Operation Sheba

by Evans, Misty

  “I don’t know. Probably at CIA headquarters, ransacking your office.”

  “They shouldn’t waste their time. I set your boyfriend up to take the fall, and now, with the current situation, my promotion to DCI is in the bag. No one is going to walk out of that house alive, especially not Director Allen or Michael Stone.”

  “I can’t believe you were devious enough to set up a hostage situation to eliminate them.”

  Susan laughed. “A stroke of genius, isn’t it? The terrorist gets what he wants and provides me with a valuable opportunity to seize what’s rightfully mine.”

  “What about Jurgen Damgaard?” Julia asked. “If Titus dies, the deputy DCI is next in line.”

  “A minor problem.” Susan dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand.

  “When this is over, Susan,” Julia whispered with detached calmness, “I’m personally taking you out.”

  Susan met her stare. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’re under Damgaard’s protection right now because he’s acting director and doesn’t want anything but a positive outcome. But as soon as the hostage situation ends, Julia Torrison will be officially AWOL from the CIA and considered to be a felon. You will be taken into custody, or…” She let her voice trail off and shrugged.

  Julia finished the sentence for her. “A stray bullet will find its way into my head during the counterassault.”

  “I’ll talk to Damgaard and get you on Agent Buchanan’s team.” Susan smiled as she took a step back. “You want to play the hero, so be it. You’ll die with Michael and Titus and Daniel.

  “It will be a shame for our country to lose such a valuable counterterrorism specialist,” she added with a false sigh, “but just think how proud your stepfather and brother will be when they learn you died in the line of duty.” Turning her back on Julia, she walked away.

  Julia bent over at the waist again and put her hands on her knees. She directed her words at the microphone taped to her stomach under her loose shirt. “I hope to hell you guys got that recorded. That’s probably as close to a confession as I’ll get out of her.” Then she stopped talking at the sound of footsteps.

  “You didn’t want coffee,” a man said. “So I brought you a Pepsi.”

  Julia looked up and accepted the icy bottle of pop from Agent Buchanan, even though she didn’t want it. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. Until you showed up, Chief Richmond didn’t even list Raissi in our top five subjects. You seem to know a lot about him.”

  Julia let out a disgusted sigh and raised her gaze to the canopy of leaves shading them. “If only I’d figured out what he was up to before this happened.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. My people didn’t figure it out either. Your input about the explosives has already saved the lives of SEALs and my HRT group. With your knowledge assisting them, they can formulate a course of action that will result in fewer dead and injured if an assault is carried out. I told Lt. Diamond and Senior Chief about your idea regarding the dog kennel and they were actually quite grateful for it. But you will not be allowed to assist them.”

  Julia felt the cell phone on her hip vibrate. She ignored it. “But Pongo knows me. If I can get into the kennel with him, I can place a muzzle on him to keep him from barking at the lieutenant’s men.”

  “They’ll handle the dog. He won’t be a problem.”

  “He’s a guard dog, trained by Michael himself. He won’t accept treats from anyone but Michael. And me,” she added. “They’d have to shoot him to keep him from sounding an—” She broke off, understanding dawning on her. “You’re going to shoot him, aren’t you? You’re going to kill Michael’s dog.”

  “The dog’s life is a small price to pay to rescue these four men.”

  Julia shut her eyes, squeezing back tears that were suddenly ready to fall. The image of Pongo dead on top of everything else made her want to punch the tree, but she knew she had to keep her emotions in check. She could hear Flynn’s voice in her head, No acting like a girl, Jules.

  Blocking the image of a dead Pongo, Julia steeled herself. “Pongo weighs one hundred twenty-five pounds. The kennel door is not big enough for most of Lt. Diamond’s men.” Technically that was a lie, because Conrad had somehow managed to squeeze through it, but if lying got her inside, she’d lie her butt off. “I fit perfectly.”

  Buchanan raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve tried it?”

