Camp David, Thurmont, Maryland
Camp David sat on one hundred and eighty acres of dense Maryland woodlands in Fredrick County. The grounds for the Presidential retreat were meticulously maintained with gardens that sprouted an eye catching array of tulips, geraniums, and impatiens, as well as a magnificent kidney shaped pool and a cluster of rustic but tastefully decorated cabins. A stable of horses stood some distance away from the main house, along with a recreation center that boasted a tennis court, pool table and fireplace lounge.
The President enjoyed walking the property in the cool of the day whenever he was up there. Today he traversed a mile long wooded path with his closest friend and political advisor, Kenneth Paine.
Paine had no official capacity within the administration. President Vanderbilt had wanted to give him some illustrious post to compensate him for all of the hard work he had done over the years. But Kenneth had been adamantly opposed to the idea. He preferred to stay in the shadows of Washington’s elite and powerful, turning his advice into invaluable favors.
The President never knew how Kenneth had become such an expert in navigating the precarious path of American politics but it had come in handy on more than one occasion. They had grown up together, gone to the same schools, even had many of the same classes, but somewhere along the way, despite the different road his career would take, Kenneth had developed an uncanny sense for discerning what the fickle and ever changing public wanted. This was a sense that, despite rising to the highest levels of government, Graham had not honed. Kenneth’s advice had always come at just the right moment.
“Have you seen the tape?” Kenneth asked as they walked.
Vanderbilt had his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained on the pavement in front of them. The four foot wide path curved gracefully as it snaked through a mix of Maple, Green Ash and American Beech trees.
“An hour ago,” he said. Paine detected a solemnness in his tone.
“My people are analyzing the internet source now but I don’t think anything will come of it. These guys were professionals.”
They rounded a corner of the house and took a stone path that led to a separate garden.
“Let the press have it. Eventually, like everything else, it will fade into the background between re-runs of Magnum P.I., the PTA and soccer practice.”
“But what about the hostages? What if they get killed?”
The President stopped for a minute to look up at the lush green canopy above them.
“What if they get killed and all I did to stop it was talk Kenneth?”
Vanderbilt looked down at his friend who stood a good five inches shorter than him and waited for his answer.
“First of all Mr. President, there almost certainly is no ‘what if’. They are definitely going to be killed. These guys aren’t going to let them go. They are waiting for the media to hit their emotional crescendo to make an example of them”. Kenneth’s voice never faltered as he spoke. Graham wondered if he’d had his feelings surgically removed.
“What about the Israelis?” The President asked.
“What about them? You mean, what if they respond and we don’t? They won’t. They’re not going to stick their necks out to do us a favor that we haven’t asked for.” Kenneth was so sure of himself, he spoke as if everything he predicted had already occurred.
Even though they were friends, President Vanderbilt disliked many things about Kenneth Paine. Vanderbilt felt that his little buddy had failed to recognize what the rest of the world had upon his inauguration. He felt that Kenneth could stand to be a little more respectful. He did hold the highest office in the free world.
For his part, Paine knew how Vanderbilt felt. He didn’t care. The man wasn’t truly worthy of his respect. Kenneth had spoon fed him directions on what to take a stand on and what to back off of, through his entire two year campaign. He knew something the rest of the world didn’t, Graham Vanderbilt was a clown.
“If they do make a move, you’ll be fine. Condemn it immediately and offer peace talks to whoever the closest dictator to a camera is.”
“There is one more bit of business.” Kenneth said as they headed toward a series of sycamore trees and the turnaround point.
“What is that?” The President asked.
“My guy is going to get us that face to face with Imam Nazari. It’s the perfect opportunity to gain a foothold with the Palestinian people. If you can get Nazari on our side, the sky is the limit on what we can do in the Middle East. He is thinking sometime next week, but his schedule is tight. We’ll have to play it by ear.”
“Ok, but the Israelis can’t find out about this. They have been trying to meet with Nazari for months and he has refused them.” Vanderbilt was watching Paine’s face for a reaction. He hoped that this was a bit of information that the man had not previously had, something he had one upped him on. Kenneth never flinched. He was already aware of the Israeli Prime Minister’s failed attempts to sit down with Nazari.
“I know,” he said.
The President just smiled, it would be a long time before he would be scooping Kenneth Paine.
8
Bahrain International Airport
Brad stared at a television monitor next to a kiosk that performed money exchanges. Saleem’s video of his brother had been uploaded to the internet while he’d been in the air. Al Jazeera had been playing it in an endless loop, off to the corner of the screen. Matt looked bad. Since the terrorists had not given the names of their captives, it had taken Brad a minute to realize that one of the severely battered men in the video was Matthew Ward.
“We traced it to a Syrian IP address. An internet café. The trail went cold from there.”
Brad turned to see Tom Kingsley standing next to him.
“Hey Tom.”
Brad placed his attention back on the TV screen. It had been the first time he had set eyes on his brother in three years. Nothing but tortuous anger rose in his blood. He was going to get these guys, if he had to sacrifice everything, he would find them.
