Meant to Be

by Jessica James

  The men looked at each other as each repeated the word, “Pakistan?”

  Although drone overflights of Pakistan had become routine, actual ground incursions were almost unheard of and practically impossible to get approved in Washington.

  Reese cleared his throat. “So we’re going to be working with PakMil?” It was obvious from his tone he did not think favorably of the Pakistani military.

  “Absolutely not.” McDunna lowered his voice as if telling a secret. “Too many radical fundamentalists are entrenched in their government.”

  “We’re going in without Pakistan knowing?” Pops appeared incredulous.

  McDunna nodded. “We think we can conduct the bulk of the operation without being noticed. Of course at some point the Pakistanis will find out. We’re counting on you getting out of there before that happens. The White House will have to take care of smoothing over the aftermath.”

  “So the plan is to go in and grab this guy?”

  “Grab him if he’s unarmed—which is highly unlikely.” McDunna paused and gazed around the room, knowing he didn’t have to explain to these men what to do if he were armed. “This is going to be a surgical raid with a small team to minimize collateral damage. We want to pose as little risk as possible to non-combatants in the compound or to Pakistani civilians in the neighborhood.”

  Rad absently scratched his beard as he listened. Even though this was going to be a historic raid because of its location and target, it was, overall, pretty routine. They would be dropped into the middle of a hostile environment where they were guaranteed to draw heavy enemy fire. Just another day at work.

  “We all know this is a big gamble.” McDunna paced in front of the room with his hands in his pockets. “A lot of people in Washington and Pakistan are going to be upset they were left out of the decision-making process, but it’s time to do something decisive. We need to make our own luck, and we need to do it quickly.”

  An image appeared on the projection screen of a man walking toward a pickup truck, followed by more shots from different angles as he got in.

  “Radcliff, you’ll be leading this junket so take a good look.”

  An aide tossed a file that contained the same hard copy photos in front of Rad so he could study the images more closely.

  Because this was a “most-wanted” top-tier terrorist, Rad knew this was going to be one of the most important missions of his life—his country depended on it. But that didn’t account for the sudden funny feeling he had in his gut as he flipped through the file. Whether it was instinct or impulse he looked up and asked, “Who took these shots? Are we sure we can trust him?” He threw the file back on the table and leaned back on two legs of his chair with his hands behind his head. “Frankly, I don’t trust those Pakistani bastards.”

  McDunna rummaged through a folder of files. “It’s not a Paki. It’s an American.” He pulled a file out and flipped through it. “She’s been working in Pakistan for about five years now.”

  “She?” Again Rad felt a strange sensation, this time working its way up his spine in such a way that it was almost like a chill. “Can I assume this person is going to be pulled out before we go in?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.” Rad leaned forward and put his arms on the table. “I mean, I don’t need any NGOs getting in the way of our takedown.” Even though he was inwardly agitated, his relaxed posture spoke of confidence and conviction.

  “Well, she’s staying,” the officer said. “And technically, she’s not an NGO.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  McDunna sighed and slid the folder toward Rad. “You didn’t see this. Take a quick look.”

  Rad took the folder and ran his eyes over the first page. It was a simple resume with no name attached: Graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy (Arabic Studies, major/Political Science, minor).

  Fluent in Farsi, Urdu, Turkish, Kurdish, and Arabic.

  Knowledge of Pashto, Dari, Persian, Hindi.

  Extracurricular: High Power Rifle Team, Fencing and Pistol Shooting.

  Rad blinked as he tried to read faster, knowing he would only be permitted to have the file for a few moments.

  Interpreter for Defense Attaché Office in the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad

  Turning to the last page in the folder caused the odd feeling in his gut to become a quiver of pure anguish. As the calm, low-toned voice of McDunna went on in front of him, realization of what he was staring at became a black abyss yawning before him.

  Side by side were two low-quality, photocopied pictures, both so dark as to be barely distinguishable. The first was a standard military headshot, and the second was a woman wearing a headscarf, revealing only her eyes.

  His gaze fell to the names beneath each photo, though he knew they were the same person. LAUREN CANTRELL and AMINAH UMAR.

  Rad laid the file down as calmly as he could and shoved it back toward McDunna, hoping no one would notice his hand had begun to tremble. He continued to stare at the closed file as he talked because he didn’t know where else to look. “So we’re going to leave her in there after we invade a sovereign country and take out an HVT they’ve been protecting.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact he was trying to wrap his brain around. His voice remained calm despite the pounding and ringing in his ears.

  McDunna shrugged. “She’s getting her orders from somewhere upstairs, and the fact is the powers that be in Washington want eyes on the ground to confirm the location of the target and the overall dynamics that night.”

  “Screw Washington!” Rad uncharacteristically exploded, pounding the desk with his fist and causing his team members to look at him curiously, and then at each other with questioning eyes.

  “Calm down,” McDunna said. “Believe me, I’m with you. But the White House has been stalling us on this operation for months as it is. It’s an election year and they can’t afford to have anything go wrong.”