  Julia straightened. “I’ve spent a lot of time in that house, sir. I know every possible way in or out, and I know how to get in without raising an alarm or showing up on camera.”

  Buchanan shifted his attention to look at his command center. “So the rumors are true about you and the director. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you alone. If you can give us more details about the house and the security system, it would be helpful.”

  Hope sparked in Julia’s chest. “I’m sure I can help. My relationship with the director is a plus for you. It raises the odds in your favor a hundred times over if you use me to gain access to his house. I know for a fact Raissi’s plan does not allow for any of the three key hostages to walk away from this alive, no matter what he pretends to negotiate. When your teams approach that house and are detected, everybody dies instantly. Why risk that when I can get them in undetected?”

  Buchanan cocked his head to the side and studied her. “I’m a human calculator, Ms. Quinn. I always prefer the odds of numbers over blanket statements of emotion, but you are not trained to lead a rescue team into a hostage situation.”

  “That may be true to an extent, but please give me credit where credit is due. I made it through the Farm and have five years of experience as a field operator in Europe with an ex-SEAL as a partner.” Julia ticked her points off on her fingers. “I’m the expert in this group on Raissi, and I have an extensive background in explosives. I know my way around Michael Stone’s house. I know how his alarm system works and how to disable it room-by-room. And his dog would never bark at me and raise an alarm.” She took a deep breath. “My ex-partner taught me to think like the bad guys for my own survival, but he also taught me how to recognize an opportunity when I see one. You have an opportunity here, sir, to use me and save those hostages. My plan is the best one you’ve got.”

  Buchanan shook his head. “Fayez Raissi and half the people here think he has the odds stacked in his favor, but I have the brightest and best hostage rescue team members ever to wear a badge. Combined with the SEALs you just sat with at that table, I have the ability to turn the tables on Raissi and lower his odds of a successful mission considerably. You’ll have to forgive me if I refuse your offer and disagree with your assumption that my counterassault teams won’t play God and work a miracle here today.”

  Julia struggled mentally to figure out a way to make Buchanan understand. Rumor around Langley had it that his single personnel file had more commendations in it than all of his HRT experts combined. From what she could see, he hadn’t even broken into a sweat yet.

  Confidence stemming from experience was a great asset in the field, but mistakes could still result. Especially when the playing field was skewed and the good guys had no idea who was working against them. “I know your team can and does work miracles,” she said, acknowledging the abilities of his HRT and SEALs. “But you don’t have the big picture here, Agent Buchanan. Trust me when I say I do, and the only way you’re going to work a miracle here today is to use me.”

  The distinctive ring of a telephone blared from the tent, its echo vibrating off the vans around the base of operation’s table and sending all those nearby into action. Buchanan shook his head and chuckled. “Ryan Smith warned me about you,” he said and then he ran off to answer the phone.

  Julia swore under her breath and ran after him.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Conrad sat in a captain’s chair bolted to the floor of the white van that said “Forever Flowers” on both sides and had an 800 number writt
en underneath each sign. The cover on the van wasn’t totally bogus. The company had been real but went out of business a few months after the last downturn on Wall Street. Conrad had purchased the van for a mere eleven hundred in cash, cleared out the inside and let Smitty go to town. The van now contained high-tech surveillance equipment and monitors rivaling just about anything the CIA or FBI had. He replayed the audio they’d just received from Julia’s microphone. “For God’s sake, what the hell does she think she’s doing, volunteering to take the SEAL team in?”

  Smitty sat beside him in another captain’s chair. “She wants to help.”

  “She better get the hell out of there.”

  “I think she’s right. Tim and Lt. Diamond should use her.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “No,” Smitty answered sincerely.

  Conrad tapped his fingers on the counter. “How did she figure out the kennel trick?”

  “Uh.” Ace cleared his throat from the floor of the van where he was seated. “I told her.”

  Conrad sent him a look of frustration. “You couldn’t keep a damn secret if I cut out your tongue and tied your lips shut.” He turned to Smitty. “We can’t protect her from Susan if she’s at the hostage site, and we have a confession. She has to clear out of there before she ends up dead.”

