by J E Higgins
He then raced over to where Crane was positioned. The two men looked around to ensure they were the last of the team before moving down towards the cliffs. The adrenaline rush felt by both men made the race in full combat gear seem like nothing at all. Crane was sure he would be feeling it once the rush died down.
They moved down the pathway that was wedged tightly amongst the walls of jagged rocks guarding the way. The lights along the edges of the coastline didn’t reach beyond the coast leaving the trail masked in darkness. It was only through their night optics that they were able to avoid the assortment of loose rocks and obstacles they encountered. Halfway down, they were joined by two shrouded figures that quietly emerged from the tree line and joined them. It was the southern sniper team. No words were spoken as all the commandos were racing. Behind them, they could hear gunfire and shouting. The pirates had regrouped and were on the move. From the sounds, it was a good guess that they were gaining ground and moving onto the ports.
Seconds later the night was shattered by a terrifying blast which initiated a powerful thundering succession of explosions that shook the ground like an earthquake. The walls of rocks shielded the commandos from the explosions and the follow-on shrapnel and hail of debris that followed. Somehow maintaining their bearings, the commandos were able to continue moving toward the exfiltration point.
When they got there, they found the rest of their team established in a security perimeter. McNaulty greeted them as they came into view. “The crafts are here.” He pointed to the base of the cliffs.
“Let’s start making our way down,” Crane replied in between attempts to catch his breath. He was starting to come down from his adrenaline rush and could feel the effects.
On orders from McNaulty, the commandos and snipers began to file steadily down the short dip towards the water and their waiting boats ─ large rubber crafts with fiberglass bottoms. The commandos poured into the watercraft and quietly took up positions starting from back to front. A final count was made to ensure no one was left behind. With everyone accounted for, they moved out.
Shortly after, another call came over the comms set, this time from retrieval team 2 reporting that they had picked up the northern sniper team and were also heading out. Crane slid into the last seat. He could feel his eyes getting heavy as his energy drained. The boats pulled out from the coastline with the boat motors humming as the crafts sped away.
Chapter 6
Two months later.
Arthur Hechman did little to hide his nervous appearance. Tapping his finger anxiously against the car door, he looked out the window pretending to be interested in the passing scenery. He fidgeted in his seat trying to get comfortable, a mission that was proving to be impossible. Every so often his attention turned to the black metal briefcase sitting next to him. He stared at it as if he were surprised to see it was still there, then looked out the window trying to maintain a calm look on his face.
The lush greenery of Fairfax County, Virginia was a spectacular sight, but the Deputy US Attorney General was far too preoccupied to give it any real notice. His thoughts were absorbed with pressing matters. Even though the government limousine was already pushing the speed limit, Hechman’s agitation made him wish the car would go faster. A few times he almost ordered the driver to step on the gas, but he wanted to keep from attracting attention.
It was approaching evening when the limousine entered the unincorporated town of Langley. The small community rested just a short distance from the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency and was a choice living area for many government executives who worked in the US capital. The driver had extensive experience making the trip from Washington to Langley and knew the area well. He navigated through the streets and the commuters just returning home from work.
The journey ended with the driver pulling into a circular driveway and stopping in front of a white, two-story Victorian brownstone. It was a stately building just short of being a small mansion. Coming to a halt, the driver exited the vehicle and jogged around to the other side to get the door for his passenger. He arrived as Arthur Hechman emerged from the backseat ahead of him. It was a strange departure from the normal routine that perplexed the driver. Normally the Deputy Attorney General insisted on having the door opened for him. It was a matter of the prestige he was adamant about maintaining.
With his valise clutched tightly in his hand, he pushed passed his driver and started up the hill toward the front porch. “Don’t wait, Miles,” Hechman ordered as he walked away. “I’ll call when I’m ready to leave.”
“Yes sir,” Miles replied as he closed the door and headed back to the driver’s side.
