The Jericho Sanction
Page 39
“Certainly, General. Have a safe flight.”
Dotensk thought for a moment, then reached for the Marconi radio to call the barracks where his four Ukrainian operatives were billeted.
“We need to unload one of the crates off the back of that truck,” he said. “Meet me in the vehicle shed in five minutes.”
MI6 Headquarters
Century House, Lambeth
London, England
Monday, 23 March 1998
1830 Hours, Local
Sir David Spelling pressed the switch on the antique intercom box on the left side of his desk.
“Downs, come in here!”
“C” ran a hand over the smooth finish of the mahogany box. The lads from Signals had tried to replace it several times, but “C” would have none of it. He liked the old squawk box's history: it had been used by his earliest predecessors to summon the staff to the air raid shelter in the basement of Century House during the blitz. He was adamant it wouldn't be replaced until he was.
Ian Downs, Director of Operations for MI6, knocked twice on the door and entered the inner sanctum.
“I trust you've seen this latest missive from Thomas? What've he and Blackman been doing out there...chewing khat?”
“I rather doubt that, sir,” replied Downs. “I've heard they've been chatting with the Americans and believe they've discovered the location of what we've been reading about in all these intercepts GCHQ has been vacuuming up the last few days.”
“You mean those rumored Iraqi nuclear weapons?”
“Precisely, sir.”
“Well, read this cable and tell me if this makes sense to you.”
MOST SECRET
NIACT IMMEDIATE
EYES ONLY FOR THE DIRECTOR
FROM: SAND DOLLAR
TO: OSO, MI6
SUBJ: INTERVENTION OPPORTUNITY
1. CG CENTCOM SOURCE IN IRAQ ASSERTS THREE STOLEN SOVIET NUCLEAR WEAPS ARE LOCATED VIC OF AT TANF SYRIA.
2. CG CENTCOM SOURCE IN IRAQ ASSERTS THREE STOLEN SOVIET NUCLEAR WEAPS ARE LOCATED VIC OF AT TANF SYRIA.CG CENTCOM REQUESTS MI6 ASSISTANCE IN RECOVERING THESE WEAPS BEFORE THEY CAN BE DELIVERED TO IRAQI GOVT.
3. CG CENTCOM SOURCE IN IRAQ ASSERTS THREE STOLEN SOVIET NUCLEAR WEAPS ARE LOCATED VIC OF AT TANF SYRIA.CG CENTCOM SUGGESTS SAME 4-2 COMMANDO ROYAL MARINES ELEMENT USED IN RESCUE OF FOUR UK POWS FROM IRAQ BE USED FOR OP.
4. SAND DOLLAR PERSONNEL AND EQUIPMENT ARE AVAIL AT INCIRLIK. RIFLE COMPANY OF 4-2 COMMANDO NOW AT BADANAH, SAUDI ARABIA. SAND DOLLAR PRIMARY CAN COORDINATE.
5. REQUEST YOU ADVISE SOONEST. SAND DOLLAR PRIMARY AND NUMBER TWO STANDING BY.
BT
When he finished reading the brief text, Downs looked up and said, “Are you asking my opinion?”
“No! Why should we even contemplate this? If the Americans know where the blasted things are, why don't they go fetch them?”
“I would guess, Sir David, it's because right now the people in Washington are having rather enough difficulty keeping up with all their president's sexual dalliances. They don't really have time to chase after something as mundane as a few loose nukes.”
Spelling glared at his subordinate for a moment. Then he pivoted his chair and looked out his window. “It would make a rather nice trophy for the next time I go back to Parliament to beg for a few more pounds, wouldn't it?”
“Yes, sir. And just on the off chance you might think it was a good idea, I inquired at the Admiralty regarding keeping their Royal Marines for a bit longer. They agreed—subject to approval by the PM, of course.”
Sir David pondered the matter for a few more seconds, then said, “Very well, Downs. Send off a cable to Thomas and Blackman and tell them to start the planning—but no green light until I get the go-ahead from the PM.”
“Yes, sir.” Downs gave a faint smile. “Shall I also call the Cabinet Secretary and tell him you require an audience at 10 Downing?”
