The Assassins

by Oliver North

  The tech-rep sounded like he was reading a manual when he answered Hart's question. “The PMMW scanner has to be within ten meters of the target in order to measure reflections from natural background radiation. That way you can get a clear 3-D image that looks like an X-ray—or an ultrasound. The neutron/gamma detectors will give you a reading out to about seventy-five to one hundred meters. The radiation sensor uses a crystalline material called cadmium zinc telluride—or CZT—which is similar to the silicon used in a computer chip. The sensor gives detailed spectroscopic information within limits of performance set by the size and quality of its crystal—”

  “Whoa," Skillings interrupted, “the chief doesn't need to build the thing, he just needs to know how close he needs to be to get a reading."

  “Uh...pardon me, Sergeant Major," the technician replied sheepishly. He then asked over the radio, “Did I answer your question, Chief?"

  “Well, if we can find a way to drive the PMMW scanner out onto that pier, will it give us a clear enough image to confirm that the warheads have been placed on those ships and inside one of the containers being loaded on that merchant ship?" inquired the Navy SEAL.

  “Yes, but you'd have to be moving very slowly, otherwise the image will be too blurry to make out," answered the tech. “Why can't you just do it with one of the neutron/gamma detectors?"

  “We can," answered Suazo, “but one of the four warheads that we imaged gave us a much lower reading on the radiation detectors than the other three—even though they all looked the same on the PMMW image."

  The civilian tech-rep thought for a moment and then responded, “My guess is that the one that gave you a low reading may have had more lead shielding than the others or it may not have the same amount of nuclear material as the other three. That would probably mean a lower yield on detonation. Did they all look the same on the PMMW image when they were parked outside your OP?"

  “Yes," answered Suazo, “each warhead was in a separate truck and they were all packed the same way. In fact, all the trucks carrying weapons even had the same number of armed personnel with them."

  “Well, you don't need the PMMW to tell which is which," said the expert. “If you need to know which one is the ‘low yield’ warhead, just run the radiation ‘sniffer’ past each ship and container. If you're close to the same distance from each of them, the one with the low yield will give you the lowest reading."

  “Roger that," answered the chief. “Thanks for the info. Lieutenant Colonel Hart wants to talk to General Newman."

  The tech-rep handed the handset back to the general as Dan Hart said, “If Emilio can arrange to get the Suburban out onto the pier, do you want us to try to figure out where that low-yield weapon is getting loaded, sir?"

  “I don't know that it matters enough to put you and your team at risk, Dan," said Newman. “What matters most is knowing when those three boats and that container leave port. Unfortunately, our satellite coverage down here is very intermittent, so right now you and Chief Suazo at La Guaira and Sergeant First Class Nievos at the airport are the best ‘Early Warning Systems’ we have for a nuclear attack on the U.S."

  Lourdes Signals Intelligence Facility

  ________________________________________

  Bejucal, Cuba

  Sunday, 4 November 2007

  2000 Hours Local

  “General, Moscow Centre has just ordered me to inform you that we are now picking up a significant increase in the amount of encrypted U.S. military communications. Much of it is emanating from places we would expect during a crisis—Washington, the American East Coast military installations, Key West, Guantanamo, and their fleet units in the Caribbean. But now, a good bit of it is new—coming from Venezuela, in and around Caracas," said Colonel Vushneshko. The commanding officer of the Russian Signals Intelligence garrison at Lourdes was standing in the doorway of Dimitri Komulakov's “VIP quarters," holding a printed cable in his hand.

  “Come in, Mikhail," said the “retired” KGB general. The two men entered the room, and Komulakov closed the door, motioning to a chair at the small table where a laptop computer was open. “So what does this mean?" asked the older man.

  “We're not sure," answered Vushneshko. “As you know, the Lourdes facility is within the ‘footprint’ of their East Coast military and government data and voice communications satellites. Unfortunately, all of their communications are encrypted so we don't know what is being sent or received, but the increase in the volume of traffic is what brought this to our attention."

