“What kind of situation?” he asked.
“He says like the one in Benghazi,” the man answered. Caldwell pressed his lips tightly together. The agency had invested greatly in that compound. An evacuation would set them back years, but, then again, another compromised operation was an embarrassment the CIA could not again afford.
“Permit the evac. I want Reapers on standby and a team ready to get them out. Contact the Fifth Fleet and get them involved,” he ordered. “The first priority should be returning the team back to Sana’a where they can resume their work.”
“Yes sir, I’ll alert SecNav and SecDef.” Caldwell ended the call and tossed the phone on his desk. He didn’t need to hear what the man planned to do; he knew already. He knew the American public had no idea the CIA had planted a compound in Aden, Yemen; most had no idea where Yemen was, but another incident like that in 2012 would not bode well for his career and, more importantly, his ambitions. He poured himself another glass and drained it quickly; his wife was waiting.
• • •
MacDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida
Shaw, dressed in his green service uniform with his hair slicked back by a quick rinse, stood in stark contrast to the other individuals. His was the only beard in the room full of high-ranking officers within SOCOM. He hardly cared. Major King had seated him to his right in the row of chairs by the wall. Around the long conference table sat the officers. Major General Weber, commander of MARSOC, rose from his seat to address the committee and various officers representing Army Special Forces, Navy SEALs, and other special operations components of SOCOM. Four-star General Vince S. Wood, the commander of SOCOM, sat at the head of the table and offered Major General Weber the floor. This was no small meeting.
“Gentlemen,” Weber began, “you all have been briefed on the recent tragedy involving Marines in Yemen. The 13th MEU has recovered the bodies of the fallen without incident or conflict, and the sole survivor has been rescued by the gracious assistance provided by our friends at the CIA.” Those last words were hard for him to say. He hated the thought of owing the agency on account of their assistance. He knew that’s not how it was perceived in the field, but it would be considered a favor from the upper levels of the intelligence community. It sickened him really, that officials, who hadn’t been in the field in decades, if ever, were capitalizing on the hard work of selfless officers not directly under their command.
“One of our own,” Weber continued, “Captain David Shaw, recently recovered from injuries sustained in the line of duty, has brought some crucial intelligence to our attention.” The large screen at the end of the room illuminated with a picture of Osama bin Laden and his associates. “This man,” Weber said, pointing to a man on bin Laden’s right, “is Taaha bin Hashim. The CIA knows him as Isaam Al Amiri.”
“Impossible,” a man interrupted. All eyes fell on him. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his face held a youthful complexion despite his age. Frank Hutchins, an assistant director in the Directorate of Operations and a liaison to SOCOM, shook his head in protest. “We have a full file on Isaam al-Amiri. There is no known photograph.”
“Well, you’re looking at one,” Shaw inserted. His anger plumed at the man’s denial. King leaned into Shaw’s ear.
“Cool it,” he whispered. Shaw composed himself but kept a hard stare on Hutchins. Weber shifted his gaze off Shaw. He loved the man, but there was a reason Shaw wasn’t frequently invited to such meetings. Shaw was a man of action and held little patience for such deliberation. That was the main reason he had never received a promotion past captain, not that Shaw would have wanted it. Past the rank of captain, Shaw’s options for combat diminished greatly. A career without combat didn’t interest the Marine Raider.
“Our intelligence suggests that Isaam Al Amiri is an alias for Taaha bin Hashim. Bin Hashim’s family name is Al Amiri, which was kept secret from our dealings with him over the recent years. It is also confirmed that bin Hashim has not been seen in Afghanistan since Al Amiri emerged in Yemen,” Weber said.
“We only know that al-Amiri is in Yemen because of financial transaction records recovered in the bin Laden raid. There is no link to bin Hashim,” Hutchins stated. Everyone in the room was familiar with Taaha bin Hashim’s cooperation with SOCOM forces in Afghanistan. The thought that he was one of bin Laden’s right-hand men didn’t sit well with anyone present.
“First, it must be clear that Captain Shaw has identified the man as the same individual. There is another that can vouch for the identity of Al Amiri,” Weber stated.
“And who is that?” Hutchins asked.
