That’s what I call a crappy working environment. I just can’t imagine how people could live like that for extended periods of time. There must be other entrances.”

  “It would be very helpful if we can find another way to enter the facility than through Graziella’s house. Especially if we could do so from the cover of the catacombs,” she said.

  “Well, if we can figure out the layout of the facility and determine where the shared walls are, we might be able to use a few carefully shaped C4 charges to provide us with a new entry if required—if the walls are not too thick.”

  Simone went quiet for a while as she worked on a plan to get into Graziella’s house discreetly. She used her special access rights to the City Council, Postal Services, and Police networks to find out if the house was occupied by anyone in the absence of Graziella Nabati. Within a few minutes, she had the information. The house was still registered in Graziella’s name but currently occupied by one person, Jean Aubert, a seventy-six-year-old bachelor. “Probably the butler,” she said. “If we just had more time to investigate...” her voice trailed off.