His mind tried to focus on the assault planned to take place that evening. Samantha had been flown into the French airfield and had set up a small team of SIGINT operators to scour the Iberian Peninsula for any communications traffic that would identify the terrorists’ command-and-control location. Swartz had made sure the arrival of two SAS teams had gone smoothly and he had briefed their commander on the mission, without providing the full background to the wider operation. Jack was insistent that any forces brought in to support the operation simply needed to know the bare minimum. Terrorists inside a stronghold that needed to be eliminated was all he’d imply. Sean wasn’t so sure about that being the implicit mission. He had thoughts of dealing with it in some way other than death and carnage if he could.
Sean remembered the words that Samantha had shouted to everyone in their small ops room in an annex to the Navy Seals’ hangar. ‘Got the bastards!’ Her voice reverberated outside the hangar, where Sean and Swartz were chatting through the mission. Sean threw his cigarette away and ran inside to the ops room. Samantha was stood next to a SIGINT screen, holding her arms in the air like a champion boxer.
‘Found them myself,’ she shouted to Sean, hardly containing her excitement. ‘You coconuts better get ready to move quickly, we’ve less than twenty-four hours before the US President is due to fly in.’
‘Where? Show me.’
‘I’ve tracked them to a wooded farmstead near La Morgal airfield in the Asturias, not far from Oviedo. Right next to the runway. It’s a private airfield and the only signatures that are connecting regularly into different parts of Europe. It’s definitely a command hub, not linked to Spanish infrastructure or government communications. Right next to a fucking runway ready for escape by private plane.’
‘Good work Sam. Swartz, get the helicopter pilots in here now. We’re going to move on this quickly. Sam, get your team to find me a base somewhere close as a bolt-hole. Use your imagination and get Jack to clear airspace and warn off local law enforcement. We’re going to need large outer cordons in place and back-up from their military.’
‘On it now.’
‘I want this all moving quickly, team. Let’s get this nailed and make sure we have all the kit we need. Sam, we’ll need to take down all public mobile communications in the area at a moment’s notice and I’ll need the entire building locked down with RF jammers. Can we fix that?’
‘Phil’s your man for that. He’s got portable stuff to block all the signals emanating from the place. And he’ll deal with any explosive booby traps too.’
Sean had the basis of full capability to deal with General Alimani – two SAS teams, a small high-risk search team with Phil ‘The Nose’ as the bomb-disposal officer, the Spanish Army on standby to support the operation and Laura providing the requirements for satellite imagery back at the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency based in Washington. The ground operation for tactical imagery would be steered by Jugsy, using two unmanned air vehicles, and the political gateways would be smoothed by Jack and EUCOM’s political advisor. The first men on the ground were tasked to provide ground surveillance on the farmstead whilst Sean and Swartz developed the attack plan. The farmstead was right next to the runway, with one major house complex, three small outbuildings, a barn and a small ruin nearest to the airfield. If it all went wrong, there was enough clear ground around the complex for a military assault and air attack if needed. Sean had no idea what defences the General would have in place, but he knew he’d be well prepared.
Sean felt Swartz’s hand on his shoulder as he waited for the results from the ground reconnaissance team. Sean knew he wasn’t himself and it was always Swartz who had the uncanny knack of snapping him out of it.
‘It’ll be OK mate. You know she has to be killed if she’s in there. There’s no option. You know this is the right thing to do, so don’t dwell on it too much mate. We’re here for you and you’ll be OK.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Too many fucking drawers stuffed with all the shit in my life mate.’ Sean turned and shook Swartz’s hand. ‘Funny how the branches of life take you on their merry journey, eh? The good thing is that I now realise how fucked up I was when I lost my mum at fifteen. No one has any idea how vulnerable you are at that age. It shaped my idiocy for life. I just didn’t know it until now. If I’d have had a sound family upbringing, you know, with Mum and Dad always there, maybe I’d have taken a better way in life instead of all this killing and carnage. It’s just anger inside me every single day. Rage and anger.’