“Staff Sergeant John Wyatt.”
“And where is he?” Hutchins asked.
“In Yemen. He was part of the Raider team shot down by Al Amiri’s men,” Weber answered.
“We don’t know that Al Amiri shot down those helicopters,” General Wood stated. All eyes fell on him. His salt and pepper hair was cut short and his face weathered from years of service in Army Special Forces. Having commanded the 82nd Airborne Division and the 75th Ranger Regiment prior, Wood held the respect of all in the room. His service as a Green Beret only added to his distinguished resume.
“Who else, sir?” Weber inquired. Wood remained silent. “And does it matter? We have a new lead on Al Amiri. We should take it.”
“He is the most likely culprit,” Wood stated.
“You mean to tell me that this whole time, since 2001, Sheik Taaha bin Hashim has been the world’s third most wanted terrorist?” asked Major General Jerry J. Adler, commander of the United States Army Special Operations Command (USASOC). Weber nodded seriously. “And I’m correct in assuming that he’s been using our reward money to fund his terrorism and, at the same time, eradicate his rivals within the Taliban.”
“That would appear to be the case,” Weber answered. The room silenced, and the gravity of the situation weighed on them.
“So, for all we know, those helicopters were shot down with weapons purchased with our own tax dollars,” Alder said. Wood turned to Hutchins, and the man stiffened under his gaze. Of all the people in the room, he alone had not proved himself on the field of battle, and he tried to prevent that insecurity from controlling him.
“Can you find Al Amiri with this new information?”
“We have a team in Yemen right now who would benefit from this intel,” he replied.
“As soon as we find out where he is located, I’ll acquire an authorized airstrike from the President,” Wood stated.
“Absolutely not, sir,” Shaw stated, jumping to his feet. King reached forward and gripped Shaw’s forearm, but the Raider tore his hand away. Weber glowered at him, but Shaw persisted. “He killed Marines, and Marines will finish it.” Wood sighed and traced an eyebrow.
“Captain, don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re the only one in this room that has lost men. We are not going to send more men into harm’s way to satisfy your vengeance,” Wood replied. He said his words so calmly, but they still stung Shaw’s pride. Major King placed a hand on Shaw’s shoulder, prompting him back down into his chair. Shaw obliged begrudgingly. “Hutchins, let’s find bin Hashim and take care of this matter.”
“Yes, sir,” Hutchins replied.
“Gentlemen, we are adjourned,” Wood stated as he rose from his chair. The men around the table rose in unison, but Shaw remained seated next to King. He felt Weber’s eyes on him.
“Stand up, Son,” he stated. Shaw did as commanded and straightened his uniform. Weber waited until the room vacated. “You were wrong to speak out in the way you did.”
“Sir, I … ”
“This isn’t how either of us wanted this to go,” Weber interrupted. “But you will submit to your command. Don’t blemish your distinguished career by pursuing this. You’ve done great work. Retire with that knowledge. We’ll get Staff Sergeant Wyatt home as soon as we can.” Shaw exhaled slowly and offered Weber a reluctant nod. Although disappointed and frustrated, Shaw yielded
to the command of his mentor. He disagreed entirely with the course of action, but that was nothing new.
The general patted Shaw on the arm before leaving him there with Major King. After receiving a disapproving glance from King, Shaw followed Weber out, and King led Shaw back toward the tarmac where the aircraft scheduled to return them to Camp Lejeune waited.
“There’s a finesse to these types of situations, David,” King said as they walked. “I keep assuming that someone with your education level would realize that.”
“This is wrong, sir,” Shaw stated. King stopped him, and Shaw readied himself for reprimand, but King glanced down both directions of the hallway and lowered his voice.
“This is not how I thought this would turn out either, but you’re right,” King replied. His unexpected tone stirred excitement within Shaw. “Marines will finish this.” A smile spread across Shaw’s face. “How are you feeling?”
“Ready to kill, sir.” King’s smile mirrored Shaw’s.
“I want you on the ground ready to take down Al Amiri. I’ll see to it that we get you over there,” King said.
“What about the airstrike,” Shaw asked.