  “How long has this been going on?" asked the general.

  “Well, it has been going up and down ever since the attack in Saudi Arabia last month, but it spiked again several days ago—and now there is a fairly constant stream of traffic that seems to be flowing in and out of Caracas."

  “Can we tell if this is related to the attempt to assassinate President Valdez?" Komulakov asked.

  “Well, it certainly increased after that happened," responded Vushneshko. “It was after the ‘coup attempt’ that our embassy SIGINT site in Caracas began to detect American tactical military communications in and around the city."

  Komulakov's eyes widened. “You say tactical communications—from American military units?"

  “Well again, we do not know whether they are military units or not," answered the GRU Signals Intelligence officer. “All we know for certain is that encrypted communications streams are emanating from short- and mid-range equipment in and around Caracas—and that this equipment is normally associated with the American military, usually at the brigade or division level."

  “Has Moscow notified the Valdez government of this development?" asked Komulakov.

  “Not yet," said Vushneshko. “We have the usual problem. If we tell Valdez about the American tactical intercepts that we are picking up from our embassy, he will realize that we're also able to monitor his military's communications. Moscow does not want him to know that."

  “Humph," Komulakov grunted. “Sometimes we are too cautious for our own good. I must tell my deputy in Riyadh about this. The whole operation in Caracas could be in jeopardy."

  Vushneshko was concerned and said so. “General, I do not know all of what you and our government are doing in Caracas—nor do I need to—but it is very important that neither the Venezuelans nor the Americans become aware that we are intercepting these signals."

  “Yes, yes, of course," the Russian general replied, rising from the table. “Now, let us go to the command center, so that I can talk on the secure voice circuit with Dubzhuko in Riyadh."

  Five minutes later, Komulakov was holding a telephone to his ear at a command center console trying to hear his deputy through the warble and electronic static of their tenuous fiber-optic satellite connection through Murmansk. “Why are you still at the Filaya location, Nikolai?" the general asked, speaking very slowly.

  “Because the Iranians who came here several days ago insisted on yet another late-night meeting. It is now after five in the morning and we just finished," Dubzhuko replied after a four-second delay.

  “What did they want?"

  “Apparently Ali Yunesi is now insisting on knowing every detail of what is going on in Caracas," the voice in Riyadh replied. “As I indicated in my last report, they insisted that one of the warheads be loaded on a containership. I have instructed Major Argozvek to inform me the minute the three Saudi vessels and the containership leave La Guaira—so that I can tell our ‘allies’ encamped across the street. Were you aware that there is an Iranian—Manucher Rashimani—with Argozvek in Caracas?"

  “He is with the Iranian Intelligence Service at their embassy," Komulakov answered. “He is the one who made the arrangements with Valdez for the warheads to be delivered and stored in Caracas. I have only met with him once. You should alert Argozvek that Rashimani is not to be trusted. You also must inform him that I have just learned that there may be American military or intelligence units operating in Caracas."

  Again the
re was a protracted delay before Dubzhuko replied, “Are you sure? How do you know?"

  Komulakov, struggling to keep his voice reasonably modulated, responded, “Do not be concerned with how I know; just make sure you inform Argozvek."

  “The reason I am asking," Dubzhuko said, “is because the Iranians told me tonight that if anything interferes with the warheads being ‘delivered’ on the eleventh of November, we will not be paid. As you know, this was not part of our agreement. I have not told any—”

  Dubzhuko was cut off in midsentence. Komulakov, believing that it was yet another “anomaly” in their communications, slammed the phone down and yelled, “Mikhail Vushneshko, my line is dead."