‘That’s how it works mate. You know that. Life experiences define us. Mould us. Eat away at us. For God’s sake man, look at what you’ve done for the good of many. Saved lives and put away those who are pure evil. You and I were destined for this shit mate because of the teenage years we had. Built of steel, just bloody flaky inside trying to hold it all together now, you know.’
‘Mate, as ever you’ve nailed it. Always bloody rescuing me. Right, let’s get this done and dusted. By the way, when this is all over there’s another job I need to settle. I’ve asked One-Eyed Damon to set a few things up for me in London when we get back home.’
‘Ah, fuck. Another bloody ruse. My pension and freedom in the balance again. What’s the kill method this time? A bloody torpedo into the man’s house party?’
Sean laughed and gave his best mate a man hug. ‘Much more fun than that, I can assure you.’
Chapter 48
Asturias
Three hundred and twenty feet of cold steel. A vessel badged with the flag of Malta, built in 2005 and powered by Chinese engines. Four eighteen-foot Rigid Raiders trailed the vessel, each carrying eight men who would be the first of many to board this ship at 2220 precisely. They would await the order to attack the terrorists once they had boarded the vessel and hidden themselves.
The Americans were now coordinating simultaneous attacks on a vessel, a target location not far from the G7 conference and General Alimani’s command-and-control complex in Spain. The coordination had taken less than forty-eight hours to plan the interdictions. Now was the time for precise action, at precise times, with overwhelming force. The terrorists at each site had been trained to die as martyrs, trained by the Iranian Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, who were now about to face the best of the US Navy Seals and the British SAS. The Iranian terrorists were all former soldiers of the Al Quds force, which had been labelled a terrorist organisation by the Americans and was the body responsible for many British and American deaths in the Second Iraq War as it had supplied high-tech IEDs to the Iraqi militia. Iran’s overseas war machine, their state-sponsored terrorists, had been active for decades, and had been the thorn in the side of the US during many global campaigns – was their time about to end?
The 1300-ton container ship travelled steadily at twenty-five knots per hour as the Rigid Raiders approached the vessel before two peeled off to hug the ship’s starboard side, whilst the other two slipped into place on the port side, all of them hidden from the view of the bridge. The coxswains steadied the raiding boats alongside the ship, whilst the assaulters awaited the final signal to climb onto the vessel. Then they would wait.
They call it green Spain, but the verdant trees and pastures of Asturias are only part of its spectrum. On the northern coast between Cantabria and Galicia, fanned by Atlantic winds and bolstered by fertile soil, this stretch of land encompasses the beach-strewn Costa Verde, smart towns and a wild interior that belies its diminutive size. All Sean could hear was the trees being gently combed by the breeze, while a lone bat skilfully navigated the building’s rafters. Come morning, this would all be over, but what branch of life would this event lead to for him?
Late-evening drizzle. A night for a kill. Sean was lying in deep mud as he watched Swartz crawl up alongside him, each of them making gradual progress along the ditch to their assault start line. The farm complex gave them perfect cover as they covertly moved into position. Numerous dilapidated walls surrounded the farm, multiple trees and h
edge lines provided close access to the four buildings and a few tin sheds close to the main building would be used to spring the SAS assaulters.
Surprisingly, Jugsy had not picked up any activity from his airborne drones in the eight-hour period before the assault and neither had the ground surveillance teams. There were two cars parked on the muddy driveway but Sean had no confirmation of who was actually inside the main house. The detailed target analysis Jugsy had prepared showed a large square building with brand-new red tiles on its roof, two entrances, one each at the back and front, two floors and six windows on each face of the building. To its rear was a small meadow and towards the road was a slanting tiled roof that appeared to be a newly built annex for a large laundry room. There were no CCTV cameras, no passive infrared-initiated external lights and absolutely no indication of any defences that would warn the residents of intruders within the grounds.
‘I’m not sure about this Swartz,’ Sean whispered, looking through his night-vision goggles from behind a three-foot-high wall. ‘This could be some radio ham and his family and we’re about to assault it based on SIGINT alone. Not a bloody chance.’
