“Shit. That asshole has got to be shut up. Go talk to him. Threaten him with anything that you can think of. Just shut him the hell up,” President Starks ordered Bascome.
“It’s not that easy. He doesn’t need us, and his contracts are iron clad. Without a black op to silence him for good, he’s practically untouchable,” Bascome lamented.
“We’ll hold off on the black ops for a while. Find another way,” Starks demanded.
“What about his morals clause in the contract? I was just reading the one in his contract with the Department of Justice. I’d bet there is a similar clause in the contracts with the FBI, CIA, DOD and the NSA. Maybe we could catch him in a moral dilemma,” Combs said.
“Hell, we don’t need a real moral dilemma, just the appearance of one. Roger, I want you to leak that there is an investigation into Howard and his relationship with former General Clarett and their buddy-buddy relationship. Let Howard know personally that if he doesn’t stop running his mouth, I’ll shut it for him. Also, start an IRS audit of his books. Just harass the hell out of him and anyone who defends him, works with him, or even supplies him with parts and raw materials. I want an example made of him. Now, is that it?” Starks asked, but didn’t wait for either man to speak before continuing, “Good, I’m out of here. Remember, no calls till seven a.m. unless a nuke is inbound.”
CHAPTER NINE
Tom found himself forced into a car ride with Ron at three in the morning, having discussed the failed raid with the boss via satphone. They’d left from Kilauea Corp’s headquarters with Ron calling the shots, which stuck in Tom’s craw. They headed for the highway that would take them into the Sinai Desert, with Tom quietly staring out the window. Ron, sensing Tom’s displeasure at being told he had to follow his lead, remained quiet as well, waiting for Tom to make the first move.
After ten minutes of silence, Tom finally spoke, “Where are we going?”
“Look, I just made a suggestion, and the boss took it. I’m here to help you. The final call is still yours. I just think it’s best to avoid a trap if you can,” Ron replied.
“So, where are we going?” Tom asked again, ignoring Ron’s comment.
“I’ve got a contact we need to speak to before we move on our target,” Ron replied.
“It’s your mission,” Tom stated curtly.
“Like I said, it’s still your mission. We’re on the same team. The boss made it my job to make sure you didn’t get killed. He doesn’t send people to their deaths knowingly. He wants you to have every chance to survive and succeed.” Ron tried again to bury the hatchet.
“How nice of him to care,” Tom shot back sarcastically. “If this is my mission, I’m going to complete it my way. The boss didn’t mention anything about you joining the team, so don’t think you have any operational say.”
“Hey, I don’t care who’s in charge or who gets the credit. We’re all on the same team, and I don’t like my teammates getting sent home in body bags. I’ll get you the best intelligence I can, and I’ll do my best to help you stay alive, even if you want to be stupid and get your ass shot off. You may get killed, but it won’t be because I didn’t do my best,” Ron lectured Tom. “And I don’t appreciate you being pissed off at me because the boss told you to work with me. We both have a job to do.”
Tom sighed heavily and looked out the window as they drove south towards Beer Sheva, according to the road sign. “Who is it we’re going to see?”
“An old friend.”
After passing through Beer Sheva, Ron continued south for forty minutes before turning off the main road onto a road leading to the southwest. Both men sat quietly as the time and the kilometers passed, until Tom finally spoke again.
“Where’s this old friend? Egypt?”
“Close, but still in Israel. A real garden spot. You’ll like it there.”
“It looks like we’re driving into the desert,” Tom stated as he looked out the window, trying to see through the darkness.
“It seemed the best place to get some privacy. And you know how we spies like our privacy,” Ron said. Tom remained quiet as they drove for another twenty minutes. At the crest of a small hill, Tom saw lights off to the left in the distance.
“I’m guessing that’s where we’re headed?” Tom asked.
