by Joseph Badal
“Pretty fantastic story, Mr. Cole,” Taylor said.
“Every word of it’s true. And if we don’t figure out a way in the next hour or two to find the men who took Michael, we’ll never get him back,” Jack said. “Once they get Michael into the heart of Serbia, it’s all over.”
“Any ideas, Mr. Cole?”
“Yeah, a couple. Let’s assume our President isn’t going to approve an invasion of Yugoslavia over the kidnapping of one soldier, and any operation of any size, approved or unapproved, would be detected by the Serbs – and the Russians, for that matter. And we don’t need the political fallout that would bring. I think we should send in a Special Forces or Marine Force Recon unit.”
“But, to where?” one of the staff officers asked.
“Good question,” Jack said, running his fingers through his hair. “Before coming over here, I called Langley and instructed them to contact NIMA, the National Imagery & Mapping Association. They should be calling back soon.”
“What do you have in mind?” Taylor asked.
“We’re asking NIMA to run up some change detection,” Jack said. “They’ll compare current satellite images against past images over the last twenty-four hours from the Macedonian border with Serbia to a point fifty miles north of the border. The National Reconnaissance Office flies satellites all over the world. I’ll bet they’ve got several in orbit over the Balkans. NIMA’s got to have data off those satellites. They’re going to look for anomalies – vehicles where they shouldn’t be, troops moving on the road. Maybe something will turn up.”
“We dealing with infrared, or something else?” Taylor asked.
“Probably Synthetic Aperture Radar. We should be able to get an SAR phase history analysis.”
“And what if there’s no imagery?” Taylor said.
Jack’s heart seemed to become too heavy for his chest. The same question had come to mind during his call to Langley. “Then we’re up the creek,” he said. “We’d have to ask for tasking – get the NRO to change the inclination of one of its satellites. They probably couldn’t do that without getting permission from the White House, or from CINCEUCOM, at a minimum.”
“Oh shit!” Taylor exclaimed. “What about going to a commercial satellite operator?”
“Neither is a viable option,” Jack explained. “Michael would be in the Serb capital by the time we got an answer from either one.”
The room went quiet for a few seconds.
Finally, Sweeney turned to Major Jim Taylor. “Jim, call Colonel Mumphrey at the Marine detachment. Tell him I need to talk to him. I want his men on standby.” He swiveled around and nodded to Major Harris Krumka, his Intelligence Chief. “I want you to work with Mr. Cole. Get him a line to the National Security Agency and keep it open.”
“What do you want me to tell our commanders up on the border?” Jim Taylor asked.
“Tell them to get their men ready in case we need to cross the border. This is top secret. I don’t want anyone outside this room to know what we’re preparing to do. Now get to it! Captain Dombrowsky, Mr. Cole, you’ll stay here with me.” Sweeney turned to Major Taylor who was leaving the room. “Jim, as soon as you make the call to the company commanders, come back here.”
After the others filed out of the room, Sweeney walked to the door, closed it, returned to his chair, and said to Dombrowsky. “Jess, how quickly can you get two Apaches in the air over southern Yugoslavia?”
“You mean on the border?”
“No, I mean into Yugoslavia.”
“How far into Yugoslavia?” Dombrowsky asked.
“No more than fifty miles.”
“Jeez!” Dombrowsky exhaled. “No disrespect intended, Colonel, but why don’t you just ask how long it would take me to fly to Belgrade?”
“Listen, Jess. I know I’m asking a lot. But one of our own is in trouble. As long as I’m in charge, there ain’t going to be any POWs or MIAs from this unit.”
“Don’t get me wrong, sir. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Mike back. But fifty miles into Yugoslavia! We’re not going to be able to keep that quiet.”
“Answer my question, Jess,” Sweeney said, as Major Taylor walked back into the room and sat down.
“Forty, fifty minutes. I’ll need to find three men who won’t mind being courts-martialed, fuel the birds, complete preflight checks.”
