WASHINGTON, D.C. - January 21, outgoing President McKinley had just days before turning over his office to President-elect Nathan Martinez when the Secretary of Defense, Donald Taggert, entered his office unannounced.
“Mr. President.”
McKinley glanced up, then at his watch. “Not for much longer, Don.”
“Intelligence has spotted Abu al-Zarqawi.”
“Well, where is he?”
“Intelligence has him near the Iran-Iraq border at an Iranian military compound. They are convinced the location is being used as a terrorist training center. Heavy traffic has been picked up by overhead surveillance and could only mean Al-Qaeda is planning a new wave of attacks against Iraqi targets.”
Both men understood open aggression across the Iranian border could not be carried out by conventional forces, not without Congressional approval. McKinley had met the incoming President on a few occasions, and the Republican believed the cocky Senator would not have the stomach to call out the dogs, and yet, there was still time to do something. A fast, in-and-out mission by SAD would fall inside his authority.
There was no longer a buffer between Iran and the United States and there was little doubt the simmering hostility would flare up into a new conflict that could envelop the entire region. The U.S. Military tried for years to get close enough to assassinate this most powerful ringleader within Al-Qaeda, someone who was directly involved in the planning of September 11, 2001. This might be the last time anyone got a shot at the son-of-a-bitch.
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“This is Mitchum.”
“Director Mitchum, this is President McKinley.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Is there time to get one last mission before I leave office, end of the week?”
“Three days. Yes, it is possible. Where to?”
“Al-Zarqawi has been spotted near the Iran-Iraq border, in Ilam Province.”
Derrick was familiar with that part of Iran, long a breeding ground for terrorist insurgents and an area where several hit-and-run missions had been carried out.
“Are you confident you can do it? I don’t want to leave you and your men out on a limb.”
“I can always pull them out if they don’t make it, sir.”
“True. Okay, I’m sending you my authorization for the mission. Derrick, I want you to pull the plug on the mission if your men can’t get things done inside three days.”
“I understand, Karl Hagman’s team is in the area and can begin the operation within the hour.”
“Derrick, I would not be asking you to take such a gamble unless I thought the mission would be worth the risk. I just can’t sit around on my hands when that maniac is within arms reach.”
“I understand completely, sir.”
“Three days Derrick; no longer, understood.”
“Three days, Mr. President.”
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DETROIT, MI - President-elect, Nathan Martinez, was tying up some loose ends back in Detroit before the leap to Washington. He had just finished shaking hands with the new Michigan Senator who will be taking his old Senate seat. Martinez lit up one more ‘Kool’ cigarette and leaned back in his chair. It turned out the vacancy was worth $4.5 million dollars, not bad for an afternoon’s work.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” answered Martinez who was now in the best of moods.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. President, DNC Chairperson Ricardo Adduci is on the line for you, he says it’s urgent.”
“Well, pass him through, Mary.”
Martinez answered the call on the second ring. “Yes, Ricardo, what’s up?”
“Are we on the speaker, Mr. President?”
“No.”
“Something just came in from one of our people at Langley. McKinley is sending a military team into Iran.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“It could be a big mistake and play right into our hands, Mr. President.”
“Hold on, I want to get Nelson in on this.” Martinez covered up the receiver with his hand, then shouted, “Mary, get me the Chief of Staff, I need him right now!”
“Yes, Mr. President,” the secretary replied, her voice barely noticeable through the closed door.
Martinez put Adduci on the speaker. “Ricardo, do you have any idea why McKinley’s sending a special ops into Iran?”
Nelson Frank, newly appointed White House Chief of Staff, spoke from the doorway, “It’s got to be a black-ops team called Special Activities Division. Sorry, I could not help but overhear the two of you. You’d better send the secretary off on an errand, unless you want one more eavesdropper involved.”
“Mary,” Martinez shouted.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Go get three coffees, Starbucks.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“She talks like a parrot,” remarked Nelson.
“Yea, close that damn door. You know, I’ll be f....ing glad when I’m out of here.” Martinez took a long pull on his menthol nicotine stick.
Nelson now clarified things for the two politicians, “Okay, just so the two of you are aware, McKinley is entirely within his rights in sending the Special Activities Division on that sort of mission, so, why is this so important?”
“Because, you idiot. He’s only got three days in office!” exclaimed the DNC Chairman over the speaker.
“If they don’t get back, or better yet, if they’re captured by the Iranians, I see that as a perfect way to start off your presidency.”
“I hate to admit it, but Ricardo could be right about this,” remarked Nelson who was a very bright guy and a quick study.
Adduci’s voice came back over the speaker, “I can just see the headlines now, ‘McKinley Goes On Trial.’”
“Look guys, I’m just a law professor, so fill me in. What would be the charge?”
Nelson answered with confidence. “War crimes, we could charge McKinley with war crimes, violating the sovereignty of foreign nations.”
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ALGODONES, MEXICO - The former Spetsnaz Colonel turned mercenary was humping his brains out on one of the latest arrivals when his cellphone began buzzing on the nightstand. The big man rolled off the American teen, the one who recently went missing in the streets of Tijuana. The Russian looked like a grizzly beast, perspiration matted down both his hairy chest and back to his muscled torso. Picking up the intrusion, the Russian answered in a deep, husky voice, sweat dripping from his nose from his exertions, “This is Boris.”
The voice of Nelson Frank came over the receiver, “This is Mr. White. How good are your connections with the Iranians?”
“I still have friends there, why?”
“I need you to alert the Iranians to the presence of an American team operating within their borders. It is a six-man team headed to the Azerbaijan Province.”
“That is big country. What is the American’s mission?”
“Assassinate al-Zarqawi.”
“The terrorist leader, that make things easier to track down.”
“Boris, I need you to make certain those men do not get out of Iran.”
“Who are these men, Rangers, Delta?”
“That is of no concern of yours.”
“Yes, it is my concern Mr. White.”
Nelson paused for a moment before responding agitatedly; he did not like answering questions. “Fine, the group is from SAD, Special Activities Division.”
“Special Activities Division, part of CIA?”
“Yes Boris, six men from the CIA.”
“I want half now. Half upon delivery.”
“Shit, okay fine!”
“You know Mr. White, the Iranians will not be very kind to those Americans.”
“Hell, that does not matter, just so long as they end up in the Iranian’s hands.”
“I will have my best men on the mission. No way it will fail.”
Click! The con
nection went dead.
The Russian looked back at the hapless, senselessly drugged-out teen, someone’s daughter who would never be seen again, at least not by her family and friends. This was the youth’s so-called “break-in” period before being shipped overseas by her new owners. This was part of the job Colonel Boris Demetree enjoyed most. Taking a quick look at his watch he mumbled with a sordid smile, “Now then, there is still time for a little more fun.”
LAST MISSION AS AMERICANS
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