Shelby wondered about Europe. WMDs on U.S. soil. He couldn’t imagine why this had been kept from the FBI. Based on the president’s comment, he envisioned a very busy day for the J. Edgar Hoover Building.
They all watched the green image on the right screen, which showed a hand reach out and grab the remote control. A few seconds later, the green image intensified, and they could no longer make out details in the room.
“Have Lieutenant Commander Daly remove his helmet cam’s night vision attachment,” Gordon said into his headset.
The image shook and became obscured for several seconds, which prompted a few gasps in the room.
“He’s fine. Just working on the camera,” General Nichols reassured them.
The green image changed to a regular color scheme and shifted again. The new image settled in on the monitor, and they all saw General Sanderson sitting in front of a small lamp, his face beaming a grin that Shelby could only interpret as smug.
“Your radio operator should find the cable he’s looking for on the table. It’s the left one. I wasn’t sure if I’d be dealing with a SEAL or Marine Advanced Communications System. If you’d also power up the teleconference device, we should be able to chat,” Sanderson said. “While I have your undivided attention, let me welcome you to my humble compound. I commend all of you for an incredibly efficient operation. Commander, you had your task force offloaded in eighty-four seconds. That’s a record in my book. I would have ordered an immediate surrender if the compound had been occupied.”
Shelby didn’t like the sound of this and registered the concerned looks from the military leadership around the table. Sanderson was watching the assault force, which didn’t bode well.
“I assure you we have no intention of harming any of the assault team. Barring any unforeseen mechanical difficulties, you’ll bring everyone back, Commander.”
General Gordon gave the president a thumbs up and pointed to the microphone on the table, which flashed a green light. Shelby shook his head, indicating that he thought it would be a bad idea to start out with the president. They needed to treat Sanderson like a terrorist, and terrorists didn’t get to speak with the president of the United States.
“General Sanderson, this is General Frank Gordon. I’m in charge of this operation. We’re working on a very limited timetable here, so if you would make your communication brief, we would appreciate it.”
“Frank, always good to hear your voice. JSOC is in capable hands,” Sanderson said, nodding on the screen.
“I wish I could say it was good to hear your voice, Terry.”
“I understand and assume you’re not alone in that spirit. I’ll be brief. I want to discuss the terms of an immunity deal in exchange for critical information related to the recent bioweapons attack on Russia and possible subsequent attacks throughout Europe and the United States. I’m seeking informal presidential immunity for my organization. This will be a wide-scoped agreement, encompassing the activities of all of my operatives, past and present. I’d also like to discuss reactivating the Black Flag program.”
Shelby shook his head and looked at the president, who leaned toward the microphone. Please don’t do this, he thought, and briefly considered pulling the president back in his seat, which would have been a career limiting move. He heard the national security advisor tell one of his aides to get a hold of the president’s chief of staff. He caught a whisper about the attorney general and lawyers. He really hoped they weren’t going to give this any consideration.
“General Sanderson, this is the president of the United States. Please explain the nature of the information in your possession. I have no inclination to negotiate with you.”
“I appreciate your tough stance, but I have detailed information about the attack on Monchegorsk and specific information about the locations of impending attacks in Europe. I assure you that this information is worth sweeping my past and present activities under the rug.”
“We can’t just sweep terrorist activity under the rug,” Shelby whispered and received a scornful look from the president.
“General, I already possess this information. I’m not sure how the information came into your possession, but I have to seriously question your involvement in the plot. There will be no immunity deal, and we have no need for your rogue operatives. I will never entertain the idea of sanctioning one of your programs. We can get the work done without you.”
“Really, Mr. President? Who do you think got you the information from Stockholm? CIA operatives? Special Operations assets? Two of my people sacrificed their lives on Bondegatan Street to capture Reznikov and provide the CIA with that information. Another is critically wounded. I lost another man in Kazakhstan, alongside a CIA operative, while tracking Reznikov. I gave you this information.”
“What is he talking about?” General Gordon said.
There was a general murmur in the room, especially among the White House staff. Shelby was at a complete loss, which was a rare and uncomfortable feeling for him.
“My team is several minutes from delivering Reznikov to a CIA safe house north of Stockholm. Should I send them somewhere else?” Sanderson said.
“These are your operatives?” the president said, then whispered to the national security advisor, “I thought this was a CIA team?”
The national security advisor shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. An argument escalated between the two of them when the national security advisor suggested that this couldn’t be construed by the public as their fault. Shelby couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It didn’t matter who knew what. The president was ultimately responsible, and he had unknowingly used terrorists to pursue terrorists on European soil. This was a disaster of epic proportions for the administration and all of them. Their leverage had just evaporated.
“Terry, you’re a better man than that!” Major General Bob Kearny yelled from down the conference room table. “I can’t believe you would withhold information that could save thousands of lives, just to save your own ass!”
“Is that you, Bob?” Sanderson said.
“Damn straight it is. Up until right now, I still respected you on many levels. Tell me I’m mistaken here with my new assessment of your character,” Kearny said.
There was a long pause.