“You can get in undetected?”
“Possible. But, I’ll have to clip the treetops.”
“Do it, Jess!”
“Yes, sir!”
The pilot walked out of the room. After he was gone, Major Taylor squinted at Colonel Sweeney. “I think I was here long enough to get the gist of what you want Dombrowsky to do,” he said. “With all due respect, Colonel, are you crazy?”
“Probably, Jim. I want you to type up orders saying I ordered Dombrowsky to cross into Yugoslavia. I’ll sign them. And get Colonel Nye over at Air Force on the horn. Tell him we’re putting two, two-man Apache crews into the Red Zone. We don’t want the AWACS boys to report them.”
Taylor stood and came to attention. “Yes, sir,” he snapped.
After Taylor left the room, Jack turned to Sweeney and said, “If you lose your job over this, Colonel, come see me. I can use a man like you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Vitas felt an Arctic-like wind seize him. His teeth chattered; his body shook. So cold. A fog seemed to cover his eye and nothing appeared real. Then the fever began again. He stewed in his own sweat. Then chills again, and then more fever and sweating. Something cool touched his forehead. Was that a hand on his arm?
He opened his eyes. The fog began to diminish – white room, ceiling fan, a blinking monitor. He remembered then where he was, and why. Damn raccoon! Damn Danforth bitch! he thought.
Then the Gypsy girl’s face came to him. The chill returned, gripping his flesh and bone. But, as before, it gave way to heat, a flash of hotness so intense he felt scalded. And then a momentary reprieve.
A movement at his side – a human form loomed into view. Vitas squeezed his eyelids shut, then opened them, trying to focus. It still seemed a gauzy veil blurred his vision. Then he recognized the white cap and white uniform. A nurse. Vitas tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come. His throat was parched, his tongue felt too big for his mouth. With a massive effort of will, he raised a quivering hand and weakly crooked a finger at her.
The nurse stepped close enough for him to make out her features. She had a professional but gentle smile. She bent closer, her face just inches from his. He inhaled the smell of her perfume, her shampoo, her flesh. He clutched the front of her uniform and pulled her to him. He squeezed her breast. He pressed his mouth against hers and bit her lower lip. But he couldn’t continue and collapsed back onto the pillow.
The nurse made a sound that was almost a scream. Vitas felt and tasted her blood. He felt the woman struggle out of his grasp.
Then a thunderbolt of pain struck his chest. Every muscle in his body seemed to cramp. He opened his mouth and gasped for breath, and sensed the woman move away from him. Her screams sounded off the walls and ceiling.
Vitas tried to suck air into his lungs, but they didn’t seem to work. He felt liquid leak from his mouth, down his chin, and onto his neck. And then the whiteness of the room faded away to blackness, to nothing.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Michael walked near the middle of a line of men spaced about ten feet apart – two Serb soldiers in front and three trailing. His wrists were tied together in front of his body with rope, and a second rope – a tether – was held by the man named Dimitrov. Whenever Michael lagged behind, the Serb jerked on the rope, sending a sharp pain from Michael’s wrists to his shoulders, and dragged him along like a dog.
His arms and head hurt. He stumbled along the narrow forest trail, weaving first one way then the other. But Michael was nowhere near as dizzy and weak as he pretended. Staggering along the narrow trail through the forest, he intentionally fell every few minutes
.
Through trees to the left, Michael could just see a ribbon of road meandering far below.
Ahead, the trail led out of the trees and edged along the brink of a steep hillside. He waited until the trail approached closest to the drop-off, then violently yanked the tether out of Dimitrov’s hand and launched himself down the slope. He rolled and crashed through bushes and bounced off saplings, then slammed chest-first into a large tree. The pain made him gasp. It was as though a knife had been stuck into his ribs. He scrambled under a bush, breathing as shallowly as possible.
There were shouts from above, and then the sound of boots moving cautiously down the hillside. A small rock, dislodged by one of the Serbs, rolled past his face. Twice, someone came within a few feet of his hiding place.
