by R G Ainslee
"What do you think Marsden's and Penwell's plans may be?"
"All indications point to Libya. Your intercept may confirm that assumption. By the way, the P-40 radar sighted at the airbase at Khalkhalah is no longer there. If your recent intercept is correct, it may have been re-deployed to Libya."
"Was anyone else observed working with the Long Track?"
"No, base security was maintained at an unusual high level until recently. We assume it was because of Marsden and his project."
"What kind of operation do you suppose they're planning?"
"Gaddafi, we know, has ambitions in Chad. He is mustering exiled Chadian rebels for further incursions and we believe the SkB will provide certain technical assistance. Penwell, through his company, will furnish additional equipment, training, and logistic resources."
"Why is the SkB involved?"
"Like I said, they are attempting to acquire military capabilities. This will be their first foray. Their goal in Africa remains to be seen."
"You're concerned about their presence in Libya?"
"Yes, as I stared to say before we were interrupted, we do not perceive them as an immediate threat, but are apprehensive about their future goals. As you can imagine, we are interested about everything that happens in our neighborhood. At the present, we have greater worries closer to home. If this activity was taking place in Syria or Lebanon, that would be another story. We cannot afford to be involved directly in your operation but will offer whatever support we can."
I let his reference to your operation sink in. He knew more about my next move than I did. "Is that all you can tell me?"
"Yes, I am afraid that is all I am at liberty to reveal at the present time." He nodded to Major David. "Thank you again." He turned back to us. "Good luck gentlemen. Please remember who you are dealing with out there." We shook hands and he left.
I asked the major, "What's your department's concern over Marsden and Penwell?"
"We are worried about Marsden's ability to devise a countermeasures proof air defense system." He paused, took a breath, and sighed. "Some of us think it would be preferable to eliminate the source rather than develop countermeasures that may arrive too late to save lives."
Thoughts of a fateful day on the road in Mexico when Marsden shot me and killed a Mexican federal police officer burned in my memory. Marsden, Penwell, and the Škorpion Brigade, a trifecta of evil, with any luck at all, maybe I could kill three birds with one stone.
* * *
Major David escorted us to the driveway. We were ready to return on the late afternoon flight to Cyprus. We still had a couple of hours to spare and. I wondered if Tamara would invite us for a swim before we left.
"Ah, here comes your vehicle," said the major. A new driver, Tamara had been replaced by a dour female in a baggy uniform.
Amadeo asked, "Where's Tamara?"
The woman snapped, "I am your driver."
Amadeo persisted. "What happened to Tamara?"
She responded with disgust, "I am not the information bureau." We rode to the airport in silence.
11 ~ The New Operation
Wednesday, 24 September 1980: Incirlik Air Base, Turkey
When we arrived at Incirlik late Monday night, we found John Smith had flown to Frankfurt with Jack and the others. No reason given, Captain Parsons said he expected him back on Wednesday's courier run. I didn't complain and slept in, it had been a long day.
On the flight, Amadeo confided he met Penwell once in Bangkok, but decided not to reveal the fact to the Israelis. When pressed for more details he refused to elaborate. Said he ran into him once, that's all, they never worked together. He had also dealt with Penwell' henchman Carl Walker in Iran. Penwell's operation seemed to be the key to finding Marsden. I couldn't pin it down, but the answer was in there somewhere.
Three in the afternoon, we went to meet John's plane. Much to our surprise, he exited the aircraft followed by Colonel Wilson in civilian clothes. They acted as if everything was normal.
"Let's go to the club, I'm famished," said Wilson. "We can get on with the de-briefing later." He appeared preoccupied and aloof. John offered nothing.
"Where's Jack?" asked Amadeo. I failed to notice he was missing from the group.
"Richards is acting as courier for the materials stateside," said John. "I'll explain later."
* * *
Colonel Wilson sat impassively as I recounted the details of our trip to Israel. John Smith asked several questions about Penwell's involvement. He seemed particularly interested in his dealings with Marsden. I didn't mention Jacobs' allusion to 'our operation.'