“I have no intention of stealing away with Reznikov. I just wanted to drive home the point that you need the kind of capabilities my organization can provide,” Sanderson said.
“We have plenty of assets suitable for these operations,” General Gordon said.
“And they’re all wrapped up in red tape, constrained at every turn. How long would it have taken to put a Delta team in Stockholm? If we hadn’t been in place, the Russians would have captured or killed Reznikov, flushing all of your links to the bigger plot down the toilet.”
“General, I appreciate your gesture and will rely on General Kearney’s previous assessment of your character to ensure that you carry through on your promise to deliver Reznikov. If you have no further information to offer, I’d like to bring General Gordon’s people home,” the president said.
“Reznikov’s yours, but I think you’re overlooking my main bargaining chip.”
“If you take action against the assault force, I’ll bring to bear the full resources of the United States to hunt you down. They’ll find you holed up like Saddam Hussein,” the president said.
“I’d rather die myself than endanger these brave warriors, but I have no problem causing irreparable damage to your administration. Compliments of a very well connected businessman here in Argentina.”
“Ernesto Galenden,” Shelby said.
“Yes, thanks to Galenden, I’m holding some very hard to come by telephone numbers. The Chilean and Argentinian Defense Ministers for starters. Better yet, I have a direct line to the 31st Electronic Detection Group’s commanding officer. Coincidentally, the group commander picked tonight for quick reaction drills. It was a last minute decision. I’m told that the
ir Boeing 707 Condor is fueled and can be airborne in five minutes. I have arranged for several phone calls to be placed, all alerting the base to a large formation of low flying helicopters just north of Villarica. I probably don’t need to remind you that the Condor carries the Phalcon radar system. 200 nautical miles of three hundred and sixty degree coverage, both in the air and on the surface. I’m pretty sure they’d pick up your birds as soon as they leveled off over the airbase in Puerto Montt. I might be wrong about the helicopters, but I can’t imagine they would miss the BOXER.”
“That action could endanger the strike force, General,” the president said.
“I can’t imagine it would lead to a military scenario, Mr. President. It will, however, lead to the second worst day of your presidency. An armed incursion violating the sovereignty of our two strongest allies in South America? The secretive deployment of U.S. warships off the coast of Chile. All to capture me? I think the international community might be a little more forgiving if the mission involved capturing Osama Bin Laden or some other high level member of Al Qaeda. But a lowly General Terrence Sanderson? What did he do—other than run a controversial covert operations program in the nineties—that the U.S. government would apparently do anything to keep quiet, including invade other countries? See where I’m going with this? Maybe it’s time to let the public decide whether they need the Black Flag program. Maybe they need to know why they’re not all dying from encephalitis in National Guard tents…or lighting their own children on fire in a virus-induced rage. Why? Because General Sanderson believed so wholeheartedly in what he was doing, that he personally funded the creation of a new covert operations program. A program so successful, that it singlehandedly derailed Al Qaeda’s plot to attack the West with a weaponized version of the encephalitis virus. A virus that has already wreaked havoc on the unsuspecting city of Monchegorsk. I’m sure the fate of Monchegorsk will start generating some attention once Reuters breaks the story.”
A contemplative silence descended on the conference room, followed by fierce whispering between the president and his present cabinet. The door opened, and the White House chief of staff entered, followed closely by a serious-looking woman in an impeccable black business suit. She carried a small laptop computer under one arm and a briefcase in the other. Shelby assumed she was the most senior legal counsel present at the White House. He had hoped to see someone from the Justice Department walk through the door, though he was fairly certain that some very unhappy lawyers were receiving phone calls at this very moment.
“We’ll need some time to discuss this,” the national security advisor said.
“I also have some nice, high definition video of the entire operation at the compound. It would be pretty hard to deny that these were American helicopters or American service members. The word MARINES and the U.S. emblem is pretty clear on my screen. Right next to the zero seven designation. I’m giving you two minutes to sort this out. Immunity gets your helicopters back undetected and buries the digital evidence of your landing.”
Shelby heard just about every type of comment as he sat there, feeling completely irrelevant. There was no way the president could grant this man immunity. He would not permit it…though admittedly, there was nothing he could do about it. The comments continued to stream.
“He just tagged one of the Super Stallions loading our marines.”
“He has eyes on the LZ.”
“I don’t see any other options. This will not go well if they put the Condor up. I don’t know how we missed that.”
“There’s nothing we can do about the Condor. It might even pick up the DECATUR.”
“Giving him a pass is the best option right now. He can blow the lid on this whole thing. Keep in mind that we lost an armed drone over Kazakhstan. Nobody over there has figured that one out yet, but he has witnesses.”
“I agree with the national security advisor. We need to focus on the developing Al Qaeda threat. The last thing we need is a full blown international incident shattering our credibility,” the secretary of state whispered.