Dimitrov finally found Michael. “You bastard!” the Serb hissed in English, while he dragged him out by the arm and began to punch him in the face and chest, sending shock waves of pain through him.
“Idiot!” Sokic snarled, grabbing Dimitrov’s arm and shoving him aside.
Sokic spat an order and two of his other men lifted Michael off the ground and held him braced between them.
The Serb leader stood toe-to-toe with Michael. “I have had all the crap I am going to take from you,” he said. “Any more delaying tactics and I will shoot you right here.”
“Bullshit!” Michael blurted. “You already told me enough to know that’s the last thing you’ll do. You need me alive.”
Sokic snapped an arm forward, grabbed Michael’s throat, and squeezed. With his air cut off by the Serb’s painful grip, Michael gagged and nearly passed out. Suddenly, the pressure let up. But Michael saw the bloodlust in the man’s eyes and knew the Serb would have killed him right there if his orders allowed it.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
After hours of waiting in Sweeney’s command post for news of Michael, Jack got a ride back to his hotel. He needed to shower and change. Then he’d return to the Army base. He dragged into the lobby and was walking toward the stairs when a man’s urgent voice called across the lobby: “Mr. Cole!”
Jack turned tired eyes toward the voice and saw the desk clerk beckoning him. What the hell now? He walked over to the man.
“A Mr. Danforth called for you several times,” the clerk said, handing Jack four message slips. “He wants you to call him as soon as possible.”
Jack took the messages and mumbled, “Thanks.” He felt heaviness on his heart like never before while he walked back over to the stairs. How could he tell Bob and Liz about Michael? His body slumped. He looked at his watch. Ten p.m. in Bethesda.
After he reached his room, Jack shucked his shirt and began unlacing a shoe, at the same time holding the telephone receiver to his ear and waiting for the overseas operator to make the connection. The phone rang on the other side of the Atlantic. Please don’t be home, he prayed.
“Hello!” It was Bob, and not Liz, thank God.
“It’s Jack.”
“Jack, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. You’ve got to find Michael and warn him. Miriana’s father is Stefan Radko. Must be the same Radko.”
“Bob, I need to–”
“Let me finish. You know Radko hates my guts because of what happened to his own son. There’s no telling what he’ll do to Michael to get even with me. You’ve got to protect my son. You’ve–”
Jack interrupted. “It’s already too late. The Serbs kidnapped Michael this morning. We’re trying to find him before they get too deep into Yugoslavia. And Radko was involved. He set Michael up.”
Jack waited for Bob to respond, but all he heard was a light buzz over the line. “Bob,” Jack said softly, “did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard,” Bob said, flatly. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. I’m sor–”
“I’ve got to tell Liz,” Bob said. There was a click, then a dial tone.
Jack forced away his fatigue. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, moving with renewed, anger-fed energy. He took a quick shower, shaved, brushed his teeth. After putting on clean clothes, he rushed downstairs and drove back to the American base.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
When Jack walked back into Sweeney’s command post, the silence in the room told him there’d been no news of Michael.
Sweeney’s face was a steel mask. “Nothing! Not a damn thing,” he told Jack.
“Anyone question Radko?”
“Yeah. The sonofabitch admitted his complicity and seemed proud of it. He told us he at first thought they were just a bunch of farmers, but he figured, after a while, they were Serb soldiers. The bastards killed his son, and he still hasn’t given the slightest indication he’s sorry about what he did.”
The phone rang. Jack noticed everyone in the room watching while Major Krumka, the Intelligence Officer, picked up the receiver, listened for a moment, then handed it to him. “It’s for you,” Krumka said. “NIMA’s got something.”
“Put it on speaker mode,” Jack said. That done, he said loudly, “Cole here. Go ahead.”