Wilson thanked us and said, "Ross, I'm surprised you didn't fly to Beirut from Cyprus, Marsden being so close and all."
Amadeo chimed in, "Sir, you got me to thank for that, I had to talk him out of it at the airport."
He was right. I would've gone, except we were unarmed — well I did have my switchblade. "We can still make it, be there tomorrow afternoon. Amadeo and I can wrap up this whole Marsden affair in a couple of days." This time I planned not to stop with cutting off Marsden's earlobe, like I did in Addis Ababa. It was going to be short and sweet.
A flustered Wilson sputtered, "Now look here—"
John Smith interrupted, "If it was up to me, I'd go with you."
Wilson said, "Gentlemen, I understand, but there are additional things to consider now. Marsden is only part of a bigger picture. Since his separation from the Soviet design bureaus, he offered his skills to anyone who could pay. Now, it appears someone made a better offer.
"As you were probably told in Israel, Gaddafi is planning to extend his operation into Chad. He claimed the Aouzou Strip in the northern portion of the country several years ago. Now it seems he is ready to ramp up his operations. The Škorpion Brigade appears to be providing some sort of high-tech weaponry. We have reason to believe Marsden's modification of the Long Track mobile radar system may be involved.
"The Long Track is particularly attractive for this type of operation because the unit is mounted on a tracked vehicle platform. Fitted out with Marsden's third harmonic guidance system it would not require a separate fire control radar."
'Sir," I broke in, "why do they need something like that against the Chad Air Force? Conventional systems should be more than effective."
"True, but their principal adversary will be the French Air Force if they are called upon to aid the Chadian government. Naturally, the French are reluctant to intervene — currently, they are claiming to be neutral — but will do so if the situation becomes desperate."
"Why is Chad so important to us?" asked Amadeo.
"The country is next door to Niger, the site of vital uranium mines. If Qaddafi were successful in conquering Chad, he would be in position to move westward into the mining district in northern Niger. We've known for some time he covets nuclear weapons. For obvious reasons, he needs to be stopped."
"Not to mention keeping the Škorpion Brigade from obtaining same," I added.
"Correct. We are dealing with a much broader problem. Stopping Marsden is only a part of the equation."
"What about Penwell? His name keeps popping up."
Wilson evaded giving an answer. “It’s the signal not the people, leave it at that.”
"I don't understand. He's involved with Marsden and the Škorpion Brigade and we're supposed to ignore that. What's the real story? Is he a rogue or is he still CIA?"
John spoke up, "I served with Penwell in Laos. He was good at his job. Saved a lot of lives by his actions."
"Is he still working for the CIA?"
Wilson answered, "No, he departed under a cloud."
I pressed John, "What do you think about him?"
"He was a good man."
"And now?"
"Don’t know. He runs his own outfit now. Haven’t seen or talked to him in years, ever since he left the agency."
I turned to Wilson. "What do you know?" I didn't like what was happening. Ever
yone was too vague. I wanted to find out what I was getting into.
"Like John said, he has Phoenician Air Services International. Penwell provides technical services to certain governments in the region."
"Such as?"
"Syria, Libya, and Iraq."
"Yeah, all the good guys. Is he an arms dealer?"
"No, like the Israelis told you, he contracts services after the sale. Penwell works with arms dealers and is reported to be tied in with Akim Massoud, a Yemini living in Beirut. The Mediterranean International Bank of Commerce provides financing for both of them."
"That a legit bank?"
John answered, "It’s little more than a KGB front run by Maxim Ivanov an ex Bulgarian intelligence operative."
"You mean, Penwell's dirty."
Wilson inhaled and let out an exasperated breath. "Let's say he just stinks."
I glared at John Smith. He shook his head and said, "No comment.”
I glared at the colonel. "Where does this leave us? This is intended to lead somewhere?"
"Yes, it is time to take action." He motioned for John to speak.