As part of Brad’s training with the Defense Intelligence Agency, he spoke Arabic, Farsi and German. He could understand everything the talking heads on the network said.
“The United States does not yet know who is responsible. But some have suggested that the Mujahedeen could be involved.” the reporter said. He was a dark, handsome man with a thick mustache and black feathered hair.
“Well, of course they are saying it’s the Mujahedeen.” The network switched cameras and focused on a woman who sat next to him.
“That’s what they always say. It is one way that the politicians appease their constituents. If they don’t have any answers, people get scared. So the government produces a face to blame.” The news anchor seemed irritated that her co-anchor didn’t recognize that point earlier.
“Are you ready bud?” Tom asked.
Brad stood there for a bit longer staring at Matt’s badly bruised face as the talking heads spoke of the kidnapping with ease.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready.”
The video was muted so that the reporters could overlay the footage with their own inane ideas about the situation. He watched as a young face boldly spoke into the camera while his brother and another hostage struggled to stay conscious in the background behind him. He slowly burned the image of the man’s face into his brain. He would see him; soon.
Brad turned toward Tom Kingsley and the two gave each other a quick half hug, before heading off to the baggage claim.
“How are you holding up buddy?” Tom asked.
“I just want to get my gear and get on the ground and get in this guy’s face.”
Brad knew that there were more men involved than just the one that had appeared on the video. But he also knew that the one on the digital message was the leader. He wanted to knock on his head more than anyone else’s.
“So we have a copy of the video?” He asked, as they came to a stop in front of the baggage carrousel.
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br /> “Yeah, I have a few of my best people analyzing it as we speak.”
Tom didn’t want to tell him that he’d spent the last day pumping his resources for information. He had contacts all over the Middle East. No one knew anything. Not a word had been leaked about the kidnappers identities, affiliations or what they planned to achieve, which was highly unusual. Typically, Kingsley could count on producing several pieces of reliable intelligence from a day spent beating the bushes. It worried him. These terrorist were not just professionals. There was something else about them. In all his years, he had never seen enemy combatants that were able to keep this tight a lid on every aspect of their operation.
“Unfortunately, in that particular area of the world, all of our satellites concentrate on very specific threats. We only had the eyes of a weather satellite on that lonely strip of desert for a few minutes. We did manage to get a handful of low res photos though. We’ve got them heading North-West about ten minutes after the event. But so far, that and the video are all we’ve got.” Kingsley stated.
“Great.” Brad said quietly.
Brad saw his bag. He reached through the crowd and grabbed the top handle. With one solid jerk, he lifted the bag off of the conveyor belt and set it down on the floor. He followed Kingsley out of the airport to an old Mercedes. The vehicle had seen better days. The muffler was hanging pretty low to the ground, suspended by a wire coat hanger. It had been patched with bondo in several places on the body and the glass insert of the moon roof was missing.
“Budget cuts?” Brad asked. They both laughed.
“I like this old clunker, she doesn’t attract attention.” Tom said.
“Besides, I spent most of my budget on hardware.” Tom said as he threw Brad’s bag in the trunk and placed his free hand on an overstuffed green duffle bag. “I have everything you need, right here. With enough money, you can get anything.” The men got in the car and left the airport garage.
“There is one thing that I took the opportunity of procuring that you didn’t list. I added a long rifle.” A sniper rifle was the first thing that he ever put on any tactical list. He had been surprised that Brad had opted to leave it out.
“I didn’t have one on the list because I don’t plan on using one.” Brad looked out the window of the sedan. The heat was unbelievably oppressive. “When I find who I’m looking for, I want to get up close and personal.”
They exited the airport perimeter and Kingsley pulled over to the side of the road. The car came to a halt with a cloud of dust. Bahrain, like most of the Middle East, was one giant desert.
“Brad, I gotta tell you, I think you may be too close to this.” Kingsley hated to have this conversation but he feared that Brad was going to be a danger to himself if he couldn’t detach from the situation.
“I know Tom. I appreciate your help, I really do. But I am going into the lion’s den. I won’t be looking to ask questions or take anybody into custody. If you want to leave, I completely understand. But if you stay, that’s the end of it. To keep having this conversation is counterproductive. The other thing I need to make sure you understand is, this mission is unsanctioned. The President has washed his hands of these hostages. It’s too much heat for him and not enough of a potential approval point jump to be worth the risk.” Brad said with a huff as he watched a Boeing 737 climb into the afternoon sky.
Tom was also staring out of the window. “It’s not that I am worried about doing something that is deemed politically incorrect Brad. I don’t want you to put us in unnecessary danger because you’re not thinking things through.”
“Well Tom, you’re going to have to decide if you want to be involved in this, because I won’t be withdrawing my plans.” The two men sat there and absorbed the heat.
Tom started the car and accelerated on the shoulder before merging with afternoon traffic.
