by Anthony Tata
Riley did smile inwardly as she remembered Zach poring over the pages, saying, “You have to attack this thing like a military problem. You have an enemy who has outer defenses, and they are holding someone hostage. What is your shaping operation? What are your interim objectives? How do you create the conditions for a successful attack while not harming the hostage? What is your defeat mechanism, that one thing that will assure you victory?”
After a while, it had all became perfectly logical to her, though it was never in her nature to ponder the complexities of warfare. Psychology according to Sun Tzu. Wonderful.
“Can’t you see this is exactly what they’re doing? They are fighting a war, and Amanda is their point man. She makes first contact on their behalf. Then they develop the situation. She is trained as spy and infantryman rolled into one.” Zach’s words, now more than ever, seemed terribly poignant as she had begun to dismantle the first surface layer of Amanda Garrett’s psyche. Amanda is their point man. She makes first contact. . . .
“Well, I’d like to be published one day.”
“Really?”
“I know, it’s not cool, but I like to write. Mom tells me it’s for losers.”
Riley stared at her a moment, noticing how much of Zachary she saw in her face. Strong cheekbones and the eyes, she felt as though Zachary were staring directly at her. Flint green specks burned brilliantly in what could only be called jade irises.
“What?”
“First of all, it’s totally cool. Just look at me. Secondly, you look so much like your father. He was such a beautiful man. And I know, Amanda, that you have his heart, too. Your father was a writer. He helped with this book.” She patted the hard cover of her opus. “And he wrote some other things, too.”
Amanda looked down at the carpet. “I’m just so confused, you know. I need to go back to the house, I guess, and spend some more time there maybe. It was, I don’t know, so good to be . . . home. I felt at peace.”
Riley felt the sting of tears forming but managed to hold them back. “He always wanted you there, and I think you could see how much he carried you in his heart.”
Amanda wiped her eyes and then dried her hands on her jeans. “Does this make me a worse person than I already am? That I abandoned my father?”
“Honey, you never abandoned your dad. You never had a chance. But what you can do, now that you understand more, is honor him the way that he honored you.”
“How can I do that? He’s dead. Gone.”
“You’d be surprised at how much more in your life he could be, even now, Amanda. I’d say, if you have even one half the character of your father, which you do, then you’ll find a way to keep him with you. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean you can’t have a relationship with him.”
“Like he did with me? I was gone, really, but from what it looks like, he tried to keep the memories close.”
“Something like that.” Riley smiled tightly. She was straining under the pressure. She wasn’t sure she could convince herself of the truth of her own words, much less carry the burden of helping Amanda to restore her relationship with her dead father. Riley knew that she needed to grieve but was sacrificing her own healing for Amanda’s.
Just as she had promised.
CHAPTER 33
Northwest Frontier Province, Pakistan
Early Monday Morning
Mullah Rahman knew two things for certain.
The messengers had left Dubai a few days ago and should have returned by now. And the second layer of information contained on the flash drive, if true, was explosive. On it were the plans for a complete withdrawal of all of the border combat outposts that the Americans had built.
Operations Searing Gorge and Final Salute were the code names on the encrypted files. Rahman’s information operations technician, Hasad Mohammed, had worked the flash drive and its contents for two days when he finally announced, “In Shallah.”
As Hasad showed him the files, the more mundane sets of information included a variety of special operations policies and standard operating procedures that anyone could find on the Internet.
The gold mine had been hidden beneath a second encrypted layer of information, which at first blush appeared to be a special operations rifle range manual. However, Hasad had found maps and plans in Annex C of the Glossary.
Rahman asked himself two fundamental questions.
Are these plans accurate and why would a combatant be carrying them into battle?
He pieced together the information in the plan and matched it against the map hanging on his wall in a different home than where they had initially stopped. A few miles further east, they had moved at night and blended into an alternate command post.
The room in which Rahman stood was sparsely furnished with two chairs, a wooden table, a Dell laptop, a pewter water pitcher, and his sleeping roll on the floor next to his prayer mat. A generator hummed quietly outside, providing power to the weak lights and the computer. On the wall was a detailed map of the Northwest Frontier Province and Kunar and Nuristan Provinces of Afghanistan. His mission for the last two years had been to strike the Americans where he could, inflict maximum casualties as frequently as possible, and survive.
Now, with Habib’s team already in the Naray area of Afghanistan digging for the Thorium, he apparently had captured an intelligence trove, because he saw phase one of the American operation was for two MH-47s to raid the mountain saddle which Rahman and his team had successfully defended. The plan called for an immediate follow on operation of the 101 Airborne to withdraw from the dozens of firebases up and down the border. This tracked closely with what the cowardly army colonel had mentioned after they beat him and with what the Americans had done previously in the Korengal Valley where Rahman’s men had fought the Americans daily. After the Americans had suffered too many casualties, they had decided to abandon the post. It was that simple. So Rahman could see how his plan was working. Fight them hard. Cause casualties. Drive the wedge in the American public. And get them to leave
The documents contained detailed timelines beginning in the next 48 hours. All of this led Rahman to believe the information on the flash drive was authentic. The double encryption and the fact that the special operations soldiers were conducting a spoiling attack to allow for the withdrawal meant that they would have needed the sequential plan on hand, but secure, such as on a double encrypted flash drive.