“Yep. The Sinai Hilton, the best accommodations in the Sinai Desert. It is strictly five-star, with the highest of security. You should feel privileged just to set foot in the place. You really have to be someone special to warrant a stay there,” Ron rattled on as he slowed and turned on to a new road, leading south once more.
“It’s a high security prison,” Tom stated flatly.
“Well, yes, the Moshe Dayan Detention Facility, but it caters only to the finest criminals and it has a great menu. We should stay for breakfast,” Ron quipped sarcastically.
“I’ll pass,” Tom crumbled. Despite having seen the lights, it still took them another ten minutes to close on its source, even while driving at eighty miles an hour.
The first line of defense for the prison was a twenty-foot high cyclone fence with razor wire strung on both sides at ground level and rising three rows high or about ten feet, with another row lining the top. Tom also noticed there were bare wires running at two different levels on the fence, signifying it was electrified. The ground in front of the fence contained signs warning of land mines in four different languages. As they pulled up to the checkpoint, Tom couldn’t see any buildings in any direction, just a bright glow to the southwest.
Pulling up to the gate, Ron quickly rolled down his window and came to a stop. Three guards raced out from the guard house and took up stations on both sides and at the rear of the vehicle. They shouldered their weapons and pointed them menacingly at Ron and Tom.
“Just relax, they’re expecting me. I’ve got standing reservations in the presidential suite,” Ron grinned at Tom. After a short minute, a fourth guard stepped from the guard house and walked directly to Ron’s door. The guy was huge.
“Papers,” was all he said. Ron quickly handed over the small packet to the guard. He then stepped back, away from the car, to examine them. While this took place, Tom noticed a Humvee drive over a small rise about two hundred yards down the road ahead of them. It came complete with a machine gun turret on top.
“Just our escort,” Ron stated, when he noticed Tom’s gaze and the concern on his face.
“You’ll have just one hour,” the guard stated curtly. He didn’t make any effort to return the papers to Ron.
“Oh, yes, I’ve interrogated this prisoner before,” Ron stated conversationally.
“Open the back and step out,” the guard ordered.
Both Ron and Tom quickly got out and stepped away from the SUV. They stood together in front of the vehicle with their arms down at their sides. The guards searched the cargo area of the vehicle. As they did, Ron slightly bobbed his head towards the other side of the road opposite the guard house. Tom turned and saw a barely visible, sand-colored, cement pill box sunk into the ground and covered with sand. It was camouflaged so well that until he saw it from this angle, he hadn’t even noticed it. A machine gun was pointed at them from the slot carved in the side facing them.
Tom, trying to act casual, looked up at the stars and was awestruck by how many he could see despite the brightness of the lights here at the gate. Even on maneuvers in the American southwest, he hadn’t seen so many stars so clearly. Two of the guards stepped up closer and stood staring at the two men, their gun barrels pointed directly at them, making it clear they weren’t to look around. If they were trying to intimidate them, they were doing a pretty good job.
“Any weapons?” the huge guard asked as he stepped in front of Ron, his eyes never leaving Ron’s face. Tom couldn’t help but notice that the guard towered over Ron by a good quarter meter, making Ron seem small.
“Just our service pieces,” Ron replied. The guard held out a huge hand. Tom looked at Ron, who nodded his consent as both men
handed over their company-issued Glocks that together easily fit into the guard’s hand with room to spare. The guard looked at the guns for a moment then looked suspiciously at the two of them for several seconds. Finally, he spoke. “Follow the Humvee and these will be returned to you if …or rather, when you leave.” If the Freudian slip was part of the intimidation tactics, it was pretty effective. Tom glanced nervously at Ron, but he shrugged. The guard handed back their papers and went back into the guard house taking their weapons with him. The three other guards also slipped back into the guard house as quickly as they had appeared.
“Think he’ll give our weapons back?” Tom asked.
“If he really wants them, he can keep them. I’m not taking that monster on.” Ron grinned and held up his finger to his lips signaling Tom to be quiet.