  “You should have gone with her,” Cari said from the front seat of the van.

  “Too risky. Susan would have had me arrested the minute I stepped inside the barricades.”

  “What about you, Ry Guy?” Ace said. “Why didn’t you go?”

  “Same reason, Ace.” Smitty adjusted a wire. “We’re both AWOL from the CIA. Susan was waiting for us to come in with Julia so she could nab us. We couldn’t take the chance she’d arrest all of us.”

  Conrad ran a hand over the two-day growth of beard on his face. “I don’t like this. Julia has to get out of there,” he repeated. “Now.”

  Smitty shook his head. “She won’t leave until this is over.”

  Cari’s eyes were wide. “How will she kill her?”

  Conrad and Smitty exchanged a look. Con breathed impatience. “Kill who?”

  “Julia said she was going to take Susan out when this is over,” Ace answered. “Will she shoot her?”

  “She’s bullshitting. There’s nothing she can do to help Stone anymore and she can’t take Susan out.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that, bro.” Ace shuddered visibly. “I saw what she did last night. She seems completely capable of taking just about anybody out.”

  “Of course, she’s capable of doing it,” Conrad said. “But she doesn’t have the balls for it, Ace, trust me. Besides, I’m not done with Susan Richmond yet. I want her alive.” He spoke to Smitty. “Call Julia and tell her to get out.”

  “I did. She didn’t answer.”

  “Call her again.”

  “I’ve called her twice already, Conman. She’s not answering.”

  “Dammit,” Conrad huffed. “What am I going to do with that girl?”

  Julia watched Tim Buchanan glance at the young woman in the van controlling the recording equipment and, after receiving her okay sign, pushed the speakerphone button. “Special Agent Tim Buchanan here.”

  Julia’s knuckles were white as she gripped the back of a chair. People were still flooding into the tent, but all were quiet as they listened for what they hoped might be the voice of a terrorist ready to make a deal.

  What they got instead was almost as good. “Agent Buchanan, it’s good to hear your voice. This is Director of CIA Operations, Michael Stone.”

  Quiet cheers erupted from the group as renewed hope soared through them. Julia didn’t cheer, but relaxed her grip and sent up a silent thank you to the heavens. Michael was alive.

  It was a good indication the other hostages were alive as well.

  “Director, it’s good to hear your voice too,” Buchanan answered. “Can you tell us what the situation is inside your house? We assume you are unable to leave on your own, that you and the others are being held against your will.”

  “That’s correct, sir. I’ve been instructed by my captors to tell you a few things. First, as you probably have already deduced, there are four of us: Daniel King, Titus Allen, Brad Kinnick—my security officer—and myself, being held hostage. Secondly, none of us has been injured, yet, except for me, but I’m all right. However, any attempt to free us will result in the deaths of all of us. Do you understand, Agent Buchanan?”

  “I understand, Director. Please go on.”

  “The men holding us are from the group Takfi-wal-Hijra, but they say they speak for all Islamic fundamentalists. The leader, who says his name is Frank, has but one demand…”

  At the pause, Tim Buchanan said calmly, even as the makeshift room erupted with hopeful murmurings, “Go ahead, Director. We’re listening and will do everything in our power to meet that demand.”

  “Frank requests that news reporter Thomas Heller from CNN visit him inside the house in order that he may appeal to the American people to change the United States’ political stand in the Middle East. When Mr. Heller arrives on the porch, Frank will release one hostage.”

  Silence hung in the air for a few seconds. “Let me make sure I understand Frank’s request.” Buchanan motioned toward another of his agents to get on the phone to the news agency. “He wants an interview on national television with a news reporter from CNN in exchange for one hostage?”

  “Not any news reporter. It has to be Thomas Heller. One cameraman will be allowed in with Mr. Heller, but that’s it. No one else. Do not try and trick him or”—they heard Stone let out a deep breath—“I’ll be the first to die.”