‘Well, it’s down to you and me mate. The troopers are all primed and ready. How do you want to play it?’
Sean knelt down behind the wall and reminded Swartz of the drawing they’d made earlier. The drawing was marked with the four faces of the building. Their approach to the face in front of them, which was the back garden, was marked as the purple face, the front was amber and the other two sides were grey and blue. ‘You take the amber face Swartz, I’ll take purple. Thirty minutes should be enough to meet back here.’
The slight wind rustling through the birch trees provided useful background noise as they started their recces. They both wore night-vision goggles strapped to their heads on top of their black balaclavas. They each carried a Glock pistol in a thigh holster with endoscope equipment strapped to their waists on black belts. Small drills and toolsets were attached to the rear of their belts.
Sean crawled the last few metres from the rose bushes to the corner of the building and then stood up slowly to stand against the side of the wall. His first target was the large room facing the small meadow, which he suspected was the living area. The lights were on, but the curtains pulled to. Sean placed his endoscope through a tiny air gap in the patio doors and looked at his two-inch chest-mounted screen, which was shrouded with a black veil to hide the light and disguise his presence. He twisted the head of the camera using the toggles on his chest controller to look around the room. No one inside. He then carefully depressed the door-handle to see if the door was open. To his shock it was.
He checked the visual inside the room again. This time, when he adjusted the focus, he immediately saw movement in the dining room. It was Nadège.
Chapter 49
Asturias
The entire joint operation across three target sites in France and Spain, plus multiple terrorist interdictions across Europe, was now firmly in Sean’s hands and it was his call to spring attacks on them all.
Sean knew that each operations room would be awaiting the moment when the assault on the house had been successful and the command and control of General Alimani’s operation had been thwarted. There was no room for error, there could be no cock-ups, no miscalculations and certainly no indecision. The precise actions of Sean and his team were being monitored by dozens of radio operators, who were just waiting for the codeword to launch their assaults.
Sean’s mind wandered to Jack and what he had uncovered. Jack would be the most nervous of those listening in to the radio traffic, and Sean’s penchant for doing things differently would probably be occupying Jack’s mind by now. Sean smiled at that, remembering the words of one of his commanding officers decades ago on intelligence operations, when he was being berated for completely ignoring operational procedures. It had been a two-minute interview with the most senior British intelligence officer in the Balkans. ‘You’re going to take this bollocking Sean, and take heed of it. You fucked up. Don’t do it again. And for the avoidance of any doubt within these four walls, you’re a bloody maverick. Some people don’t like mavericks. Do you hear me?’
Sean had simply agreed with everything the Brigadier had said. That razor-sharp man had already saved his career on a few previous occasions. ‘Now, get back out there and keep being a fucking maverick. You have an uncanny knack of making things happen, now scoot and keep doing what you’re doing.’
Sean remembered every word his boss had told him that day and the beaming smile he had worn on his face as he had left the Brigadier’s office, having been given licence to carry on making things happen. That was the type of leader Sean liked. Ballsy.
But here he was now, with the world looking in at him, hoping and praying he’d make the right decisions. It was a venerable responsibility that he could not shirk from. But for Sean, gut feel was always the way. He knew what was right and what would work. This was one of those gut-feel occasions where he would bend every operational order and rule that had been thrown at him in that hangar. The orders from the American General had been simple: assault the house, kill the terrorists inside, find the initiation mechanisms and give the codeword for the other assaults to begin. The codeword had not left his mind. CLAYMAST.
Sean whispered into his radio, waiting for Swartz to respond in his earpiece. ‘Go ahead,’ he heard. ‘Send.’
‘Swartz, get your ass round to purple face quickly. I’m going in and you’re gonna back me up.’
‘What?’ was all Sean heard, as he ignored the rest of Swartz’s advice. ‘Just get around here now.’