  Filaya Petroleum Building

  ________________________________________

  14 Al-Aqsa Street

  Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Monday 05 November 2007

  0515 Hours Local

  Nikolai Dubzhuko never knew what hit him. As he talked on the phone with Dimitri Komulakov, neither he nor any of his men were even aware of the two B-52H bombers racing at 530 knots toward Riyadh at 60,000 feet. Twenty miles south of the Saudi capital the aircraft dropped down to 45,000 feet and at fourteen miles out, each B-52 released sixteen MK-84, 2,000-pound, JDAM-equipped, high-explosive bombs. As the GPS-guided weapons struck the Filaya Petroleum building—and the building across Al-Aqsa Street where the two dozen Iranians were just going to sleep following their late-night meeting—the two B-52s were already climbing again and heading toward their tanker, orbiting over the Indian Ocean. By the time the bombers landed at their base, 3,400 miles to the southeast on the tiny island base at Diego Garcia, it would be almost noon in Riyadh.

  The blast and concussion of the thirty-two warheads detonating almost simultaneously flattened the entire Filaya complex as well as the structure across the street. Burning diesel fuel from ruptured underground storage tanks for the generators created a bright orange fire and an enormous plume of black smoke over the rubble. Within a half mile of the targets, every window that had not already been broken by marauding crowds incited by the “Islamic Brotherhood” was shattered. A mile away at the British Embassy “Annex," two SIS “stay behinds," who had been told to take shelter in the basement of their building, returned to their rooftop OP and reported on their satellite radio: “Bombs appear to be on target. No further electronic emissions from target area. Will report BDA after first light."

  Lourdes Signals Intelligence Facility

  ________________________________________

  Bejucal, Cuba

  Monday, 5 November 2007

  0705 Hours Local

  “I am sorry to disturb you, General," said Maj. Viktor Sakharovsky, over the telephone.

  “What is it?" a tired and irritable Komulakov asked the young Spetznatz officer. He had returned to his quarters less than an hour ago to rest after spending most of the night waiting for Colonel Vushneshko's technicians to reestablish communications with Nikolai Dubzhuko in Riyadh.

  Sakharovsky continued, “I am in the command center where they are monitoring the American morning news broadcasts. I think we now know why you lost communications with Colonel Dubzhuko."

  “What are they saying?" asked the general, suddenly alert.

  “According to their television news, the Americans bombed Riyadh last night."

  Two minutes later, the unshaven and rumpled Komulakov was in the command center. He had obviously fallen asleep in his clothes. On one of the large television screens a correspondent standing in front of the Pentagon was just completing his report: “.…though officials here are being tight-lipped about what actually transpired in Riyadh, our Congressional source says that last night's air raid against the Saudi capital was—quote—‘a waste of good bombs and likely caused massive civilian casualties’—unquote. This critic of the administration went on to say that—and again I'm quoting here—‘This White House can't even hit the right country. They should be going after Tehran.’ But the Pentagon and White House are still offering no comment. John, back to you in Atlanta."

  The Russian general turned to Sakharovsky and said, “Do we have anything from Moscow Centre yet on what was hit in Riyadh?"

  “Yes, sir," replied the major somberly. “Right after I saw the first report on this, I called the imagery analysts at Centre on one of Colonel Vushneshko's dedicated circuits. They say that the city block where the Filaya complex was located is nothing but smoking rubble and bomb craters."

  Komulakov looked stunned. Still, he couldn't care less what happened to Dubzhuko or the others who had been with them. If they were all dead it would mean fewer people to pay at the end of the operation. But there was a practical consideration for wishing that Dubzhuko were still alive: without the Riyadh command center to coordinate things and relay orders, Komulakov would have to take over that responsibility himself—or risk not being paid. Leaning toward Sakharovsky's ear so that others would not hear, he said, “Dubzhuko is undoubtedly dead. We're going to have to take over running this operation."

  Now it was the major's turn to be surprised. “General, we can't do that from here," he said. “Moscow will never allow us to communicate with all of the units involved in this operation from the Lourdes facility. The Americans would pick up on the signals immediately. That is why we were relaying everything through Riyadh."

  Komulakov thought for a moment then said, “Yes...you're right, Viktor. We will have to go to Caracas."

  The major gave a shrug of resignation and asked, “How will we get there? Do you want me to arrange for a commercial flight?"