The grey concrete stairs were immaculately kept and cut through a lawn of nicely manicured grass. Hechman happened to know that the owner of the house paid good money to have the stairs cleaned and maintained to perfection. Arriving at the top of a small hill, Hechman walked the short distance down the concrete path to the house. He had no sooner reached the porch when the thick oak door cracked open revealing a tall, thin, wiry figure with thinning snow-white hair. James Dasher smiled through his thickly lined face as he cast eyes on his old friend walking up the stairs.
“Art! Good to see, you made it.” Dasher said as he started forward from his doorway to embrace the slightly winded Hechman. “I was happy to hear that you were up for a good poker game.” The wiry man led his friend the rest of the way into the house. “Bill and Trent have already arrived, so we can have a quick drink and get right down to business.”
“Thanks, I think I will have a shot of some of your gin.” Hechman allowed himself to calm a little though he was still very much on edge. Dasher led the way as they walked into the back where two men were sitting casually around a circular table. They rose when Dasher and Hechman entered the room. The old friends greeted each other with affection that they had forged after many years.
They looked like any group of ordinary guys enjoying a night of cards and blowing off steam. Indeed, that was the appearance they were trying to achieve. However, the reason for this night’s get together was far from recreational and these men were anything but ordinary. James Dasher had been a former Deputy Director for the CIA’s operations division, now he was in Congress as a ranking member of the intelligence sub-committee. As if his star wasn’t bright enough, it had been rumored that he was being looked at for the position of National Security Advisor or a cabinet position as Secretary of Intelligence if the next election went well.
William ‘Bill’ Tenison, was the current Deputy Director of CIA clandestine operations who had succeeded Dasher. The final man was Trent Wurry, a prominent Washington lawyer whose client list boasted numerous major foreign businesses that maintained sizeable investments inside the United States. He had deep connections to government power brokers throughout the world.
They had all been specifically chosen to attend the evening’s ‘card game’. Hechman had called the meeting by asking for the poker game, an old code they had all worked out in the event of an emergency. It was agreed that Dasher’s home was the most logical place to have it based on its proximity to CIA headquarters and DC as well as having the best security. He was also the best excuse to explain away the meeting of such an eclectic group.
The men enjoyed a quick round of shallow pleasantries before settling down to business. It was clear there was no love lost amongst the men attending. Dasher, with a whiskey in one hand and a sarcastic grin on his face, sank into one of the chairs around the table. “So, what’s so urgent that you called this meeting on such short notice, Art? As nervous as you look, it must be pretty big.”
Hechman started pacing as he tilted his head toward the ceiling. “It is.” He looked around the room staring coldly at the three comfortably seated figures. “We have a serious problem. The DEA is looking to direct their focus on the Black Crow drug cartel as a prime target of interest.”
The room erupted into chuckles. “This has happened before,” Tenison int
erjected with an obvious condescending note in his voice. “This is what you called us here for? Jesus, just suppress it with a bullshit excuse like you’ve done in the past. I’m sure it’s not that hard.”
“Really, Art,” Dasher said. “A man in your position can handle this without us.”
In the face of their comments, the Deputy Attorney-General remained stoic. “Normally that would work, but this time the situation is different and one that will not be possible to ignore,” Hechman replied seriously as he marched over to the circular table and placed his valise on top of it. “Several weeks ago Martin Rankin, an MI-6 operative, washed up on the shores of Veracruz. He had been severely tortured. At the time he was working as part of an intelligence mission investigating weapons trafficking from Mexico to Africa and the Middle-East. In their investigation, the DEA concluded that the chief catalyst of this problem was the Black Crow cartel and, more specifically, our old friend Alvaro Gutiérrez who, incidentally, the DEA is sure is responsible for the death of this operative.”
“British intelligence was running a mission like this?” Tenison barked with a mixed feeling of disbelief and utter betrayal. “How the hell is it that I wouldn’t know about it?”