Sean had watched the room for fifteen minutes and seen no one else inside. He had observed a huge open-plan living space with two sofas and a row of desks to his left with three computers and a raft of monitors, some mounted on the walls, some on the desks. He spotted several mobile phones on the desks – was that the way the General was communicating with his teams? Was it as simple as that? Or was Nadège in charge of this? Was the General somewhere else?
What no one knew was what would happen if General Alimani was killed. Had he put other contingencies in place to allow the explosions to occur? No one quite knew the means of initiation for each of the explosive devices. Would they be remotely detonated? Possibly. On a timer? Highly unlikely if this was the extortion ploy. By a trigger in the hands of the terrorists at each site? No one knew. What the NEST team had found was the location of the second dishwasher. Exactly as assessed, their radiation equipment had found one device on a ship steaming towards Biarritz, with the second identified as being on a cargo transporter parked at a service station on the D260. With these two tactical nuclear devices, the devastation of the entire G7 location was guaranteed. Despite every inch of the conference locality having been searched for bombs inside the rings of steel, these were all placed well outside the cordon and two security zones. The NOTAM, a Notice to Airmen and Women, for creating the sterile airspace above the G7 was guaranteed and French fighter jets were available at a moment’s notice to move to take down any threatening aircraft loitering in the area.
Despite all the known unknowns, and the high-risk nature of the coordinated operation, everyone knew that the General would provide the first attack order - and the kill chain would follow from that. To alleviate such a threat, the joint US and UK operation had decided that, once the command cell was taken down, they would take no chances and would assault each location, aware of the risk that the terrorists could detonate the devices themselves. There was no room for error at either site. Overwhelming force was needed to stop the bombers and then render each explosive device safe, all within precise timeframes.
Swartz tapped Sean on the back. ‘I hope you bloody well know what you’re doing.’
‘I do. I feel it. Listen. You and I have taken down this kind of threat before. This is doable without a full-scale assault. We watch for another ten minutes then I go in with you covering my back, OK?’
‘On my call, Swartz. Trust me. Get the lads to be prepared if it goes wrong and, when I give you the signal, be prepared to give the codeword over the net.’
‘You and your bloody gut could kill us both. Are you just gonna walk in there?’
‘Yes. That’s my plan. My orders were to kill the terrorists, not everyone in the building.’
‘But fucking around like this will put our lives at risk. We need to go in hard and fast. No fucking about.’
‘That’s what we’re used to doing but this needs a bit of stealth mate, not a full-on attack. Watch and shoot, watch and shoot.’
‘Jeez.’
‘Ten minutes, then we go.’
Had he seen the panic and commotion going on in Whitehall, Sean may not have chosen the path he had decided on. The entire security apparatus of the United Kingdom had gone into overdrive.
‘What do you mean, we can’t strike against the terrorists now?’ Hugo Campey had said to the National Security Advisor. ‘We know where they are, we have people ready to go against them, so why not?’
‘Jack will explain,’ came the response from Sir Justin Darbyshire who also acted as the UK’s National Security Advisor. ‘It’s a very complex operation, with many lives at risk.’
Jack was about to inform the entire congregation of the British government’s emergency response committee, who were sat in PINDAR, having been alerted by intelligence from the CIA that multiple attacks were about to take place in London, two of which were assessed to be radiological devices. The threats were imminent, they had been told by the CIA.
Jack peered into the webcam, knowing he was being beamed live into the depths of the PINDAR bunker to personally brief the Prime Minister and her crisis committee. There was no time for introductions to the others sat around the U-shaped table that evening, but Jack could see a full house on his monitor. Sat around the table were twenty-six individuals and they included, amongst others, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Service, the Chief of MI6, the Director of Defence Intelligence and the Chief of the Defence Staff. Twenty-four hours before the PM was due to fly to the G7, and perhaps only thirty-odd hours before General Alimani would issue orders for his attacks across Europe, Jack knew he had to nail this briefing with rigour. He fiddled with his blue Charles Tyrwhitt tie.
The Kompromat Kill Page 33