“If the airstrike coordinates are never sent then it can’t be launched,” King replied, the corner of his mouth curling upward in a satisfied smirk. “We’ll have Wyatt convince the lead officer on the ground to withhold the coordinates. You think he’s up to it?”
“John can do anything,” Shaw replied.
• • •
As Shaw boarded the military transport bound to Camp Lejeune from SOCOM Headquarters in MacDill Air Force Base, Major King took the seat next to him, and the rear of the KC-130 aircraft groaned shut. Shaw could not contain his exuberance, and his body tingled in anticipation.
“Once in the air, we’ll contact Bateman and have him connect us to Wyatt on the ground and fill him in. We’ll get what intel he has and formulate a plan. Can your body handle a HALO insertion?” King asked.
“Not going to be problem,” Shaw lied. Truthfully, he didn’t know how the high-altitude low-opening jump would affect his wounds, but he wasn’t going to let that keep him from the mission.
He had fought too hard to let his body fail him now.
13
Thirty minutes into their two-hour flight, Shaw once again looked upon Lieutenant Bateman via a tablet as King relayed orders and the necessary details for his team to prepare for Shaw’s insertion. A small team would be put together, and Shaw already had the two other men in mind: Corporals Jimmy Hogan and Salvatore Barone. Major King raised his eyebrows at Shaw’s recommendation.
“You sure about them?” King asked.
“Yes, sir,” Shaw replied confidently. They were both young and eager Marines who had maintained high marks throughout ITC and subsequent special operations training, required by all those who wish to become Marine Raiders. More importantly, they were available. Shaw always made it a point to keep an eye out for skilled Critical Skills Operators as they came through training. He often had his pick on who would be assigned to his team. Reyes had been one of those men, as had Wyatt and York.
King explained to Bateman that Shaw, Hogan, and Barone would meet up with Wyatt in Aden at the CIA compound, and the four-man fireteam would move on Al Amiri once the CIA officers on the ground located his position.
“We’ll have them briefed and ready to go by the time we land,” King said to Lieutenant Bateman.
“Yes, sir,” came his reply.
“Can we get Staff Sergeant Wyatt connected to this device?” King asked.
“Of course, sir,” Bateman answered, “he’s already contacted us, and we have him on standby until you’re ready.”
“You can patch him through,” the major ordered. Bateman nodded toward one of his Marines, and the screen darkened for a second before brightening again to show an empty desk chair. “Staff Sergeant Wyatt?” King called.
“Yes, sir?” came Wyatt’s voice from out of frame. King waited until the Raider appeared and took the seat. Shaw grinned wide at seeing his friend in one piece.
“How are you doing, Marine?”
“I’m as good as can be, sir, given the circumstances,” Wyatt replied. King nodded his understanding and sympathy. Externally, Wyatt looked worn and beaten down, but his eyes still held their vigorous glow. The image drew a smile across Shaw’s face. Wyatt was as tough as they come.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Major King replied. “I’m here with Captain Shaw. There has been an important development regarding your situation.” Wyatt perked up and grinned as Major King rotated the tablet to include Shaw in the camera’s view.
“Hey, Boss,” Wyatt greeted.
“Good to see you in one piece,” Shaw replied. Neither mentioned their teammates, but their gazes consoled and supported one another.
“John, tell me about Taaha bin Hashim,” King asked. Wyatt’s face showed his confusion, but he easily recalled memory of the man.
“The sheik from Helmand? What about him?”
“Does the name Al Amiri mean anything to you regarding this man?” King asked. Both Shaw and King watched as Wyatt scoured through his memory.
“Wasn’t his dad named Al Amiri or something like that?” Shaw nodded and held the picture of bin Hashim with bin Laden. Wyatt’s eyes widened.
“Son of a … ”
“Sergeant,” King quickly interrupted. King abhorred cursing and considered the act a direct violation of George Washington’s code of conduct from two centuries earlier.
“Sorry, sir,” Wyatt quickly said. “You mean to tell me that bin Hashim has been in league with bin Laden this whole time?” King nodded. “But all that money,” Wyatt added.
“Yeah,” Shaw said, echoing Wyatt’s disgust. Wyatt rubbed his forehead and exhaled before reengaging in their conversation.