“Yes...and have somebody call up my car.”
Downs turned to go.
“And one more thing, Downs. Tell Thomas and Blackman to be careful. I don't want to read about this in anybody's newspapers.”
Incirlik Air Base
Adana, Turkey
Monday, 23 March 1998
2145 Hours, Local
General Grisham climbed up into the U.S. Air Force Gulfstream IV, resigned to the fact that he was going to get a royal chewing when he arrived in Washington. He calculated he would be about four hours late for his command performance on the carpet in front of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
As he handed his briefcase to the waiting Air Force cabin attendant, Grisham saw Gunnery Sergeant Skillings trotting toward the aircraft. The general could tell by the sergeant's expression that the matter was important, so he signaled the pilot to wait. He climbed back down from the aircraft to meet Skillings.
“What is it, Gunny?”
“Sir, it's that call you placed to Colonel Newman. He's calling back and says he needs to talk to you right away.”
The general reached for the sat phone. “Pete...I tried calling you, but I couldn't get through. Did you get my voice mail?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“Well, I'm glad you called me right back. Listen, Pete...I have to leave for Washington now. The plane is waiting. I just wanted to give you some good news. I've been in touch with MI6 and asked them to loan us the special ops guys who just completed a rescue of four British POWs. They've given the green light for us to use them. So, the good news is that the British are coming! They're ready to help you go after the nukes and rescue the women too.”
“Well, General, it looks like feast or famine. Major Rotem put on his boss, General Meir Hofi, and he's dispatching a team of their Sayeret Duvdevan commandos to help too.”
“This is getting crazier by the minute. Everybody's willing to step up to the plate except Uncle Sam.”
“General, if you leave for Washington, who's going to coordinate all this?”
Grisham sighed. “Lieutenant Colonel Newman, if this were being done right, I wouldn't budge from this HQ until I had you, Rachel, Mrs. Rotem, and those nukes right here with me. Unfortunately, I've got a major fire to put out back in Washington. I've been given direct orders to fly back and be at the Pentagon in the morning. I have to go. Now, Colonel... I'm sorry. And with the way things are between here and the Pentagon, I can't even give you any CENTCOM assets. You'll have to coordinate on the ground with the British and Israelis. I can't commit so much as a sidearm or a private. It reminds me of the situation in Khafji in 1990...when the Saudis bugged out, there was a young Marine officer and a Force Recon team there on the ground. And somehow, all by himself, that Marine managed to coordinate all manner of naval gunfire, air strikes, and eventually even artillery and armor, to destroy the better part of an Iraqi Republican Guard's armor regiment. He did this and brought all his people out safely. Do you remember?”
Now there was silence from Newman's satellite phone.
“Yes, sir. I remember Khafji.”
“I'll say. They gave you the Navy Cross for that one, didn't they, Pete?”
There was another long pause.
“General, there's someone there with you now that I had with me back then. If you can leave him behind to work with me on this, we might just be able to pull this off.”
Grisham looked over at Gunnery Sergeant Skillings. “You mean the Gunny?”
“Yes, sir.”
General Grisham nodded his head, still looking at Skillings and said, “Very well, Colonel Newman, I'm leaving Gunnery Sergeant Skillings here to be your contact at CENTCOM. I'll give him a TDA with the Brits, and he can officially work for them...relay comms from you to the Israeli and British commando units and keep you apprised of real-time intel from here. I'll tell the NATO and CENT-COM staff here I've asked him to monitor the situation and keep me apprised of the matter.”
There was no response from Newman.
“Pete...did you copy that?”
“I've got to go. Pete...I know this is very high stakes stuff, but I believe it can all work. You know how to do this kind of thing. You'll have the best British and Israeli commandos helping...and Gunnery Sergeant Skillings will coordinate from here. It'll work—and you're just the one who can make it happen.”
Aye, aye, sir.
“Where are you now, Pete?”
“We're in the line of vehicles waiting to cross the border. My escort assures me we can still cross, even though the curfew has already gone into effect.”