Once the gate slid open, they drove up the road to where the Humvee sat blocking the road. It remained there until they came to a full stop a few yards away. After a long moment or two, the Humvee turned towards the prison and drove off down the road, throwing up a huge trail of dust.
“Friendly bunch,” Tom quipped sardonically. Ron glanced towards Tom and put a finger to his lips again, signaling for a second time he needed to be quiet. Five minutes later, Ron and Tom pulled up to another gate and another set of guards armed to the teeth ran out and surrounded their vehicle providing another dose of intimidation. Again, their papers were checked before they were allowed to continue. Tom was relieved when he saw the large stone structure about three thousand yards behind this gate and only two more fence lines to navigate.
Finally, after navigating the gauntlet of checkpoints, they were directed to a small parking area ringed with a twenty-foot high fence and razor wire. As Ron and Tom pulled into the parking area, the roving guards stopped and watched them suspiciously. They were met at the personnel entrance gate by two huge, burly men in prison guard uniforms.
CHAPTER TEN
“Good morning, Ron. It is good to see you again,” stated the larger of the two burly men, who had gray hair and a thick moustache. The man had to be at least six foot six and three hundred fifty pounds. “I hope the ride wasn’t too taxing,” the man stated, and Tom surmised from his accent that he was a Russian.
“The scenery makes the trip well worth the time it takes,” Ron said.
“Yes, and we are both liars and too old to change now,” the larger guard replied as he slapped Ron on the back while pulling him through the gate and giving him a bear hug. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, after he let go of Ron and turned to face Tom.
“Tom Wilson, this is Emil Bergerstein. He’s the prison’s warden. The Israelis stole him from the Russians a few years ago when the Russians were still the bad guys.” Ron made the introductions.
“When they were ‘still’? Has something changed that I did not hear about?” Emil asked, jokingly. Ron shot him a sideways glance and continued.
“Tom’s with our research and development team out of Virginia. It’s his first trip to your country, and he just had to tag along,” Ron said.
Then Ron turned his head away from Tom, leaned closer to Emil and whispered, “He’s also here to give me my yearly evaluation. So, be nice. I can use the raise.”
Looking over towards Tom and then back at Ron, Emil grinned ear to ear. “So, Tom Wilson from Virginia, how do you like our country so far?” he asked as he turned and began walking towards the prison building.
“It’s very dry compared to Virginia,” Tom replied as he looked across the prison yard to the desert beyond.
“I see. He is a lot like you,” the warden glared at Ron, who simply shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
After a few minutes in the warden’s office making small talk and drinking a fruit drink laced with vodka, Emil handed Ron a bag that bore the outline of a rectangular box. He then directed one of his men to take Ron and Tom to cell 64.
This early in the morning, the prison was quiet. There was very little light, except for small-wattage bulbs every few yards that barely illuminated the area directly beneath them while the men walked down the hallways. The stark, bright white lights of the guard booths failed to penetrate the darkness for more than a few meters.
Several times, Tom thought he heard moans coming from the cells as they passed, but he couldn’t be sure. The cells were black as tar pitch. The odor was what was most disturbing to Tom. The smell in the prison was putrid: a mix of urine, feces, sweat and blood. It reminded Tom of a not so pleasant tour that he had taken of one of Saddam’s prisons. It was the one where Saddam had held his political enemies.
Tom’s job had been to help sweep the prison for Sunni militia. Although he and his men hadn’t found any militia, they had found hundreds of bodies, many of which had been killed shortly before American forces took control of the prison. They had been beheaded by religious zealots hell bent on taking Iraq back to the eighth century and total Sharia law.
The guard, with Ron and Tom in tow, turned the corner and there was cell 64, rousing Tom from memory lane. The two guards at the door to cell 64 stood aside as the door slowly opened to a darkened room. Ron and Tom stepped inside, and the door closed behind them with a solid thud. Once the door had closed, a single light bulb, which hung from a bare wire in the ceiling, flickered to life. The room came slowly into focus revealing a woman standing across the room with her back to them. Tom noticed right away that the room had an aroma not unlike the cells they’d passed coming here—stale tobacco, sweat, mildew and urine.