“So, what does he and the name Al Amiri have to do with all this?” Wyatt asked.
“We believe it was Taaha bin Hashim, acting under the alias of Isaam Al Amiri, who orchestrated the act this morning,” King explained. “Captain Shaw has listed you as being able to identify Al Amiri alongside him.”
“And since Shaw has been benched, you need me to locate this guy?”
“Who said anything about Shaw being benched?” King countered. Wyatt’s expression lit up in hopeful anticipation. “Captain Shaw and two other Raiders will rendezvous with you at your location in Aden. From there, with the assistance of the CIA officers present, you are to hunt down the designated target, Isaam Al Amiri. A full mission plan is being forwarded to the outpost. For the sake of time, the mission is direct-action and intelligence gathering.”
“I understand, sir,” Wyatt replied. Fire burned behind his eyes. Taaha bin Hashim had betrayed them, and Wyatt was eager to put him down.
“You think you can convince the CIA team leader to withhold Al Amiri’s coordinates from SOCOM?”
“I can do my best,” Wyatt replied.
“Good, I’ll make sure Shaw brings you a full combat resupply. Anything else you need?” King asked.
“If we’re planning on close quarters stuff, I could use my M4A1,” he added. Shaw caught the emphasis. Wyatt was extremely particular about his weapons, especially his rifles. He had outfitted them precisely to his strict standards. Everything from optics to triggers had undergone careful scrutiny before gaining Wyatt’s approval. “And I could use a new set of SAPI’s, swimmers cut if available. I don’t know how damaged mine are. They took quite a beating,” he said, referring to the cut and shape of his body armor plates. “Oh, and extra mags and some nine mil for my Glock. I prefer Glock 17 mags with the plus two extensions.”
“I know,” Shaw replied, wearing a smirk. “I’ll make sure everything is there. I’ll bring all the extras too: batteries, chem lights, TQs, trauma gear, and the like.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Any questions, Staff Sergeant?” King asked.
“What about the civilian?” Wyatt asked.
; “She’ll exfil with you after the mission is completed. We’re coordinating with the 5th Fleet for a maritime exfil. We don’t want to risk any more helicopters. We’re lucky enough that the 13th MEU made it in and out without any issues,” King explained. Wyatt nodded his head. Relief swept over him as King mentioned the recovery of the fallen. The fact that he had left them behind had torn a hole in his heart bigger than he could have imagined. One day, he’ll lie beside them under the hallowed ground of Arlington National Cemetery.
He would have it no other way.
“Anything else?” King asked.
“No, sir,” Wyatt replied.
“Good.”
“I’ll see you on the ground, John,” Shaw said.
“I’ll make sure to have dinner ready,” Wyatt replied. King cracked a smile. The bond he witnessed between the two men was what kindled his love for the Corps, and he relished it.
• • •
Camp Lejeune, Jacksonville, North Carolina
Jimmy Hogan reclined in the chair, raising the two front legs off the ground. He studied his new teammate with intense curiosity. He noted the faded, Yankees hat sitting backwards on his head. A curl of thick black hair swept upward from the cap’s rear adjustment band. The man had recently shaved, as far as Hogan could tell, but the remnants of back hair follicles gave the appearance of a well-kept five o’clock shadow. His nose was large and round and seemed out of place on his chiseled face. He had thick eyebrows over dark eyes of a color Hogan had yet to determine. He looked every bit as an Italian from The Bronx that Hogan would have expected. His family was probably Mafia or sandwich shop owners, maybe both. Hell, he was even a Yankees fan.
Salvatore Barone, or Sal as his family called him, finished loading the last magazine on his combat loadout before stuffing it into the rucksack that made up his third-line gear. Excitement coursed through every fiber of his body. To be hand selected right out of training for a secret CIA-SOCOM joint mission was far beyond anything he could have ever hoped for, and yet here he stood.
He had checked over his gear twice before deciding to pack a few more magazines and felt confident that he had everything he needed for the mission. It was a gut feeling he just couldn’t explain, but after adding the extra ammunition, the feeling dissipated. He turned to glance at his new teammate. They were similar in age, and Barone was surprised they had never met.
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