by Dave Edlund
As a member of the Guardians, Richard Nyden was the coordinator for the Mossad team. He’d arranged to supply their weapons and gear and had provided the intelligence that led them to this location. But he was not supposed to have contact with the team again—too risky. Rather, they were to complete the mission, leaving the body to be discovered months or years later, probably by backpackers or hunters. They were to dispose of the weapons in the forest after wiping them clean of prints, pack up, and drive out.
A simple plan.
Nyden sighed, “Okay. I’ll get the firepower. What are your coordinates?”
Nadya provided her location and agreed to check back in two hours. They would review the new plan at that time.
She turned toward Marcus. “Now we wait. Try to get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”
s
Richard Nyden was furious. He had never been on a mission with so many screw-ups. Who was this Peter Savage anyway? Every contact with him proved to be trouble.
He dialed Ellison’s number. “We have another problem.”
“You and problems seem to go hand in hand. I have to say, you are leaving an impression.”
Nyden silently cursed Ellison. I doubt that desk jockey has spent any time in the field, he thought.
“The Mossad team has suffered heavy casualties and is no longer able to pursue the mission objectives.” He went on to brief Ellison and make his request for a backup team.
After he finished, Ellison said, “Anything else that I should know about?”
“Just this: the Mossad team leader—Nadya Wheeler—had a brief conversation with Peter Savage.”
“She what? How can that be? Why didn’t she kill him as ordered?”
“It seems he got the jump on her. Anyway, they had a short conversation. Wheeler says that Savage mentioned files on the Liberty. She wanted to know what that was about.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing, of course.”
Ellison answered through gritted teeth. “Very well. You’ll have your backup. Make sure this job gets done. Only now the parameters have changed. I want Peter Savage alive, if at all possible.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“There’s a bonus to whoever sees to it. I don’t care how you hurt him, as long as he can answer questions. I need to know how deep his knowledge of the files goes, and if he’s talked to anyone.”
s
Much farther up the slope, Peter and Diesel were preparing for the night. Uncertain if the woman would come back during the cover of darkness, he decided they’d make their stand where they were. The shear rock cliff provided protection, the only likely approach being from the west.
Still foregoing a fire, Peter drained the remainder of the water, sharing it with his companion. “I guess tomorrow we need to fill up the bottles.”
A chill had settled upon their encampment—or was it just the effects of coming off the Adrenalin rush? Peter wrapped his parka around his shoulders. “It’s gonna get cold tonight.” He caught the glint of starlight off Diesel’s eyes. In the dim light, he could just make out the fat, droopy lips. It always reminded Peter of the late actor Edward G. Robinson.
Peter unrolled the sleeping bag and laid it on the ground at the base of the rock semicircle. He sat with his back to the rock, and Diesel settled in next to him. From his position he had an unobstructed view up the slope. The terrain was mostly open, so it would be difficult for someone to approach unnoticed, especially with a clear sky. The Milky Way already shone brilliantly, adding to the glow from countless stellar bodies.
Diesel was relaxed, a good sign. Peter trusted his dog’s hearing to alert him to danger. Donning the civilian night vision goggles, he watched for any approaching danger. It was going to be a long night.
The minutes slowly became hours, and Peter found himself nodding off. He turned off the NVGs and tilted his head skyward just as a shooting star streaked by and then burned up in the atmosphere, providing a flash of light at the end. He saw several more streaks of light, all moving in the same direction. A meteor shower.
Without light pollution from the city, combined with the elevation, the heavens were unbelievably clear. It was one of the joys of the mountains, one that Peter had missed lately. He tried to remember when he last spent time in these woods. Was it two or three seasons ago?
He was still marveling at the multitude of stars when a bright pinpoint of light moved from south to north—it was moving too slowly for a meteor. The light faded and vanished. He knew this to be a satellite. There were so many objects in orbit—mostly space debris—that seeing the sunlight reflect off a passing object was common.
It was on nights like this that Peter had spent time with his children, Joanna and Ethan, in these same mountains. He remembered looking up at the clear night sky, teaching the youngsters how to distinguish passing aircraft from satellites and meteors.
Later, when Ethan was a teenager, Peter took him backpacking along the Tam McArthur Rim on the youth’s first deer hunt. They spent a week in the woods, with Peter teaching Ethan survival tradecraft.
Now, in the silence and solitude of his surroundings, he longed for those days. His mind shifted to Maggie and he closed his eyes, her smiling face vivid in his memory. How many years had passed since she died? She loved these mountains, too. As Peter recalled memories of love and life, tears traced a wavy track down his cheeks.
“I can’t do this, not now,” he said to Diesel. His companion was breathing deeply, and at the sound of Peter’s voice, he opened his eyes, failing to understand.