Ron leaned in close to Tom and said, “Not what you expected, huh? Don’t talk, just smile politely, and if I ask you any questions, nod. She doesn’t like new people very much. Stay by the door.” Tom stood still, nodding his head in the affirmative.
The cell was furnished with a metal cot against the right wall, bolted to the floor. There was a small metal dining table in the center of the room, again bolted to the floor. The two metal chairs were chained to the table, and there was a metal shelf attached to the wall above the bed with a few tattered paperback books on it. The woman stood staring at the only picture in the cell. It was hung on the wall that was opposite the door and off to the left, so that it was visible through the door opening. The picture was a cityscape as seen at night—lots of lights and dark shadows. Tom thought it was a nice picture, though he didn’t recognize the city. Ron stepped to the table, laid the bag down, and waited for the woman to speak.
“Who is this, and why would I wish to have him in my cell?” the woman snarled in a small, yet firm voice, without turning to face them.
“He’s my new assistant. I’ve got to show him the ropes. You know how it is,” Ron stated politely. “I brought you a gift.”
The woman turned around slowly but did not move from her spot. It was hard to tell her age in the dim light—maybe late forties or early fifties. She had dark eyes and dark hair with traces of grey streaking through it. She was thin, too thin, with nearly transparent light brown skin. She had deep winkles at the corners of her eyes and a mouth that made it appear as if her face was folding in on itself. Tom thought that she might have been a looker when she was young and free, but time and prison had not been kind to her.
Her prison uniform was little more than a gunny sack with holes cut in it to give it the function of a dress. It appeared to be two sizes too large, and from the look of it, it hadn’t seen the laundry in several months. She looked hard at Ron, then at Tom, and then at the bag with the box in it.
“You bring me cigarettes every time. Try bringing something useful next time, or I may not bother to see you,” she said. She turned and stared at Tom for moment before stating, “He doesn’t look like an office worker.” She stepped towards the table and Ron moved back a step—not from fright, but to follow protocol. The rules required him to stay six feet away from her.
“He’s from the States and works out a lot. You know, they haven’t anything else to do over there except find distractions,” Ron replied.
“Fuck
you! He’s a spy just like you. What is it you want this time? Who shall I betray?”
Her words were filled with hatred, but her eyes were filled with sorrow and shame.
“I would never ask you to betray anyone whom you valued. You know that. I only wish to ask you hypothetical questions, as usual,” Ron stated.
“What exercise in futility can I help you with today then? How I might blow up the Knesset? Or if I were to plan an attack on your water supply, which agent would I use, and where would I introduce it?” She began pacing back and forth along the wall, glaring now and then at Ron or Tom as she ruminated. “Are those the questions you need answered? Or do you wish to know where Arafat may have hidden his gold? What is in it for me? Will I get more cigarettes or a better meal today, or maybe I can watch the television for a whole hour if I’m good. Maybe I can get more People magazines that are three years old? What? What do I get?” she screamed. She stopped in front of the picture again and turned her back to them.
Ron turned to Tom, shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. He then spoke to her in a low, calm voice. “What is it you would like?” Ron asked.
“I want a window.” Her voice was now small and weak, almost a quiver. “I want to see the sunrise and the sunset.” Then her voice turned hard and cold. “I have fulfilled my side of this devil’s bargain, and I want my due,” she snapped. When she turned toward Ron, he could see a small tear sliding down her right cheek.
“I’m afraid that I’m not a part of your bargain, but I will voice my concern for your welfare and try to help you,” Ron continued in his quiet, calm voice.
“What, no ‘if’?” she snarled, venom dripping from the words as she fixed Ron with her eyes.
Reprisal!- The Gauntlet Page 6
