LIARS the News Industry
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BAGHDAD, IRAQ - Derrick arrived at the Prince Sultan Air Base in Iraq after traveling nonstop from the States aboard a C-141 Starlifter. Before leaving, the Director alerted the Internal Security that there was a mole accessing top-secret documents. Derrick referenced Presidential Order AR-992Z and left it up to them to track the traitor down. When Derrick landed he was wearing tan combat fatigues and a nine-millimeter sidearm strapped to his side. Because of the secrecy surrounding his trip, the Director arrived without paperwork, so he needed to skirt security.
Derrick stepped down the rear elevator ramp and heard the faint drone of an approaching diesel engine. The sand-colored Humvee slid to a stop just off the runway, sending a cloud of fine sand and dust in every direction. Derrick approached the vehicle, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight reflected off its windscreen. The driver door swung open and a man bounded to the ground.
The SAD officer was also dressed in tan combat fatigues and wore military-issue desert boots. Allen Sinatra was tall, about six-foot four, and was athletically built with close-cropped brown hair under a sweat stained Navy baseball cap. A fifty-caliber Desert Eagle was slung under his left arm, held in place by a horizontal, shoulder holster. Allen was carrying a half-empty bottle of Coca-Cola, and wore no identifying markings. As the two men approached one another, the younger officer removed his sunglasses while finishing off the drink. His cool, dark eyes were centered on the SAD Director as Allen threw the empty bottle over into some desert scrub brush.
“Director, it is good to see you.”
Officer Allen Sinatra was the Field Officer who managed teams and assets in the field. SAD Field Officers specialized in operations that were more cerebral and for the past several years, Allen had been involved in creating and maintaining a network of informants and indigenous killers behind Iranian lines. Recent operations included the assassination of several clerics involved in thwarted terrorist attacks inside the United States. They thought the sanctuary offered by the Iranians enough to protect them from reprisals and they had been wrong. Allen's operative was also the one who turned up the intelligence on al-Zarqawi's and his location in the Iranian terrorist training camp.
Derrick smiled and replied, “Good to see you as well, Allen."
Derrick's pale, white skin stood out in stark contrast to the sun tanned Field Operations officer.
"How long has it been, Director?”
"Going on two years," Derrick responded with a slight grin. “What have you heard is going on back in the States?”
"Nothing but what the CIA man told me. Have they really shut us down?"
"Yes," Derrick began walking over to the Humvee. “Have you seen any new faces?”
“No, not yet.”
"Well, Allen, they'll show up soon, it's just a matter of time. My latest information showed Black Angel ten kilometers inside Iranian lines." Derrick pulled a map from his thigh pocket and started to spread the map out on the hood of the vehicle.
"Damn-it to shit! That's hot!"
Allen chuckled, "It's been a while, huh sir?"
"Hell yes! Wow, that is hot." Derrick took the map and folded it into a small square of the area where the Black Angel team was held up. "They were heading in the direction of Gerd Basak along a path east of Genehdar," the Director pointed out the location of the village with his index finger. "So you and I will make our way to Bikows, just this side of the border. If my hunch is right, they’re going to attempt to cross tonight.”
Allen countered, “I’m familiar with that area and there is a natural obstacle obstructing their path. It's the Tem-Tar Wadi and it's got twenty to thirty-foot cliff-like walls they will have to overcome before that last four kilometers of open ground. They’ll never cover the distance before dawn if the Iranians are in the way.”
“What kind of hardware do we have?”
Allen nodded in the direction of the Humvee. “I am carrying two fifty-caliber semiautomatics and enough ammo to reduce a platoon. There’s an armored vehicle park some fifty-clicks from here. We’ll pay it a visit and see if we can’t find something that looks Iranian to get us in and out with some protection.”
“Did you locate a safe house?”
“Yes, there’s an abandoned Iraqi airfield we can use, not too far from where Karl’s team will be crossing.”
Derrick responded, “Good, we have very little time to waste.”
“Well, let's get going, sir.”
Having crossed several time zones, the Director knew he needed to get some sleep. Both men jumped into the wheeled transport with Allen continuing to act as driver. During a bit of small talk between the two, Derrick noticed the Field Operations officer had that distant gaze in his eyes, something he had seen many times in other men who served in difficult theaters of war. Derrick understood Sinatra’s condition came from countless missions that could never be spoken of, all classified, and until recently, under the radar.