So, Rahman looked at the computer, the flash drive still plugged into the USB port on the side, and scrolled through the images contained in a PowerPoint briefing. The first slide was phase zero, which included marshalling activities at Bagram Air Base north of Kabul. Rahman’s sentries, which included two laundry workers on the base, confirmed that a large group of helicopters had been loaded the evening of the attack, taken off, and then returned to base sometime early that morning, after the fight at what the Americans appeared to be calling Objective 1422. The height of the mountain peak was 14,022 feet, and he assumed the Americans had shortened the number for convenience. This mountain also dominated the valley where the Thorium was located, so Rahman instantly understood the connection between the mineral locations and the invasion plan. If the Americans did not control the high ground in Pakistan, the Thorium mines would be vulnerable.
The second slide included the two-helicopter raid on Objective 1422, which was then going to serve as the pivot point for withdrawal operations up and down the valley to the east. The third slide showed significant helicopter movement of U.S. troops to Bagram. The fourth slide showed the Afghan National Army and Police moving into some of the abandoned bases.
Given the name of the operation, Rahman supposed that the Americans were going to retreat all of the way back to America.
Rahman’s chest pumped up. He and his men had not only thwarted the raid and driven the Americans from the Korengal, but they also may have precipitated the full American withdrawal from Afghanistan. The new American president had agreed to a timeline and it a
ppeared that even he was ahead of that timeline. For a long time Rahman’s main fear had been whether the Americans would put fighters on the ground in Pakistan and attack them in their sanctuary. Indeed, he knew that his monthly stipends to the Pakistan Army officers in the region had secured his relative safety from the Pakistan military.
A plan came to mind. He could reinforce his efforts at capturing the Thorium mines and focus on attacking the Americans as they departed. He would push his chips all in.
Rahman’s concentration was broken when he heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” he said, activating his screen saver.
With Habib in Naray leading the miners, Aswan, a diminutive boyish Egyptian, poked his head around the door, and said, “Mullah Rahman, one of the messengers has returned.”
“One?”
“I’m told we lost brother Kamil on the return trip.”
Instantly suspicious, Rahman said, “Bring in Mansur.”
Rahman retrieved his six-inch knife from his tactical vest that was hanging on a nail next to the map.
Aswan escorted Mansur into the dimly lit room and Rhaman’s suspicions diminished, though they did not completely evaporate.
“What happened?” Rahman asked once Mansur stood upright. His face was bloodied, his hair matted with dried blood, and his arms raked with cuts, indicating defensive wounds. He was leaning on a tree branch, which he had fashioned as a crutch.
“Karachi. The truck driver took us to a warehouse where we were beaten. I escaped. Kamil was with me, but was shot.”
“The money?” Rahman asked.
“As usual, we each carried half. Aswan has my $500,000.”
“It should be a million,” Rahman said, looking at Aswan, who extended the leather pouch full of money to his boss. Rahman snatched the purse and rifled through the stacks of bills.
“Dubai only gave us a million. They said the next million would be coming. They only had one million in cash on hand.”
Rahman prided himself in controlling his emotions, but he was about to lose his temper. He turned and paced, then stopped, staring at the map. Five hundred thousand dollars would not pay for much of his retirement, especially after he paid sufficient bills to create the illusion that he was still in command. But with the new information on the flash drive, he could get the money he sought, if not from Dubai, then elsewhere, he was certain.
“Aswan, tell the guards to bring me Kamil’s family.”
Mansur immediately spoke, his words raspy with fear.
“Mullah Rahman I speak the truth. Please do not harm them.”
“We have a deal. If the money or the messenger does not return, the family dies. It is well known. You both have been well compensated. So, your time for sacrifice has come.”
“I beg you, please. We did our best.”
Aswan disappeared and returned within minutes.
“The guards are bringing the family now.”
Rahman turned toward Mansur and said, “Lock him up and kill the family.”
“No!” Mansur screamed.
“Your family will be next if I hear another word from you, Mansur. I’m going to check out your story and then make my decision on your fate.”
Rahman nodded at Aswan, who ushered Mansur from the house.
Rahman sat back at his computer, typed in the password to deactivate the screen saver, and then logged onto his satellite Internet service for the first time since they shot down the helicopters.
Which was when the flash drive finally began to do what it had been programmed for.
CHAPTER 34
Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan
Monday
Matt Garrett sat in a metal chair inside Major General Jack Rampert’s office at the south end of Bagram Airfield. Rampert had four maps on display, one on each wall. There was a world map behind his desk. To Matt’s left was a map covering the Central Command area of operations from the Horn of Africa across the Arabian Peninsula to Pakistan. To Matt’s right was a map of Afghanistan and Pakistan, and behind him was the big blow up of Afghanistan.
“We heard anything yet?” Matt asked.
Rampert shook his head, stood from his squeaky chair, and walked to the map on Matt’s right, the Afghanistan-Pakistan relief.
