CHAPTER 73

Virginia Beach, Virginia

October

THE PAGERS HAD GONE off at 11: 42 a. m. on Sunday, catching what appeared to be ordinary families in the middle of the most mundane of Sunday morning tasks: church services, mowing the lawn, playing with kids. Many of those without wives and children, and a few with, were nursing hangovers from a late night out in a series of Virginia Beach bars. To the untrained eye this group could be mistaken for a rugby team. Upon closer examination, a few dead giveaways betrayed them as anything but normal, least of which were the odd-looking cigarette-pack-sized pagers that were never more than an arm’s length away. Though most people had turned in their pagers for mobile phones in the mid-1990s, a few elite special operations units still used them as a secure way to connect via satellite with a very select group of lethal men, always on standby for an emergency just such as this.

Forty-five minutes later they had assembled in the team room of the most exclusive club on earth. There would be no more contact with families, friends, or loved ones; the sole focus was now the mission. The families whose lives had once again been interrupted by the now-familiar buzz of the Iridium pagers were acutely aware that this might be the last time they saw their husbands and fathers off to work. They shared them with a larger and oftentimes more demanding family, that of the Naval Special Warfare Development Group.

“Team leaders, do we have everyone? ” called out Master Chief Pete Millman in a commanding tone to silence the small talk.

“One’s up. ”

“Two’s up. ”

“Three’s up. ”

“Four’s up. ”

“Roger. Okay, guys, ” Pete continued, looking around the huge table, flanked on either side by individual desks adorned with computers connected to a net even more secretive and secure than the SIPR computers usually found in military briefing rooms.

Pete was all business and he suppressed an urge to smile looking out at the assaulters and Team leaders XXX XXX XXXXX XXXXXXXX. This was likely to be one of his last times briefing the guys as their troop chief. He’d been around for a long time, graduating the XXX XXX XXXXXXX in the first post-9/11 class, and he’d been deploying ever since. His body had taken more abuse than an NFL lineman over the years, and though he hated the thought, he had a GS position in the operations shop that would start up next year. His first marriage had ended in disaster, before kids had entered the picture. His second marriage was to the Command, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to separate from her even after twenty-three years in the Navy.

“Quick turnaround on this one, gentlemen. The NSC just green-lighted the XXX package to capture a Syrian general. . . one Qusim Yedid, on a yacht in the Med between Libya and Malta. He’s not someone on our HVI or war-criminal top ten, but he just moved up to the number one spot. The Agency has him pegged as a key player in a plan that’s already in motion and a direct threat to the United States. This is time sensitive and has visibility at the highest levels. Yeah, Smitty, ” Pete said, acknowledging his newest Team Leader.

“Direct threat? As in we need to exploit him for additional information? ”

“That’s right. This is a capture/kill mission, not a kill/capture. It was stressed to me in no uncertain terms that we need to take Yedid alive. The intel folks are putting the final touches on the target package, which will include a list of questions to which we need specific answers. Everyone will have a photo of the target and the list of questions. ”

“How rough can we get with this guy, Master Chief? ”

“Don’t get excited, Smitty, we are also jumping in an interrogator from Langley, Dr. Rob Belanger, who will take care of that part. He’s flying down from D. C. now. If something happens to him, then we take over. BIT guys, ” Pete said, using the acronym for Battlefield Interrogation Team, “you’ll have it from there. Just be aware that this is not some hovel in Afghanistan. This will have a lot more eyeballs on it, so act accordingly. ”

“I think it’s called TQ now. ” Smitty smiled. “That’s tactical questioning, for you older guys. ”

“Ah, yes. I keep forgetting. Much more PC. ”

“What’s the general’s background? ” asked a SEAL who looked more like an endurance athlete than one of America’s top frogmen.

“Interesting cat, ” Pete continued. “He was a general in Assad’s regime. Earned his stripes carrying out chemical weapon attacks against the populace not supportive of Assad’s policies. Somewhere along the line he was connected to Al-Furat, Syria’s main oil producer. At least it looks like that’s where his money comes from. He’s listed as one of their security consultants, but that’s just to muddy the waters. The CIA has him as essentially a broker of talent. ”

“What the hell does that mean? ” Smitty asked.

“Well, Syrian forces have received training from Russian advisors, and they’ve gotten a lot of experience exercising that training in putting down rebellions. Remember, Syria is one of the only countries to escape the Arab Spring. ”

“Yeah, and look how well that worked out for everyone. ”

“As far as we’ve been able to tell, he has a line on military talent and parlays it out to governments, rogue regimes, terrorist organizations, as long as their interests are in line with those of Syria, and, you guessed it, Mother Russia. Need an explosives expert, a sniper, an assault team, a chemical weapons specialist? General Yedid will set you up. ”

“I thought Russia had a moderate in power right now. ”

“They do, Smitty, but some of the policies from the old president are still in place, as are leaders of powerful institutions, both private and the government agency type, that don’t agree with their current president’s more progressive stance. ”

“Like the FSB and SVR? ”

“Exactly like that. Russia’s reincarnation of the KGB and GRU. ”

“What’s security on the yacht look like, Pete? ” another Team leader asked.

“It’s a 135-foot superyacht called the Shore Thing. I know, I know, it’s an awful name. It looks like a damn spaceship and rents for $175, 000 a week. Specs are for eight crew and ten guests. CIA estimates there are four to six Syrian bodyguards on board with the general and probably a couple of guests. Apparently the general doesn’t like to party alone. CIA doesn’t have eyes on board, so this is all a best guess. He’s rented it before. Sometimes he brings friends. It’s the usual fare: girls, vodka, and your drug of choice. Agency managed to get a prostitute in the mix last year, which is why they have a good idea of his PSD and profile. ”

“Are the hookers included in that $175, 000? ” Smitty asked. “Seems a bit high. ”

Pete rolled his eyes. “I think they’re extra. Let’s finish this up and get to the bird. It’s waiting on us at Oceana. So, let’s review: bad-guy general contracts out Syrian military specialists to those willing to pay and those that advance Assad’s agenda. We need information about one of those specialists. In this case, we need information on a sniper. ”

• • •

Fifty-two minutes later they were wheels-up over Virginia in two C-17s on standby for just such a contingency. It had been ninety-seven minutes since the first pagers started beeping.

⇐ Предыдущая 71 72 73 74 757677 78 79 80 Следующая ⇒