  Julia’s hands gripped the chair again and she locked her knees to keep from swaying. Complete silence filled the space in the tent, the earlier elation gone.

  Michael’s voice broke the silence. “Agent Buchanan?”

  “I’m here, Director. One of my agents is working on Frank’s request as we speak. I don’t know if Mr. Heller is even in the country, but we’ll do our best to locate him and get him here as quickly as possible. Please advise Frank it may take several hours to meet his request.”

  “Frank has instructed me to tell you you have one hour.”

  Julia saw Tim Buchanan set the timer on his watch. She did the same to hers.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The blueprints of Stone’s house were back on the table. Six SEALs, with their lieutenant, executive officer and senior chief, hovered between them and a blackboard with various takedown scenarios that stood nearby. It was nearing four in the morning. Most of the CIA consultants had wandered off to find food and more coffee, but Julia couldn’t eat or drink. She was waiting for word that Damgaard had ordered her participation in the rescue, knowing it was unlikely he could or would do such a thing. But she had permission to sit next to Agent Elaina Koburn from the HRT at the back of the tent and listen to the SEALs discuss their plan anyway. CNN had been notified and Thomas Heller was on his way. He had already boarded a helicopter with a special CIA consultant who was briefing the extremely nervous news reporter on proper procedures for interviewing a terrorist on live TV. From what Julia was gathering from the SEALs, Heller didn’t need to worry. Thermal-imaging cameras were already providing data to the HRT and SEALs. Odds were, there would be no interview.

  “The laser trip sensors are set up here.” Lt. Diamond pointed to a spot on the blueprints. “And here. Trees and undergrowth along the property line will conceal our approach, and we’ll avoid the sensors as we cross the property line. The dog kennel is attached to the back of the house here.”

  “There’s a Plexiglas door between two rubber curtains,” Julia volunteered, “where the dog door attaches to the mudroom. The Plexiglas door opens and closes from the inside. Michael usually leaves it open during the day, but if he wants to keep Pongo out, he closes it. Since Pongo is outside, Raissi must have closed it. The second rubber curtain hangs inside the mudroom.”
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  There was discussion between the SEALs. The rubber curtains would be simple to cut away, but they debated the most efficient and quietest way to deal with the Plexiglas.

  “The dog door is not large,” Julia continued. “As I told Agent Buchanan, Pongo weighs about one hundred and twenty-five pounds, which by dog standards is a decent size.” She looked at the extremely fit, extremely muscled SEALs at the table. “However, any of you with more than a T-shirt on are going to struggle getting through it.”

  Several of the SEALs exchanged looks, but no one commented.

  “Another option,” Diamond continued, “is a chimney. The house has a large gas log fireplace”—he tapped his finger on the paper—“here in the living room. The chimney is big enough for a small human being to shimmy down.”

  “Just like Santa Claus, huh?” Buck Harris, the youngest of the group said, grinning.

  “A skinny Santa Claus, but yeah.” Diamond looked at Tony Belcini, his team’s sniper and smallest man at five feet, six inches and one hundred forty pounds. “What do you think, Belly? Can you squeeze down the chimney and put coal in Raissi’s stocking?”

  “Would be my pleasure, sir, but I wonder if we could, y’know, get some actual dimensions of the chimney before I stick myself into it.”

  The Senior Chief patted Belcini on the back. “I’ll get somebody on it.” He walked out of the tent.

  Julia jumped slightly when her cell phone vibrated again on her hip. She didn’t need to read the caller ID to know what it said. No way, guys. I’m not done here.

  Diamond addressed her from the table. “Raissi has booby-trapped the fireplace and kennel entrance?”

  She considered his question for a moment before answering. “Tripwires maybe by the fireplace, but I doubt he’d put anything by the kennel door. Raissi wants his explosion to be big and set off by him at just the right moment, not a partial explosion set off accidentally by a dog scratching to come in. He might set up a wire to trip an alarm though just for security purposes.”