The air was still, and cold was seeping into Peter’s flesh with the lack of activity. It would only get worse as the night wore on. Diesel moved in closer, sharing body heat with his owner. Peter reached down and folded a portion of the sleeping bag over Diesel as well as his own legs. It just might be a three-dog night, Peter thought. He turned on the night-vision goggles and returned to watch.
s
A-couple-thousand feet lower in elevation and miles to the north, a bevy of law enforcement officers was busy setting up their base of operations. Their vehicles were parked in a rough circular arrangement off the gravel road not far from the location where Deputy Hood had been found. His body had been removed a couple hours ago. Although an autopsy would be performed, the cause of death was obvious to the officers on the scene. It was also clear that he had been murdered elsewhere and his body positioned in the truck.
A mobile communication center with state-of-the-art equipment was the nerve center. The heavy-duty truck frame housed a box-like shelter, patterned after military mobile command centers. From here, the State Police and the Deschutes County Sheriff’s Office would coordinate a search using dogs, ATVs, and an army of law enforcement officers—most of whom volunteered, eager to capture or shoot the cop killer. And everyone understood that the latter option was definitely preferred.
The search had started out promisingly when the dogs quickly found a scent trail leading away from the deputy’s Ford truck. The trail headed north, and the handlers expected it would lead to a campground a few miles away. But unexpectedly the dogs either lost the scent trail or broke away from it. One handler suspected some cover scent had been laid down to mask the path—maybe cougar urine. Dogs were naturally fearful of the large feline predators, and unless they were specifically trained to hunt the cats, no dog would follow the trail.
Opting to wait the night out and resume at first light, the senior officers put their time to good use laying out search grids and assigning personnel to each quadrant. Beginning in the morning, they would search in shifts, working outward from the base camp, until a fresh scent trail was picked up.
Chapter 26
Sacramento, California
April 21
Jim was still studying the satellite photos and topographic maps long after he dismissed his intelligence analysts, Lacey and Stephens. It was time to take action, even though he had no authorization to do so. He c
ould contact Colonel Pierson, the Pentagon officer who oversaw SGIT, explain the situation, and request approval for the mission. But he also understood that the odds of permission being granted were very close to zero. We’ll just pass this off as a training exercise.
He left the conference room on his way for the armory. Sergeant Jesper Mortensen had the shift rotation. A veteran of SGIT, Jesper had been recruited from the Navy SEALS. He was tall with nearly black hair, clean-shaven, and had cobalt blue eyes. He had the highest level of respect for his commander, having served under him during many missions. Normally, SGIT operations were organized around a team of six operators. So he immediately recognized the irregularity of his commander’s request.
“Who’s filling out the team, sir?” Jesper ventured the question.
“There is no team, Sergeant. This is a solo exercise. A training mission. I’ll check out an M27 and ten extra mags.” Jim preferred the M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle, based on the H&K 416 rifle and adopted by the U.S. Marine Corps, over other options, which included automatic shotguns and .50 caliber sniper rifles.
“That’s double the normal load out of spare mags, sir.”
Jim sensed where this was going. “Is there a problem, Sergeant? Because if there is, I advise you to follow standard procedure and state your concern in writing. You may register your written complaint in person in my office tomorrow morning. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” He glanced to the wall clock. “Sir, it’s almost 2400.”
Jim ignored the comment. What he was about to do went beyond irregular, and could lead to his court martial and the end of his career.
“I’ll take a light excursion pack, range-finding scope, NVGs, spare batteries, MREs for three days, standard med kit, and satellite phone.”
Jesper left the counter to gather the requested items. The armory—or more correctly, the storeroom—was to the SGIT soldiers what a high-end outdoor gear store is to the hunter and fisherman. With row upon row of steel shelving running the length of the room, everything that might be needed for a mission was neatly organized here. Weapons, ammunition, medical kits, optics, GPS, NVGs, special clothing and packs, meal rations, and on and on. All laid out in groupings of like supplies.
Sergeant Mortensen returned with everything his commander requested. “It’s all in the pack, sir.” Then he handed the rifle across the counter, bolt open and lacking a magazine.
Jim accepted the rifle and was inspecting it as Jesper left, only to return in short order with a light pack on his shoulder and a second M27 in his grip. “I’m going with you, sir.”
Jim didn’t even look up from his task. “The hell you are, Sergeant.”
Jesper didn’t give in. “Look, sir. There’s a rumor going around that Peter Savage is in a tight spot. And I suspect you aim to help him out.”
Without raising his head, Jim shifted his eyes to Jesper, noting his determined look, and then finished checking the bore and chamber. Spotless, as expected.
“You know he saved my life in the Sudan,” Jesper said by way of explanation. “I won’t turn my back on him.”
“You will follow orders, Sergeant.”
“I know the flight crew is preparing the bird.” That was the nickname for their one-of-a-kind, specially modified HC-130J Combat King IIB aircraft. “You could use my help. Without backup, what are your odds?”
Jim inserted the bolt back into the rifle and drew in a deep breath. He knew Jesper was right. It was borderline suicide to embark on the mission alone.
“Alright, you win. But understand, this could end my career—yours, too.”
Jesper nodded agreement.
“And you still want to volunteer?”
“You know the answer.”
“Very well. Sign out a pair of comms. I’ll brief you during the flight. It will be a short one, so don’t count on any sleep time.” If it had been only Jim on the mission, the squad communication equipment would have been unnecessary. But with Jesper joining him, the prospect of needing encrypted communication between the two was a very real possibility.