“It was handled as a criminal matter,” Hechman interrupted the deputy director’s tirade. “One that was being handled by a very small team. They figured it would be more practical to work with our law enforcement people than our intelligence community on this one. So, they reached out for our assistance through the El Paso Intelligence Center. They did this informally, hence, you nor your office had any knowledge of it.”
“Well, then we should be able to use that point to our advantage,” Dasher quipped.
“Oh, I don’t think it will be that easy, will it?” Trent Wurry finally spoke up in his calm, calculating manner. “I imagine there’s yet more to this.”
Hechman nodded respectfully. Of all the men in the room, Wurry was the only one the deputy-attorney general held in any real respect. “For a while, there has been an agitating factor in all of this. An agent with the DEA, a Rainn Darson, has made the Black Crow something of an obsession. She has been leading the charge from El Paso to have us target the Black Crows. She submitted analysis reports over the past few years explaining the growing threat they represent. Recently she submitted a new one that encompassed not just our findings but the ones from the British.” He retrieved a thick document from his valise and dropped it on the table to punctuate the matter. The room had now gone quiet as all eyes were on the half-inch stack of paper.
“We can still salvage this,” Dasher blurted out. “I mean if this is still within our possession, the British need not see it. If this was an informal partnership, then we have room to maneuver. We just instruct the DEA and EPIC that the information on our end is classified and not to be shared.”
“Too late,” Hechman stated coldly. He grabbed the document and walked over to where Dasher was sitting. “They handed this over to their British counterparts as part of information sharing.” Dasher’s eyes widened as he took possession of the document. Hechman looked around the room. The once smug expression on Tenison’s face had now been replaced with a look of abject horror. Wurry kept his calm demeanor though his facial expressions showed obvious discomfort. Hechman continued. “Through these counterparts, a copy of the analysis report landed in the hands of the British ambassador who placed that very copy in my hands. I spent a very long and uncomfortable meeting with him and their legal attaché addressing the issue. They now are requesting that we pursue an extradition order for Gutiérrez. And, they’re considering pursuing one of their own.”
“Oh, shit.” Tenison began to breathe heavily. “This can’t happen. It fucking cannot happen. You need to do something about this.” The deputy-director was ordering the deputy attorney general.
“I’ve exhausted my position.” Hechman sniped back. “That’s why I’m here speaking to you all now. The ambassador wasn’t buying any excuses that I could reasonably come up with. And the next step is to bring this subject up at higher levels, like the oval office. Regardless, if they pursue their own extradition and legal actions, we’ll be in the same boat anyway.”
“He’s right,” Wurry commented in his same calm manner. “With what Gutiérrez has, the second he’s placed in handcuffs by anyone we’re finished. It would be a scandal neither we nor the US government could ever recover from.”
“We did what we thought had to be done,” Dasher said as he sat hunched over with his eyes gazing at the floor.
“Did we?” Wurry stared at the congressman. “Let’s rehash.”
“Let’s not,” Dasher hissed as he sunk his head into his hand.
“Oh, I insist,” Wurry demanded as he stood up, placed his hands in his pockets, and began pacing the room like an old country lawyer in a courtroom. “It’s 2008, Pakistan is the hub of chaos. Baitullah Mehsud is in control of the Pakistan Taliban. He’s leading a massive force of tribal fighters numbering several thousand in an insurrection that far outpaces what we were dealing with in Afghanistan. He’s beating back the Pakistan army in several places and, for a while, there was a concern that he may even take over the whole damn country.
“Then, the worst possible scenario occurs. A convoy carrying four long-range missiles equipped with nuclear warheads is hijacked from the army by these guerrillas and the missiles go missing. That was bad enough. But, we learn from a source in Pakistan intelligence that a high ranking general with strong ties to the extremists had obtained said missiles and was in the process of trying to broker a deal to sell them to, of all people, Iran.