John shifted in his chair and placed his elbows on the table. "Intel says Qaddafi will soon mount a serious campaign in Chad. The French are aware of the new signal, came to the same conclusions, and asked for our aid. They learned the Long Track radar has been relocated from Misatrah to Sabah deep in the Sahara. Our mission is to assist the French with countering the Libyan air defense, if it comes to that."
"We're going to Libya?" I asked.
"No. This will be a joint American, French, and British operation. In a perfect world, I would prefer a non-covert trip to Libya, but relations are sour due to the president's brother and his dealings with Libya, and the oil embargo."
"Who's in charge?"
John grimaced and took a deep breath. "Operational control will be in the hands of the Fro— ah, the French." He looked me straight in the eyes. "Nothing personal Ross."
I forced a smile, "Don't worry, I'm used to working under French control."
Amadeo laughed quietly and John continued, "The undertaking will be under the direct control of Count Alexandre, the head of the Service de Documentation Extérieure et de Contre-Espionnage." The SDECE was the French equivalent of the CIA. "The French 1st Marine Infantry Parachute Regiment based in Bayonne on the Atlantic coast will provide operational logistics. They have a couple of units specializing in desert operations and signals."
"How big is this thing going to be?"
"Less than a half dozen: you two, an SAS operative from the UK, and several Frenchman, yet to be determined. The leader speaks Arabic and some of the local desert dialects, so you should be in good company. The plan is for the team to deploy to Algeria and attempt to pick up the signal from a site near the border."
"How do we acquire the signal? I don't understand."
"Sergeant Hardy is working on a modification of a commercial shortwave receiver to obtain the signal. Initially an attempt will be made to facilitate an intercept from Tassili in Algeria, near the Libyan border. That's all I can say now."
"The Algerian's are in on this too?"
"No. You will be travelling under a legend as tourists interested in photographing desert scenery." John paused and glanced at Wilson. "You will fly to Bayonne in a few days and meet with other members of the team. Hardy will join you there, but not accompany you to Algeria. "
I tried to take it all in, a potentially dangerous operation in the Sahara, but first a side-trip to France. Maybe I could steal a chance to see Lisette. "Is it possible for me to—"
Wilson, as usual, read my mind. "No. We must maintain strict operational security on the mission. You will not visit or even call your wife." He saw I was about to respond, "Given the Škorpion Brigade's recent interest, we can't discount the likelihood they may be monitoring your wife's communications. Sorry."
I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. The thought of a threat from the SkB had occurred to me, but I dismissed it as a remote possibility. Now reality had returned. "If that's true, I'm not sure I need to leave her there alone."
Again, Wilson was ready with an answer, "That contingency has been taken care of. John here brought that up with the Count and he assigned resources to provide a twenty-four-hour close watch on your family."
12 ~ The Team
Friday, 26 September 1980, Bayonne, France
The citadel of Bayonne commands the heights on the north bank of the Adour River near the Atlantic coast of France. The ancient fortification was home to the Régiment de Parachutistes d'Infanterie de Marine, the elite Special Forces unit founded during World War II. Modeled after the British Special Air Service, they share the motto: Qui Ose Gagne — Who Dares Wins.
A man dressed in casual civilian attire met us at the front gate and introduced himself as Roger Demers. John Smith had briefed us on the mission leader Demers, aka Atif Mansour, a former officer in the Legion Etrangere. Now employed by the SDECE, he spoke fluent Arabic and Tuareg, an important local dialect in southern Algeria. John held him in high regard, a major compliment. With his lean physique, dark hair, and deep tanned skin, Demers could pass for a native North African.
Demers escorted us to a room in an isolated section of the stone and earthwork citadel. The cold brick walls and clay tile floor alluded to an earlier life as a storeroom, the room's only modern amenity a double row of fluorescent lights. Three men of hard appearance sat around a rough wooden table with a galvanized metal top. Demers locked the steel door and then motioned for us to take a seat.
Demers transferred his gaze to Amadeo and asked with only a hint of an accent, "I understand you are Cuban."
Amadeo bowed up and answered with a hard edge, "My parents were from Cuba, I'm American. What of it, you got a problem?"