“Be careful. The Iraqi border guards are undoubtedly still alerted and on the lookout for those escaped POWs...so they'll probably have soldiers to augment the border officers.”
“Yes, I know. We have a friendly who'll be on duty at the border crossing. He'll help us get across. Pray for us, General.”
“I've been doing that, almost nonstop, and I'll keep doing it until you're all home safely. God bless, Colonel.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The general handed the satellite phone back to Skillings. He looked into the eyes of his gunnery sergeant and said, “As soon as we launch, I'll send a message back here letting both the NATO and CENTCOM staffs know you're going to help Newman. I'll make sure they stay out of your way, and that they keep this thing under wraps until it's over. Gunny...I hope we don't both end up getting court-martialed for what's about to happen.”
Skillings returned the general's gaze evenly. “Sir, we're doing the right thing. Everything else will sort itself out.”
The general gripped the sergeant's shoulder, then climbed back into the aircraft to start the long trip back to Washington.
International Scientific Trading, Ltd.
At Tanf, Syria
Monday, 23 March 1998
2150 Hours, Local
It took Leonid Dotensk and two of the other Ukrainians a little more than half an hour to unload one of the nuclear weapons from the truck. Once they wrestled the crate to the floor, they cracked open the lead-shielded container and removed the gray-green artillery round from its cradle inside the box.
“Is this safe?”
Dotensk really wasn't sure, but he said, “Of course. Now help me get this over to the workbench so we can disguise it as something other than what it is.”
Once the round was on the workbench, Dotensk and one of his hirelings fashioned a different housing for the deadly weapon from a four-foot section of PVC pipe. After wrapping the artillery round with flexible sheets of lead, ordinarily used to protect film from X-rays, they slid the pipe down over the bullet-shaped projectile. Then Dotensk stuffed heavy plastic foam into both ends and capped the pipe at both ends.
“Will that lead foil protect us from leaking radiation?” the other man asked.
“Certainly,” said Dotensk, with more confidence than he felt. “Besides, I don't intend to keep it here for very long. For now, put it on that other truck over there. Then, go get some sand. I want to fill up this empty case so it weighs the same as it did before we removed the warhead.
“By the way, when you go outside for the sand, stop at the hangar and turn on the runway lights. The general should be returning soon.”
Dotensk decided Komulakov didn't need to know about this little shell game he'd decided to play. Qusay Hussein would, of course, kill him if he discovered the switch, but Dotensk's instincts told him Qusay had no intention of actually wiring the final fifty million to his numbered account in Aruba. Dotensk reasoned that if Iraq actually started some kind of nuclear exchange, there wouldn't be anyone left in the Hussein family to carry out a vendetta against Leonid Dotensk, theworld's smartest arms dealer. Somebody would always be in the market for a good nuke. No sense wasting inventory.
Besides, if nothing happens and Qusay is still around in a week or two, I will just tell him he can have his third nuke as soon as the money appears in my account.
There was also the matter about the gold. Before Komulakov returned, Dotensk had to figure out a way to move nearly ten tons of gold to a bank, where he could get his cut. And he had to do all this without the rest of the men in this compound becoming greedy and taking part of—or the whole—treasure trove for themselves.
Still, Dotensk thought, before worrying about how to divide the gold, they first had to receive it.
“Mr. Dotensk,” shouted the largest of the Ukrainians. “We are ready to put this crate back on the truck.”
“Did you weigh it?”
“Yes, sir, this crate is now equal in weight to the others.”
“Then put it back on the truck,” said Dotensk. “But put it all the way to the front of the truck so that, when the cargo is unloaded, they won't have the one full of sand until last.”
The two workers complied, using the forklift to shuffle the load. When they were finished, Dotensk patted them on their backs.
“I don't want you to tell any of the other men about this...at least, not until after I tell General Komulakov.”
Before he left, he would have to dispose of these two men who had just helped him carry out this conspiracy.
That will be a shame. We have been friends for nearly twenty years.