  Again the Russian general paused and then said, “No. One of the captured Saudi aircraft arrived last night in Caracas from the Cape Verde Islands." Then, consulting notes that he pulled from his pocket, Komulakov continued, “According to the last message I received from Dubzhuko, it is a 737, marked “International Air Express” with Argentine registration designator: LV-TRK. Contact Major Argozvek on his commercial satellite phone and have him send it here, to Jose Marti International Airport."

  CJR Warehouse

  ________________________________________

  867 Avenida Maiquetia, Caracas, Venezuela

  Monday, 05 November 2007

  2300 Hours Local

  “It looks like they're preparing to get underway, sir," said Lt. Col. Dan Hart. “I was going to send this by D-DACT, but I figured a call would be better."

  Standing at the secure Sat-Com terminal in his command post, Brig. Gen. Peter Newman chewed on his lower lip for a moment and then said, “Roger that, Dan. Can you tell us which one is headed out first?"

  Hart, standing at the darkened window of his observation post overlooking the La Guaira Port facility and peering through a long-range night vision scope, replied, “They seem to be getting ready to leave in the order in which they're berthed. A pilot boat has just pulled up next to the one that had the name Desert Wind on it until they painted over it just after dark. The crew has thrown off the lines, and I can see her exhaust. My guess is that the next one out will be Nile Princess—but they've painted over that name as well. Because of the way they are berthed, we can't tell if the third one—Iridescent—has had her name painted over."

  “Roger that, Dan," responded Newman. “Anything happening with the containership on the other side of the pier?"

  “Wait one, while I move the scope," Hart replied. Then a few seconds later he was back. “Affirmative. They have rolled the gangway back and she also has a pilot boat alongside. Looks like she may be joining this parade. Maybe they're all going to sortie together in some kind of convoy."

  “OK," said Newman, “let me send this off to the JCS and I'll get back to you."

  Newman passed the handset back to the communicator on watch and turned to locate Sergeant Major Skillings. He was already sitting at the laptop computer, drafting the communiqué to General Grisham.

  “In our last message at 2000, we informed them that we were unable to confirm that a n
uclear weapon had been loaded on the containership," said Skillings. “Do you want me to reiterate that here?"

  “Yeah, you better, Sergeant Major, just in case somebody missed that fact when they were sending the data on to the subs offshore. But don't make it sound like we're unsure that it is on board."

  “Do you want me to tell ‘em that we’ll send a message as each ship clears the breakwater?"

  “Good idea, Amos," said the Marine brigadier. “I must be getting tired. I should have thought of that."

  “Not to worry, General. You don't have to think. You have a Marine sergeant major here to do that stuff for you," Skillings said with a grin. “Here you go, sir, take a look at this before I transmit it."

  Newman looked over his sergeant major's shoulder, read the message marked “FLASH” precedence, followed by the words: “NUKE-WARN." After scanning down the text, he said, “Send it. I'll bet we'll have a call from the NMCC within five minutes. I'm going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want one?"

  Skillings moved the cursor over the words SEND ENCRYPTED, clicked the mouse, and looked up at his boss with a broad smile and said, “The stuff in that coffee pot is a biohazard material concocted by some civilian tech-dweeb. My body is a temple of the Holy Spirit; I wouldn't abuse it that way."

  Newman smiled and shook his head and went out into the warehouse carrying his canteen cup. He wasn't gone a minute before the secure Sat-Com phone warbled for attention. The duty communicator picked up the receiver, said, “JTF Seventy-seven," listened for a moment, then said, “Roger, wait one." The young NCO then turned to Skillings and said, “Sergeant Major, there's a guy on here who says he's George Grisham and he wants to talk to General Newman."

  Skillings jumped up from the table, grabbed the handset, cupped the mouthpiece in the palm of his hand, and said, “It's a good thing that you're not a Marine or I'd have you busted a rank—that's General Grisham to you—the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff!. Now go get General Newman." He then put the receiver up to his ear and said, “Sergeant Major Skillings, sir. General Newman will be right back."