“Okay,” said the voice on the line. “We couldn’t see much with the SAR satellite until the sun came up. The last satellite pass went over the Preshevo area ten minutes ago. A couple miles north of the city, we saw a vehicle nose down in a ravine. Another of our satellites – an infrared unit – got a weak heat signature off its engine. With computer enhancement, we picked up U.S. Army insignia. It’s the Jeep your man was driving when he got snatched.”
“Any people around the site?”
“Nope! Not a soul.”
Jack walked around the room, organizing his thoughts.
“You still there, Mr. Cole?” the NIMA man asked.
“Hold on,” Jack shouted.
Sweeney looked quizzically at Jack. “What’s . . . ?”
Jack cut Colonel Sweeney off with a wave of his hand. He stepped closer to the speaker. “Your IR satellites can’t pick up anything in the dark unless it’s hot or lit up, right?”
“Correct! A fire, a running engine, even a man or a large animal.”
“So,” Jack continued, “you said the satellite picked up a heat signature off the Jeep. Which means its engine must have been running pretty recently.”
“Sounds right!”
“How ‘bout going back over every satellite pass and see when you picked up the first heat signature coming from that location. Could give us an idea how long ago they dumped the Jeep. And while you’re at it, check to see if any vehicles left the area shortly after the Jeep showed up.”
“I see where you’re going,” the NIMA man said. “You think maybe they dumped the Jeep and took off in another vehicle they stashed there.”
“And,” Jack continued the thought, “if we don’t find any evidence of other cars or trucks having left the site, it’s damn sure they set out on foot. Depending on when the Jeep showed up, we should be able to figure out how far they could’ve traveled – by vehicle, or by foot. How soon can you get back to us?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“We don’t have thirty minutes. Make it ten.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Bob had enough rank in the CIA to pretty much do whatever he wanted to do without a written directive from a superior, short of ordering wet work. So, demanding a company King Air on a moment’s notice didn’t raise any questions on the part of the Aircraft Control Officer. All the man asked was, “When do you need it and where are you going?”
“Yesterday,” Bob answered. “I need the plane yesterday. I’m flying to Macedonia to join Jack Cole in the talks with the Serbs.”
“Man, it’s a mess over there,” the Aircraft Control Officer said.
More than you know, Bob thought.
After getting off the phone to Langley, Bob returned to his bedroom and hesitated in the doorway. Liz was packing an overnight bag for him, mechanically going through the motions. Bob approached her, gently took her arm, and guided her to the other side of the bed. He made her
sit, then cupped her chin and raised her eyes to his.
“You stay strong. I don’t want to be worrying about you while I’m over there.”
Liz cleared her throat. Then she placed her hands on Bob’s chest, pushed him away, and stood. “There’s not a damned thing wrong with me that getting our son back safe and sound won’t cure.” She wagged a finger at him and said, “I’m not that innocent young girl who fell apart in Greece years ago, when that bastard Radko took Michael. If I could get my hands on that sick . . ..”
There was something showing in Liz’s face that told Bob she knew he and the CIA had something to do with Michael’s kidnapping. Her look and the tone in her voice came up short of accusing him of culpability. Nonetheless, Bob felt a rush of icy fear go through him as he thought of what might happen to the rest of his and Liz’s lives if he didn’t bring Michael back.
Liz suddenly, unexpectedly, stepped into Bob’s arms and buried her face in his neck. “You bring our boy home. You hear me, Bob Danforth? You bring our boy home.”
The flight to the U.S. Air Force field constructed outside Kumanovo for the war would take an agonizing seven hours. Despite being exhausted from worry and lack of sleep, Bob felt wired. He knew his and Liz’s future and their mental well-being were tied up in how this mission turned out.
He’d taken a seat in one of two captain’s chairs that bracketed a small round table near the bulkhead. He’d spread out a map of the Serbia/Macedonia border and studied it until his eyes burned. The men who took Michael were going north. He knew that with a certainty that came from years of thinking like the enemies of the United States. He’d participated and planned countless covert operations, and was the best the CIA had.