“We raided right there,” Rampert said, pointing at a dashed line on the map where the latest survey placed the actual border between the two countries, though on the ground it would be impossible to determine without a GPS. “And we’re expecting something to pop up right there.”
Matt stood and walked to the map and looked at Rampert’s cracked, dry fingernail slightly to the right, or east, of the border and near a town called Chitral.
“Your guys approved this plan, Matt,” Rampert said, warily.
“Don’t get defensive, General. It doesn’t suit you.”
Standing next to Rampert, Matt was conflicted. Four years ago Rampert had pulled Zach off the battlefield in the Philippines and saved his life. Two years ago he had sent Zach into Canada on a suicide mission to kill or capture former Iraqi general Jacques Ballantine. Now, it appeared that Rampert had given Zach another high-risk mission, as if his brother was entirely expendable. But then again, weren’t they all?
“Not defensive,” Rampert said. “Just making sure you understand what’s going on here.”
“And what is going on?”
Rampert squared up to Matt. The two men were close in height, though Matt edged the general by an inch or two. The general’s army combat uniform hung snugly on his fit frame. Matt looked powerful in his cargo pants and Under Armor shirt.
“We may never hear anything or the world could light up for us. You know the mission was a risk. We’ve got a bead, but our man’s not communicating so far.”
“I didn’t know Zach was delivering the goods, General, so let’s get off that point.”
Matt worked his jaw a bit, clenching, unclenching, like he used to do as a college shortstop, watching the pitcher release the ball, expecting, hoping that the batter would drill a hard grounder to his side of the field.
The general’s door opened and Van Dreeves stuck his head inside saying, “Sir, you gotta see this shit.”
Matt looked at Van Dreeves’ shaggy blonde head disappearing behind the door then back at Rampert.
“Let’s hope the world is lighting up.”
The two men moved quickly to Van Dreeves’ technical center where he had two powerful computers and a server with a satellite shot to the National Security Agency’s top secret Carnivore bird.
Matt stared over Van Dreeves’ shoulder.
“It worked.”
On the computer screen there was a flashing green light transposed on the map, which was displaying the Chitral and Northwest Frontier Province terrain of Pakistan.
“Son of a bitch,” Rampert muttered.
“If Zach’s alive, that’s where he is,” Matt said.
“If,” Rampert reiterated.
Matt stared at Rampert, suppressing the comeback.
“Here’s the deal,” Van Dreeves said. “The flash drive put the Trojan onto the computer and it’s been a few days now, so this is the first time this guy has gone onto the net. He’s communicating with two people via a private message board that holds the message until the recipient has read it. Then it disappears.”
“How can we see it?” Rampert asked.
“NSA built a screen shot program into the Trojan. Once a communication goes out, the software does a screen shot of the message whether it’s a chat or an email or a webpage and stores it for us,” Van Dreeves explained.
“So what’s it saying?” Matt said.
“Mullah Rahman, our number three high value target for Al Qaeda is selling the plan for $5 million.”
“Who’s he talking to?”
“For the withdrawal plan, he’s talking to someone in Dubai and someone in Yemen. For the Thorium, he’s only communicating with Yemen. Tells me that Dubai is finance and Yemen is operations. We’re workin
g the back trails on those messages. These guys are pretty computer savvy, which is why I’m surprised Rahman put the flash drive in his computer. This is pretty basic.”
“Maybe to someone like you, VD,” Matt said. “But you find some intel on the battlefield like that, it’s hard to resist.”
“So what are we thinking?” Rampert asked, looking at Matt.
Matt considered the general for a moment and said, “You’re not yourself, sir. Normally you’d just tell me what the hell we’re doing.”
Rampert smiled. “I’m seeing if you agree with me.”
“We let Rahman work the computer. Make the two recipients. I agree with VD, one has to be a chief financier, the other a chief operative, if not the chief operative. Meanwhile, we go find Zach,” Matt said.
“Great minds think alike. VD get a predator watching that area best you can. Let’s see what we’ve got,” Rampert ordered.
Matt nodded, walked out of the command center, and found his bunk. He laid his Sig Sauer on the bed, stripped it, cleaned and oiled it, and put it back together. Then he ran his knife against a whetstone a few times and speed loaded his magazines. Then he disassembled his pistol, cleaned it, oiled, and reassembled it.
All the while he was thinking Zach had to be alive. Everyone else doubted it, save Eversoll, but he knew it. He retrieved Zach’s wallet with Amanda’s photo and the Saint Michael medal. Turning it in his hands, he considered Zach’s two great loves, his daughter and his mission. Maybe throw Riley Dwyer in there, too, he wasn’t sure. His brother had risked his life and half of his team had been killed delivering the smallest payload ever to Al Qaeda, a two ounce thumb drive full of information. Those two ounces could ultimately do more damage than a 500-pound bomb. Way more damage.
Would it be worth the death of all the great men who were killed in the helicopter shoot down? That was a hard call to make. Matt knew that he would trade places with any of those men to have been on that sensitive and strategic mission. And he also knew that those men knew that any mission, especially this one, could result in their final trip home in a flag draped coffin.