The president pulled General Gordon away from his seat, and Shelby overheard snippets of a discussion about the possibility of the helicopters slipping under radar. The HH-60Hs flown by the Firehawks squadron had been reconfigured with stealth composite material that drastically reduced their radar cross section, but they came nowhere close to matching the stealth capabilities of the custom built Special Operations Black Hawk helicopters that had just entered service in support of Tier One assets like Delta Force and SEAL Team Six. The two CH-53 Super Stallions on the mission had been given a basic Special Operations reconfiguration that paled in comparison to the HH-60Hs. Gordon didn’t sound optimistic, unless they could employ some sort of active jamming from DECATUR.
**
Five hundred meters away from the compound, deep in the woods on the opposite side of the river, Jared Hoffman stared through the ATN Mars 6x Night Vision scope attached to his OM 50 Nemesis sniper rifle. In experienced hands, the Swiss-made .50 caliber rifle could support a consistent three-inch shot grouping at 900 meters. Hoffman had considerable experience with this weapon, and at less than 500 meters, he could tighten that grouping to less than two inches.
Lying next to him in a specially-constructed hide site, Dhiya Castillo watched three helicopters land along the long stretch of road in front of the compound. She confirmed the range to the rear helicopter for Hoffman. They had waited for several hours in the hide site, shielded from satellite detection by the thick earthen ceiling. The hide site sat slightly submerged in the ground, allowing Hoffman to comfortably rest the sniper rifle on its bipod within the structure. His headset echoed Parker’s voice, and he whispered to Dhiya, “Here we go. Confirm range again.”
He could see that the helicopters had finally settled in as SEALs ran from covered positions to their transportation.
“Four hundred and sixty meters,” she said.
He wouldn’t need to make any adjustments to the night vision scope. He started to breathe slowly and centered the orange crosshairs on the last helicopter’s tail rotor assembly, removing some slack from the trigger. He let the crosshairs settle and removed the rest. The powerful rifle pummeled his shoulder and created a muffled crack. The ridiculously large, custom made suppressor reduced the .50 caliber explosion to a sound that could still wake a person out of a dead sleep. However, with three helicopters roaring on the road, nobody would hear the shot. He sighted in on the tail rotor again, ready to send another armor-piercing projectile through the rotor. Five seconds later, he heard Dhiya’s assessment.
“Tail rotor just ripped itself to shreds. Nice shot.”
**
Frederick Shelby heard commotion from the SEALs through the microphone attached to the helmet recording device. The helmet had been placed on the table facing the screen so Lieutenant Commander Daly could do his job while the White House Situation Room watched General Sanderson on the screen. A few seconds later, General Frank Gordon stopped in mid-conversation with the president and asked for a confirmation of something that had just been passed to him over his headset. Shelby wished he could hear what was going on.
“Mr. President, I’ve just been informed by the SEAL commander that one of the helicopters is grounded at the LZ. Hellfire 1-3 experienced a catastrophic tail rotor failure and had to shut down.”
“Can they fix it?” the president said, already shaking his own head with the answer.
“Negative. The rotor shredded itself, along with the rotor housing assembly. I’m afraid it’s not going anywhere,” he said.
“Shit,” the president muttered, “so now he has one of our helicopters to show the Argentinians and the rest of the world. Can they destroy the helicopter and render it unrecognizable?”
“They can turn it into a smoldering hulk, but he has video of the entire operation. It won’t be hard for anyone to put two and two together here.”
Sanderson’s voice boomed over the speakers.
<
br /> “Mr. President, my observer reports that one of your helicopters is inoperable. I’d be glad to take care of this mess for you, in exchange for a deal. Otherwise, you’ll see footage of that helicopter on the Today Show,” Sanderson said.
The president consulted with the woman who had entered with his chief of staff. She referenced a thick document taken from her briefcase and nodded. He turned back toward the conference table.
“Turn the microphone back on.”
“Mr. President, please tell me you’re not going to give this criminal immunity. This is blackmail. Any immunity deal signed today could be challenged in court as produced under duress.”
“I’m well aware of the circumstances, and if my immunity deal is indeed challenged by any of the courts, I’ll know where to come looking first. General Gordon.”
The commander of the Joint Special Operations Command flipped a switch next to his computer, and the LED under the microphone turned green. He nodded at the president.
“General Sanderson, I accept the terms we’ve discussed and offer you the immunity you seek. It’ll take some time to produce the documents and have them reviewed by counsel. In the interim, may I have your assurances that the helicopters will not be hindered during their withdrawal to BOXER?”
“If you provide me with a readily accessible email address or fax number, I’ll be happy to send you a copy of the document I have prepared, along with contact information for my lawyers, who are standing by as we speak. Pardon me for highlighting the fact that I am somewhat of a Cold War relic, but I follow the mantra ‘trust but verify.’ I’ll give you twenty minutes to get a signed agreement into my lawyers’ hands. It’s not a lengthy document.”
“It sounds like you were prepared for this moment,” the president stated.
“I’m prepared for every contingency, Mr. President.”
“Apparently. General Gordon has the information needed to send your document to the Situation Room. We’ll have it to your lawyers within twenty minutes, as long as it doesn’t contain any surprises.”
Black Flagged Redux Page 38