Derrick knew from personal experience it was difficult to remove oneself from the violence one saw in combat. They desensitized a man like nothing else could and in some cases they could cause him to snap. Derrick hoped Allen could contend with difficulties of his inner monsters, just as he had; however, the Director knew from experience, they never went completely away.
Derrick and men like Allen all had a homogeneous, natural bond in as much for that shared experience. That was why they were both here; that was why Derrick was now considered a fugitive by the Department of Justice, that’s why he had to save his men, no matter what.
Derrick fell into a deep sleep as the wheeled transport rumbled toward the Iranian border.
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SOHO DISTRICT, NYC - The single-room window of the two-star hotel was pushed open, letting in the sounds of city, which mixed with the audio coming from the color television set. The taller of the two men was half propped up against the headboard on one of two queen-sized beds; the other sat slouched in the one-fabric armchair. The two men watched the rerun of Gilligan’s Island, occasionally laughing when the Skipper batted his second mate on the head with his captain’s hat.
The two mercenaries were trained to look, act and speak like Americans, which is why they were in country, to take care of any loose ends.
“Can you believe that fool,” the taller man commented with a laugh when Gilligan just stood in place as the Skipper pummeled him for what must have been the third time in this one episode.
The man pulled the buzzing cellphone from his pocket.
“Yes,” he answered.
The voice of Colonel Alexi Rosacova came over the line.
“У нас є проблема. Її звуть Ширлі Winters, вона живе в Бронксі. У неї є аудіозапис. Знайти записи і припинити всі вільні кінці.”
(We have a problem. The name is Shirley Winters. She lives in the Bronx. The target has an audio recording. Find the recordings and eliminate her.)
The line went dead.
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The SAD team, with difficulty, avoided contact with the enemy several times during the night. The team had come up against the last natural obstacle between themselves and the Iraqi border. As the team lay prone atop the eastern escarpment, each man had their binoculars out scanning the western ridge line.
“See, anything?” asked Sean.
On the far side, Karl could make out a smattering of soldiers holding the far cliff of the wadi. Karl could see their occasional movement and was trying to get an idea of the number of the enemy they were facing.
Karl answered, “Yes, looks like they have men scattered along that cliff acting as sentries.”
The team leader looked along the opposite plateau to see if there might be a gap and to gauge the distance between each outpost. From this distance, Karl could not clearly see any one soldier in detail.
The hours passed by slowly as the men of the Black Angel team waited for the concealment of
nightfall. The one thing working in Karl's favor in this unspoken war was the effect the trade embargo was having on Iranian military technology. Struggling to come face to face with the basic and essential needs of the citizens, the mullahs’ insistence that nuclear weapons development continued to isolate the Iranians from all but two countries, Russia and China. The result, most of their hardware was being provided by those two totalitarian states and was both antiquated and largely ineffective by US Military standards.
Karl began to hear the intermittent sound of blades chopping through the air. Flying at night, that has to mean night-sighting is installed.
There was little place to hide on this barren plateau Karl and his team found themselves on. Karl snapped, “Everybody, it’s time to disappear.”
Each SOG officer carried a heat-diffusing cover sheet that would prevent all but third and fourth-generation equipment from picking them up at a distance of a kilometer, or more. The team quickly removed their desert camouflage tarpaulins from their packs and covered themselves. The problem was the direction the helicopter was traveling would put it just overhead long enough to enable an alert crew to see through the hides.
Karl's heart rate quickened as the Hind MI-24 approached, the noise of the rotors growing in intensity. It was a good two kilometers away when the Iranians on the far side of the wadi began firing off star shells to ward off any possibility of mistaking them as enemy. First one, and then another. This was an illustration of what set Karl's team off from opponents. Black Angel would have never exposed its location to prevent being taken under fire by friendlies. They would have accepted the risks.
Karl drew a sigh of relief as the Hind MI-24 passed by their location and continued on. Looking at his watch and then toward the horizon the faint glow of dawn could be seen coming up. The sun would work to their favor blinding the enemy just long enough. Karl had also spotted the gap in the posted sentries less than a half-a-click away. Since the firefight, his team stopped any electronic communications to prevent the enemy from triangulating their location. In a whispered tone, “On me.”
His teammates closed up. Karl continued whispering, “There is a gap to the south.”
ASSASSINATIONS