Syrian Border Crossing
23 km East of At Tanf
Monday, 23 March 1998
2220 Hours, Local
Newman breathed a sigh of relief as they passed through the Iraqi border crossing. Additional Iraqi soldiers were on duty, but even though the curfew had gone into effect at 2100, the Iraqi border guards had allowed vehicles already in line to proceed through. He and Samir had arrived at the dusty desert outpost just as the Iraqi customs officers, border patrol, and immigration police were changing the watch. In the confusion of the duty change, Samir's friend Nazir had seen them arrive, having been told by Eli Yusef to expect them just before ten o'clock.
Since his shift did not end until midnight, Nazir was still on duty and had made sure he was the one who checked the travelers' truck and identity documents. Two Iraqi soldiers accompanied Nazir and looked over his shoulder when he examined the Indian passport that identified Newman as Ram Fales.
“You are from India?” one of the soldiers asked him. “You do not look like an Indian.”
“I am from the Portuguese section of Goa, on the west coast of India,” Newman said, trying to speak with what he hoped sounded like an Indian accent. The soldiers found him plausible enough to shrug and move on to inspect the next vehicle.
As they walked away, Nazir said in a quiet voice, “You should not have any problems at the Syrian border crossing. If you run into any difficulties, ask for Captain Majhaar. He will let anyone cross into Syria for a small fee.”
“How much will it take?” asked Newman.
Nazir shrugged and said, “I have never asked him, but I would suggest five hundred Swiss francs or English pound notes. I would not use American currency—although that is probably the favored one—since dollars will raise too many questions.”
They had proceeded less than three hundred meters from the Iraqi border crossing to the Syrian checkpoint; Newman was immediately tagged as someone to check more carefully than most travelers.
After nearly ten minutes of questions and getting nowhere, Newman asked, “May I speak with Captain Majhaar?”
“He is not on duty tonight. I am the officer in charge,” replied a surly fat man with very bad teeth, whose girth tested the limits of his uniform. “How do you know Captain Majhaar?” the officer asked.
Samir answered before Newman could make something up. He spoke in Arabic, and the words came out so quickly that Newman did not fully understand what he was saying. Samir gestured grandly and smiled as he spoke.
The fat officer blinked, then nodded, and finally he smiled. Then he held up the ten fingers of both beefy hands. The officer then looked at Newman and smiled, saying in English to Samir, “I will be back in a moment after you discuss it with your employer.” After that, he gestured to the s
oldier next to him to follow him to the building where other travelers were being checked much more carefully. Newman had already decided he didn't want to be invited to leave the truck and go inside the building.
“What did you tell him?” Newman asked Samir after the two Syrians were out of earshot.
“I told him I was hired as a guide for the rich, Indian businessman. I told him you were unfamiliar with the customs here and would appreciate suggestions of how much of a gratuity you should give him.”
“And he said ten,” Newman said, holding up his own two hands. “Maybe I should give him fifteen hundred to make sure things go smoothly.”
“No...I do not think that is wise. If you give him more than he asks, he will think he should have asked for more. The ways here are different. Take out five hundred-franc bills and offer them to him. If he doesn't like your offering, he will let you know. Then you can keep adding bills, one at a time, until he is pleased. Probably he will keep going until you pay him a thousand francs.”
“This could go on all night. We need to get on our way. I want to find this place in Syria, not haggle over bribes all night.”
“Please...do it my way, Peter. It will not take long.”
Samir was right. The overweight officer pocketed the thousand in Swiss franc notes and let them through the checkpoint at the Syrian border.
As they drove away from the border checkpoint, Newman leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and uttered an audible sigh of relief.
TARGETS AND SHOOTERS
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Damascus-to-Baghdad Highway
23 km West of Border
Monday, 23 March 1998
2250 Hours, Local
This is the place,” said Samir, pointing to two large buildings on the side of the road as he slowed the truck. It had been less than half an hour since they had crossed into Syria. Ahead, several kilometers down the highway, they could see the lights marking the outskirts of At Tanf.
“Are you sure?” Newman peered at yellow, warehouse-like structures. Floodlights lit a truck parking area and loading docks in front of the main building. A light glowed from one window on the ground floor.