Demers' dark eyebrows came together. "No. I first faced Cuban's in combat in Katanga." Demers had taken part in Operation Verbena in seventy-six. The French airlifted Moroccan troops to repel a Cuban supported invasion by Angolan based rebels. "And again, during the Kolwezi adventure two years ago."
Amadeo chose not to respond, but I sensed a coiled-up tension. Judging from his expression, so did Demers, who asked Amadeo if he spoke Arabic, "Hal tatakallamu alloghah alarabiah?"
"Qaleenlan," Amadeo replied tersely — a little.
Demers eyed me speculatively with a hint of disdain, "And you?"
"I understand baksheesh, that's about it."
He hesitated, a pause with a subtle undertone, and asked, "Je comprends ta femme est française."
"Yes, my wife's French but my command of the language is limited." Demers was testing us, trying to provoke a reaction for some reason.
He smiled without humor. "Very well, we will use English."
Demers halted behind two men at the far end of the table and tapped the taller soldier on the shoulder. "May I introduce Caporal Goulon who will be our driver? His specialty is light vehicle patrol in the desert." Goulon, a muscular guy you wanted on your side in a bar fight, tightened his lips. His face remained deadpanned.
And this …" he nodded to a sinewy young man with a devilish smirk on his face, "… is Caporal Tauzin, our radio operator, also a Para. They both speak English and Arabic." Tauzin struck me as the type of fellow who might keep a switchblade in the top of his boot. Dressed in civilian attire, rather than traditional cammo and red beret, his discomfort was obvious.
Roger continued, "Tauzin and Goulon are veterans of action in Central Africa. One year ago, they both took part in seizing the Bangui Mpoko airport during Operation Barracuda." He eyed us skeptically. "The overthrow of Bokassa in the République Centralafricane." Goulon shifted in his chair.
He gestured to a trim average sized man sitting alone. "And this is Dylan Kirby of Her Majesty's Secret Service. Tell us Dylan, do you carry a double-oh number."
Kirby answered without emotion, "Believe me Roger; you don't want to find out." Tauzin snickered, and Demers shot us a wry smile.
John Smith also briefed us on Kirby, a former member of the elite British Special Air Service, now working for MI6’s’ Section D which specializes in sabotage and unconventional operations. He reportedly spoke fluent French and Arabic and had a reputation as a cold-blooded killer.
Kirby gave off an air of cool self-assurance as he glared in our direction and asked with a muted Irish accent, "I be acquainted with you Roger, but what's the story with these cowboys? I want to know is who I'm workin' with."
What's with these guys? — I declined to take the bait and answered, "Amadeo Ruiz, sitting here next to me, is an ex-air force commando. I know from personal experience he can look after himself." Amadeo shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the line of questioning. "I'm Ross Brannan and I am a cowboy."
Tauzin let out another snicker as Kirby sneered in disgust. Goulon remained deadpanned.
"He's right," said Amadeo as he nodded towards me. "He was a cowboy, a real one and he can back it up with a gun. I've shared a couple of gunfights with him and trust him with my life."
Demers let a faint smile pass his lips. "This is true Dylan, I heard from my personal sources, what he is capable of."
I blurted out, "How would you…" Then it dawned on me. "Lara—" He interrupted before I could finish the name of Lara Dumont, a member of the SDECE who I met in Kenya and last worked with in Afghanistan.
"We should not speak of this … Are you satisfied Dylan?"
The MI6 man dismissed Roger with a wave of the hand. It was clear he didn't relish the prospect of working with us. I felt the same about him.
Roger walked over to a stack of canvas gear bags in a corner of the room. "This is the equipment we will take into L’Algérie. No firearms, we travel by commercial airliner and must appear as tourists." He glanced at Dylan and grinned. "Of course, weapons will be available from local sources."
Amadeo let out a sigh of relief.
"Our transport is arranged by my agent in Tamanrasset, an all-wheel drive truck and one other vehicle."
"How 'bout a motorcycle?" I asked.