  “They can’t afford it? How about my guys?”

  Rad was tired of having to fight with one hand tied behind his back due to politics and limited rules of engagement. Protecting the lives of innocent civilians was one thing, but here the lines of “innocent civilian” and “guerrilla fighter” were indistinguishable.

  Even though they were going into Pakistan, this was an al-Qaida stronghold, a village used to ferry men and supplies across the border, both of which were used to kill American soldiers. There likely wasn’t an adult in the village—make that a person over ten years old—who wasn’t a potential threat.

  If America continued to respond in small increments instead of shocking the enemy with adequate fire power, they could soon be outnumbered. If that happened, the military would have to rely on bigger guns and larger bombs, causing even more damage and casualties. Rad believed in the creed that battles fought quickly and with all-out force saved lives in the long run. Kill one to save many. The administration, on the other hand, ran the war in such a way that protected the insurgents and required troops to defend the choices they made even in the midst of performing their duties.

  He brought his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “What about the informant? What’s the plan for her?”

  “She’s been there more than year. She’s basically a part of the landscape.”

  “So she won’t be implicated?”

  “Not if everything goes as planned.”

  McDunna clicked through a couple of images until an aerial view of the compound came up on the screen. “This is the compound,” he said. “It’s located at the very edge of the village and sits up away from everything, except this building.” He pointed to a dilapidated three-story building along a dirt road with his laser. “Our informant lives and works here as the lady health visitor for the town.”

  “So there’ll be civilians there?” one of the men asked.

  “Not at the hour you’ll be moving. In any event, it’s a convenient location. That’s how s
he got the shots.” He nodded toward the photos lying in front of Rad.

  “The building’s close enough to have collateral damage if things go to shit,” Rad said to no one in particular. “She’s comfortable with that?”

  “From what I understand, it’s all part of the plan, so I assume so,” McDunna said.

  “It’s not a plan, it’s a freaking fantasy,” Rad mumbled under his breath.

  Either McDunna didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. “We have some urgency here because the spooks think Ahmed is up to something. We need to get this thing done within the week.”

  “What about close air support?” Tork asked.

  “There’ll be no CAS. You guys need to get in there, get the job done, and get out. Washington is counting on things not going to shit.”

  Rad shook his head, but remained silent. He wasn’t concerned about his own safety or even that of his men. It was the welfare of the informant that worried him.

  McDunna clicked back to the photo of the terrorist. “Here’s what we know. Langley’s been eavesdropping on telephone calls and pouring over satellite images of the compound now that positive ID has been made. That information, combined with HUMINT has given us a pretty good ‘pattern of life’ picture.”

  Rad leaned his chair back on two legs again, trying to appear relaxed as he stared at the face of the terrorist target on the projection screen. The photos were clear, many of them quite close. He suddenly remembered his phone call to Lauren, and out of curiosity, leaned forward to study the stamp at the top of the page on the handout. His chair hit the floor with a loud thunk, and his jaw tensed when he saw the date.

  She’d had been taking those pictures while talking to him calmly on the phone. A Tier One, violent, American-hating terrorist, and she had bluffed her way right through, telling him she was shooting a pod of fucking dolphins.

  Rad squeezed the pencil in his hand so hard it snapped in half with a loud crack, but the hum of a helicopter coming in for a landing drowned out the sound.

  “That must be our informant now. This is a highly classified mission that requires absolute precision and accuracy so the head shed took the extra steps of bringing her in for a briefing. Obviously I don’t need to remind you of the necessity of secrecy.”

  Rad stared absently out the window as a light wave of dust floated in from the chopper landing. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  McDunna didn’t seem worried. “She’s apparently got a good cover story, and she’ll be in and out in an hour or two. Hopefully she won’t be missed.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully,” Rad said under his breath.

  One side of him wished it wouldn’t be her, while the other side hoped to God it would. He felt like his heart was preparing for take-off when the trim, athletic figure of Lauren Cantrell came into his view. With a military escort by her side, she nodded her head in conversation while stuffing what appeared to be traditional Pakistani clothes into a bag. She was now dressed in a brown tee shirt, desert fatigues, and combat boots—with a SIG-Sauer 9 mm holstered at her side. Just watching her walk was entrancing. She was beyond a doubt the sexiest, most tantalizingly attractive woman he had ever laid eyes on.

  Chapter 16

  There were fifteen men in the room—most of them with at least two weeks of scraggly facial hair—so Rad did not expect Lauren to notice him right away. She wasn’t smiling when she walked in but moved with a poised, confident stride to the front where she shook hands with McDunna. In another moment the memory stick she handed him was attached to the computer and new images of the compound appeared on the screen.

  “Gentleman, these are the latest pictures we have of the compound and surrounding area from the ground level,” McDunna said, not bothering to introduce her. “You’ve already seen the aerials from the drones and have trained in a similar compound, but there may be something new here. Feel free to ask questions.”

  Lauren nodded and was all business as she took the laser McDunna handed her and ran it across the screen, pointing out different aspects of the buildings, the height of the walls, approximate number of steps from the street to the gate, and entry points of possible concern.