With a grin on his face Jesper Mortensen walked beside his commander to the waiting aircraft.
They climbed onboard, and Jim instructed the pilot to taxi and takeoff. The Office was located within the old airbase complex that had been McClellan Field. A former SAC installation, it still maintained a long runway.
Now that the two warriors were on a mission, they shifted to their call signs.
“The plan is simple, Homer,” Jim began. He ran through the plan as best he had it worked out. The problem was that there were a lot of unknowns and variables. He also shared what he knew about the civilians killed in Bend and the Sheriff Deputy who was murdered not far from where they were going.
“Any questions?”
Homer shook his head. “It’ll be a piece of cake, Boss Man. We parachute into the wilderness, aiming for a meadow to avoid snagging a tree. Then we find Peter. What’s to go wrong?”
“Just remember, you volunteered.”
For the first 30 minutes of the hour-long flight, the men had little to say. But Homer had been thinking mostly about Peter Savage. He easily recalled how Peter had stayed by his side in the Sudan, fighting off the enemy against overwhelming odds. “May I ask you a question, sir?” he said.
Boss Man shrugged as he looked at Homer, his expression inviting his sergeant to continue.
“Peter is… unusual. He’s not like any other civilian I’ve met. But not really military either. I mean, he has a lack of respect for authority sometimes.”
That last comment brought a smile to Jim. “Sounds to me like you pegged him pretty well.” He paused, studying Homer’s face. In it he saw genuine interest and concern. “What’s on your mind, Sergeant? You may speak freely.”
“I’m curious what makes him tick. He’s so different from anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Where to begin…” Jim leaned back in the jump seat and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “I met Peter in high school—we became the best of friends. After school, he went to college and I joined the Navy. Didn’t stay in contact much. I missed his wedding to the love of his life—a woman named Maggie. We exchanged Christmas cards and occasional phone calls, but it wasn’t until a few years ago that we reconnected.”
“That’s right,” Homer recalled. “The mission to the Aleutian Islands.”
Jim nodded. “You remember his father, too?”
“Yeah, a professor right? Ian Savage.”
“I reconnected with Peter just prior to that mission. I was trying to persuade the good professor not to travel to Alaska. Thought Peter could help me. But if there’s anyone more stubborn than Peter, it’s his father.”
Homer laughed. He had first-hand experience with Peter’s dogged persistence. But then again, that character trait had saved Homer’s life in North Africa.
“Anyway, at first Peter seemed like the same kid I knew in days past, except older and more mature. But when his back was pushed against the wall by the Ramirez brothers, he changed—it was like he snapped. I don’t really know how to describe it, other than it was as if another side of his personality was unleashed. Make no mistake, Peter can be as hard and cold and cunning as you or me.”
“Hey, you don’t need to convince me of that. Remember, I’ve seen him in action.”
“And there’s a lot you haven’t seen. Peter has worked with me on several missions. The Colonel considers him an honorary member of SGIT.”
“So why this place?” Homer asked.
“You mean our drop coordinates?”
Homer nodded.
“That part of the Cascade Range is spiritual to Peter. He and his wife—”
“Maggie?”
“Yeah, Maggie. They loved camping and hiking in that area around Todd Lake, Broken Top, and South Sister. Peter told me that he and Maggie came up with the name of their first child at Todd Lake. They’d often go there for picnics—the children loved it, too.
And Peter has hunted that piece of forest for years—taught his son how to hunt there.”
“So Peter knows the terrain well. I get it.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You see, when Maggie died, Peter was heartbroken. A part of him died with her. On that forested land around Todd Lake and Broken Top, he feels a tangible connection to her—to some of the happiest moments of his life. He’s there now—to be close to her, to draw strength from that spiritual connection. He’s there because he feels he’s been backed into a corner. You think you’ve seen Peter in action—something tells me we’re about to be enlightened.”
“Thank you, sir,” Homer replied grimly.
“Check your gear again; we’ll be at the drop zone soon.”
Again Homer ensured his weapons were functional and with full ammunition magazines, but no round chambered to avoid accidental discharge. For the fourth time he confirmed the number of spare magazines he was carrying, his medical kit, rations, water, knife, and other essential items. He would be wearing the NVG set, and he confirmed he had plenty of spare batteries.
“So, once we’re on the ground,” Homer asked, “how do we locate Peter?”
Jim had worried about exactly this question. It was by far the biggest gap in his plan, and his plan was full of gaps and shortcomings. First, they would parachute—high altitude, high opening, or HAHO—and glide to coordinates that were supposed to be open terrain. Hard enough in daylight, but they would accomplish this feat in darkness. Even so, would they even be close to Peter? An unanswerable question since they had no intelligence as to his exact location.
“By sound,” Boss Man answered.
Homer scrunched his mouth. “I don’t get it.”
Jim looked at Homer. His eyebrows pinched together, eyes reflecting cold reality. “By sound. We follow the gunfire.”
Any illusion that Homer might have had that this would be an easy mission immediately vanished.