“At the time we were in the middle of dealing with Abdul Qader Kahn, the father of Pakistan’s nuclear program, and a guy selling his expertise to anyone in the world who would pay him, including our biggest enemies. We were in a cold war frenzy all over again, fearing the new threat of Islamic extremists, and didn’t stop to ask questions or think things through. We jumped on the idea that it was entirely plausible to believe that some general would be capable of doing such a thing. And, selling readymade, long-range nukes to Iran was a dangerous risk.”
“We were working off intelligence that told us we had a credible threat,” Tenison growled through his teeth as he glared at the lawyer, who was dismissive of the deputy-director as he continued pacing.
“Credible intelligence?” Wurry chuckled as he bit his lower lip with his teeth and gave a contemplative stare in no particular direction. “Everyone was in a state of hysteria over this issue. Because of that, we allowed ourselves to build on a conspiracy theory that was based on reports by a source that had proven very unreliable in the past and was about to be cut off. It was backed up with bits and pieces of random and highly interpretive intelligence that was loosely strung together, rationalized, and twisted until it supported the source’s narrative.
“I might remind everyone that when the question was raised initially as to how this source had come by this information, the answer never was given. It was a question that should have been answered considering the source was an officer who was prone to extravagant living and highly degenerate behavior and had become a source for the CIA only because he was desperate for money.
“Yet, despite all this and the fact that his previous intelligence had been at best dubiously collected gossip, we suddenly forgot all this as we began treating what he gave us as nothing short of irrefutable evidence. Then he informs us that a deal was being brokered for the weapons by a Major-General Maktar al-Anwar Hosani who was planning on negotiating this deal in Mexico, far away from the prying eyes of western intelligence that were monitoring everything over the Middle-East and Afghanistan. Hosani, being a longtime operative in Pakistan intelligence with a long history in covert operations, made it easy to believe he could be someone connected to this. Our source informed us that he was attempting to broker this deal by reaching out to the Iranian embassy in Mexico City. And, in the state of mind that everyone was in, it only made sense.
“Hyped up on the idea that these nukes were in the hands of a rogue element of the Pakistan army and that they were looking to sell them to Iran, no one in this room doubted the threat. And, with that, you felt something had to be done to stop it.”
“There was a threat to our country’s security, we had to act, dammit!” Dasher said through gritted teeth. “No one in command wanted to take the necessary measures to respond, so we thought we had to.” His tone sounded more like a man trying to convince himself of this rationale rather than the other occupants in the room.
Tenison interrupted. “Good God, we were under threat and fighting people who were using the worst forms of savagery and barbarity. Despite that, we still found our hands being tied by leadership too weak-kneed to do what needed to be done.”
Wurry, with a condescending smirk, turned to face Tenison. He raised his hand, shaking his finger as if he were a schoolmaster delivering a lecture to young pupils. “Ahh, I heard that speech before. As a matter of fact, it was part of the speech you gave when you first approached me about your plans for thwarting this nuclear deal. You couldn’t get official approval to take action, so you decided to do this under the table. You asked for my assistance reaching out to a third party. That party needn’t be averse to being, how did you put it, more aggressive in their methods. Above all, they must leave the US clean from any responsibility, especially since it wasn’t at all sanctioned by the proper authorities. And, if memory serves, I advised against such an idea stating the detrimental consequences, but you insisted ─ hell you practically threatened me.
“So, I reached out and found Mr. Gutiérrez, a former Special Forces soldier from the Mexican army who, like so many, had decided to seek his fortune in the narcotics business. At the time I found him, he was working as head of the security team for the La Familia Michoacana cartel. Like any ambitious former military officer-entrepreneur, he was eager to strike out on his own. He had seed money and a following of well-trained ex-soldiers. It was my offer of intelligence that enticed him─first class information on his enemies and competition. All of it coming from the very best sources, the CIA and the US Justice Department.” Wurry said this as he shifted his gaze first to Dasher, and then towards Hechman and finally back to Tenison before he went on. “Once he saw the files that gave him the competition’s deepest secrets, he was all too happy to deal with our little problem if it meant getting more such information.”