  Since Lauren remained oblivious to his presence, Rad had the opportunity to stare at her in wistful silence. Although she appeared calm and self-assured, the tragedy of her past and the weight of her responsibilities were etched clearly on her face.

  His gaze remained riveted, even though he knew he should look away. She wore her hair pulled back and wound in a bun, just the way he had pictured it when he thought of her. Only in his mind she had always been wearing a short skirt and heels, and was addressing a conference table full of well-dressed men at a board meeting—not giving intel to dirty, unshaven soldiers in a special ops briefing.

  Rad slid his gaze over to Bipp and Reese and Pops, but they were busy taking notes and didn’t seem to recognize her. Who in their right mind would expect a woman they had played beach volleyball with a few weeks ago to be here? Anyway, she wasn’t quite the same person. She was professional, methodical, and businesslike—her eyes even more alert and her mannerisms more deliberate. Even her voice was different from the soft, affable one at the beach. It sounded clipped, clean, and disciplined now.

  “How many guards?” one of the men asked.

  “I’ve documented activity with times and dates, so that should be in your briefing packet,” Lauren answered. “But the area of heaviest activity is here.” She drew a circle with the pointer. “And here.” She pointed to a second building that sat off to the side.

  She continued her briefing, giving the approximate number of men, women, and children, and focusing for a few moments on details about an elderly man who likely lived on the third floor with the target. The man was Ahmed’s father and was considered equally as dangerous.

  “What about the inside of the house? Any intel on layout?”

  “Good question.” Lauren clicked back through the photos. “I visited the house yesterday on the pretense of a health check. I did get past the gate, but they were not very accommodating at the house. I can tell you the stairs are located on the right, immediately past a small entry foyer. That’s all I could see.”

  She walked up in broad daylight and tried to make entry into the house? It bothered Rad she didn’t seem to think the conditions she worked under were unreasonable or dangerous, or that the raid from her end would be a difficult challenge. Yet she resided in one of the most lawless places on earth and would be within a stone’s throw of a barrage of automatic weapon fire, rocket-propelled grenades, and most likely, sniper fire from the rooftops. Danger would be everywhere.

  “Weapons?” another asked.

  “All I’ve seen are your standard AKs, but no doubt they have a mother-load of RPGs stored somewhere in there.”

  Some of the men laughed at her frankness, but she didn’t crack a smile. As she glanced around the room seeking any other questions, Rad saw her gaze fall on Pops, then slide over and rest for a moment on Bipp. In another moment her searching eyes were locked on his, but it lasted only a moment. Calm resolve shielded any sign of surprise. Obviously an expert at hiding emotions and thoughts, she looked away, showing no outward sign of recognition.

  “Any other questions?”

  “Yeah,” Rad said in a loud voice. “What’s stopping you from getting out before we go in?”

  Lauren opened her mouth to speak, but McDunna stood and took the question. “I told you Radcliff, the White House wants eyes on the ground.”

  “Come on. The White House doesn’t know anything about fighting,” Rad argued. “We’ve got the intelligence we need. The mission is not going to be successful if we end up having to do a high-risk extraction of an informant after the fact.”

  Lauren blinked repeatedly as if fending off some sort of unseen attack. But after giving Rad a defiant glance, she recovered, squaring her shoulders and presenting an image of strength that compelled admiration. Turning her head away, she calmly scanned the r
est of the room. “Any other questions?”

  “We’ve got to think about weather conditions and the illumination cycle, among other things that are completely out of our control,” McDunna said. “Do we have a definite timeframe?”

  “The timeframe is the sooner the better.” Lauren sounded authoritative and convincing. “You probably have more intel from different sources than I do, but the fact that Ahmed left the compound for the first time in a year means he’s probably up to something.”

  “Then our window of opportunity to launch is short.” McDunna walked over to a calendar and flipped through the pages. “The illumination cycle will start increasing next week. We won’t have optimal conditions again for a month.”

  “The longer it’s delayed, the greater concern for mission leak,” Lauren added.

  Wynn’s voice then rang out from the back of the room. “To Rad’s point, your building appears close enough to take some collateral damage or even become a hideout for squirters trying to escape the target compound.”

  Lauren never let him finish. “I have contingencies in place for my own wellbeing. Anyone else?”

  Rad listened half-heartedly to the steady stream of questions while tapping what remained of his pencil on the table. Lauren avoided looking in his direction completely. When he turned to glance over his shoulder at the other men, he saw they were whispering among themselves—all except Wynn. He was leaning against the back wall with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at Rad with a look of condemnation and disbelief.

  Rad shrugged and turned back around.

  “No more questions?” McDunna’s voice broke through the silence. “I don’t need to tell you guys how dangerous this one is. You’ll be walking into a hornet’s nest, past all the sleeping hornets to get to the queen. In the process, you’re probably going to be giving the nest a good kick and will be surrounded and swarmed with angry hornets by the time you try to get out.”