***
The team assembled in the small briefing room for the second time since our inception. This time, Helena and I were the first to arrive and took the same seats we’d originally occupied. McDougal noticed our newfound friendship and looked back down at his notes. I saw him shake his head, obviously relieved that the kids were able to settle down and play nice. It wasn’t long before the rest of the team filed into the room and took their seats. Once everyone was comfortable, McDougal started his presentation.
“I know we haven’t had much time together, none really, but you’re all highly trained operatives, elite, familiar with confusing situations, and it’s time to get to work. American intelligence has information confirming a direct threat against the Pope. Some kind of biological concoction cooked up and readied for use.”
He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“This is the kind of threat we were designed to handle, mates. Most of our allies’ special operations teams are otherwise engaged in other theaters around the globe, and we are being called on to take action. The first Praetorian team is already in the field, so our deployment time has been advanced. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Righto. Our target is a small fishing town off the Mediterranean coast of Syria. Population is around two thousand indigenous residents known to have harbored terrorists in the past. Intel has informed us of a cave just outside of town where satellite imagery has shown mass transit and large amounts of cargo transported in and out. We suspect these cargo containers are what we’re looking for.”
He turned on the monitor and called up some photos of the town, the cave, the cargo containers, and a bearded man, wearing aviator sunglasses and a long, leather trench coat.
“A joint CIA and SIS task force has been searching for known terrorist Mushin Abdullah for years, but has been unsuccessful. He’s a bioengineer whose resume begins in the eighties with his work for the Russians, and we know he was the man who created the weapons used against both Israel and the Vatican.”
Bordeaux fidgeted next to me in reaction to McDougal’s words, but he didn’t say anything.
I wondered what that was about.
“An analysis of the bodies found at both sites produced a list of necessary compounds he will require to make more of the agent. Intelligence compiled the list and cross referenced it with shipping manifests scattered throughout the Middle East. The man is not an idiot. His list went through a number of intermediaries with numerous phony IDs and falsified bank accounts. What got him was a slip up in logistics, resulting in most of his purchases ending up at the same place at the same time. We can probably thank some middle management lackey for that mistake. Either way, we have an opportunity to take out the one man capable of making this rubbish, as well as one of the primary coordinators behind both attacks.”
McDougal paused, looking at each of us in turn, letting the impact of his words sink in. Satisfied he had our attention, he continued.
“Everything he needs has collected in those containers. We know they will be imported from a dockyard on the Mediterranean and moved by vehicle to the cave. Our assumption is that he’s hiding out there. Our plan is to sneak into a few of these containers and infiltrate the facility right under his nose.”
He clicked a stylus and the multitude of images shifted to satellite imagery of the port and immediate area.
“Here’s the plan. We infiltrate the cargo ship after hitching a ride on the HMS Triumph, one of Britain’s nuclear submarines in the area. We’ll rendezvous with them in the Tyrrhenian Sea where they will take us the rest of the way. Once aboard the cargo ship, we’ll locate these containers and stuff ourselves into as few as possible. Then, we take a ride.”
He utilized his stylus again, enlarging the image to encompass the port and town, highlighting the predicted route in red. He then shifted the image to show just the town and the location of the cave.
“Once the trucks reach this position,” he pointed to an area just before the edge of town, “Lieutenant Strauss will disembark and take position within the town to provide sniper support. You up for this, Strauss?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a sidelong glance at me.
“Brilliant. Hunter, you’re with the team. We’ll need more shooters inside for this one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, our primary objective is to recover the high value target: Mushin Abdullah. When we see him, we try and take him, but if he turns out to be too much to handle, we take him out. Wang, you’re on hostage transportation. Keep him quiet, but keep him mobile, we may need to cut and run. If I give the order, take him out.”
“Not a problem, sir,” Wang said.
“Okay. Bordeaux, once we’re out, we blow the entire place, Abdullah or no. Bring enough C-4 to bring down the house.”
“It’s what I do best, sir.”
“Cheers. Finally, we’ll have a little extra backup on this one. Two days ago, the CIA was gracious enough to store some extra equipment we may need in a safe house inside the town. They’ve also made contact with the local resistance. If things get hairy and we need to hole up and wait for extraction, that’s where we’ll regroup.”
Odd. I couldn’t remember a time when an operation was gifted with additional supplies for a simple smash and grab mission. The logistics of even arranging such a thing were unimaginable. In a worst case scenario we’d have to hump it back to the docks on foot, but that shouldn’t take more than a few hours, even if we had to shoot our way out.
I continued pondering until McDougal continued.
“Our contact’s name is Omar. He’ll be watching the docks upon our arrival and will signal us when he’s ready for our insertion. Again, if things go bad, we’ll have his local militia for backup, but we can’t rely on them. We’ll fall back to the equipment cache and call for extraction, but only as a last resort. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get in, plant the charges, secure the high value target, sneak out, and wait for the place to blow on a timed delay. I’m not holding my breath on that one, so prepare for the worst. We’ll be moving out at 1300. It’s now 0900, so get your gear and get some rest. Any final questions?”
I raised my hand. “Sir, rules of engagement?”
“The townspeople are harboring known terrorists. If they get in the way, take them out. Let God sort out the rest. Anything else?”
He glanced around the room one final time. Everyone was silent.
“All right, dismissed.”
The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I) Page 20