“I’m in Brad. We’re bringing the rifle though.” He said.
“That’s fine.”
The drive to the safe house that Tom used in Bahrain was just a short distance from the airport. They were there in twenty minutes.
It was located in a typical suburban neighborhood. Tom parked the car next to the curb and got out. “This place is a steal. I’ve got three thousand square feet for…let’s see, I think it works out to be the equivalent of eight hundred dollars a month. Try finding something like that back home.” They grabbed the bags from the trunk and headed inside.
“Yeah right, you can’t get a decent studio apartment for that in Maryland. Maybe in the seedier parts of D.C. or something.”
Even though there had been no other cars around the house, several people were inside. They were part of Kingsley’s support team. A bank of radio and computer equipment filled the large kitchen. Kingsley was the team leader. He led an assault force into various locations around the world to achieve objectives that supported United States policy. Their team worked with unconventional forces to establish a resistance where certain governments had adopted anti-U.S. policies or practices at levels that were deemed threats. Sometimes they assassinated the enemy and sometimes they detained them, for intense interrogation, if they believed they could yield some valuable information. Lately, the team had been doing little more than gathering intelligence. The area had been relatively quiet for months. It had made it easy for Tom to take a few days off. They’d operated out of Bahrain for the better part of a year.
“Brad, meet the team, team meet Brad Ward. His brother is one of the students that were taken. We go back, what? Five years?”
“Think that’s right.” Brad said as he looked around the sparsely decorated living room.
Kingsley introduced everyone in the room individually and then sat down at a ‘seventies era’ bar that butted up to the kitchen. He flipped open a laptop and pulled a stool out for Brad. “Have a seat. I want to show you something.”
Brad sat down and focused on a satellite photograph that popped up. “This is from two weeks ago. I want you to keep your eyes on this area over here.” He said pointing to a small section of the monitor.
“Where is this?” Brad asked.
“It’s a training camp in Syria that one of the other teams has been keeping tabs on. A guy I know sent this over this morning. Thought it might be our guys.” Kingsley replied.
The computer booted up a video of the still photograph they had been looking at. The footage had been enhanced. Four trucks sat parked in the middle of an open desert. From the bottom of the screen another truck appeared driving toward the others at a steady clip.
“We have determined that this vehicle here, is traveling at about eighty five miles per hour.” Kingsley said pointing to the truck that had come out of nowhere.
The truck careened toward the other vehicles. Briefly, it looked as if the driver was bent on smashing into the other trucks. At the last minute, the driver slammed on the breaks. A plume of sand and dust rose from underneath the truck. For a split second the truck was hidden under the cloud. It reemerged with the driver and all of its passengers exiting the vehicle. They all raced toward a small building at the top of the screen. They filed inside. Moments later, they came back out but their numbers had tripled. Instead of the eight men they had started with, thirty-five appeared. The men from the vehicle could be seen pushing the others back toward the truck.
“We have four hours and sixteen minutes of them practicing this whole thing over and over again. They were prepared. Each time there are slight variations thrown in for good measure. Once in a while one or more of the mock hostages will resist and the men will have to improvise.” Kingsley said.
“They practiced,” Brad said out loud.
“We knew they weren’t amateurs Brad.” Kingsley closed the laptop.
“Do we have anything else on them?” He asked.
Kingsley shook his head from side to side.
“No.”
“I need to tell you that I can’t spend any government money on this Brad. I wish I could use our resou
rces, but I can’t. I’m the only one from my team who will be joining you tomorrow.” Tom said with a sober face. “I’m on vacation.”
“I appreciate all the help, Tom. I know you have better things to do with your time, than to go traipsing through the desert with me.”
“Really? Like what? Catching terrorists is my true talent and I am a workaholic.” Kingsley smiled.
Biyara, Iraq
Ansar al-Islam stronghold
Hassan Bishara studied the contents of the envelope. It was much to his liking, though hard to believe. He pulled out a map and several neatly folded pieces of paper, got up from his chair and walked over to a lamp in the corner of the room. He held one of the papers under its brownish yellow light.
“It’s all there my son.” The man seated on a small cloth sofa said. Bishara wasn’t his son; it simply made the man feel superior to refer to him as such.
“Where did you get these?” Hassan asked, as he mulled over a blueprint that was among the paperwork.
“Six months before the United States was preparing to invade our country in 2003, Saddam Hussein directed a special edict. Those papers that you hold are copies of the originals. I included a few of the more important documents, those that I thought would catch Imam Nazari’s eye. If you are ever going to have success with your plans, you will need that.” El-Hashem said, pointing to the folded sheets in Bishara’s hand.
“But I’m afraid, as to your other request, we cannot afford to part with any of our sons, or attend Nazari’s meeting.”
Hassan smiled. While Ansar Al-Islam’s donation was appreciated -important even- it was presumptuous and inaccurate to say that Nazari could not succeed without it.
SANCTION: A Thriller Page 6
