Strike Force

by Dale Brown

  “Anything else about him?”

  “Lots. His wife looks like Angelina Jolie, big lips, big tits—you’d like her. He has seven kids…no, wait, it says here that all of them were killed by Iranian secret agents in Europe and Asia. How sad.”

  “Does it say when?”

  “No.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Wait, I’m reading…no, nothing much else…hey, this is interesting.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a picture of him and his wife, from several years ago, and guess what? He’s only got four fingers on each hand!”

  “He what? Are you sure?”

  “That’s what it looks like…yep, definitely, just four fingers. He’s not even trying to hide it. I think that’s brave of him. Hey, doesn’t one of your cadets, the red-haired girl, have only four fingers on each of her hands?”

  “Katelyn. Yes. It’s called bilateral hypoplastic thumb.”

  “Well, I’ll take your word for it—it doesn’t mention it here. It’s like…hey, they have a picture of Mohammed’s father, in a British World War Two uniform, and guess what?”

  “He has only four fingers too.”

  “It’s a little hard to be sure in this photo, but it looks like his right thumb is real short and fused to his index finger. So it must be hereditary, like a royal birthmark thing, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if your cadet, Katelyn, was secretly related to this Mohammed, and living in exile in the United States, hiding out from the Iranian secret police? She’d be, like…”

  “An Iranian princess,” Harlow muttered.

  “Exactly. How cool would that be?” No response. “Hon, you still there?”

  “Thanks for the info.” He thought for a moment; then: “Stay on the line for a minute or two, sweetie, just in case anyone else has any questions.”

  “Sure, babe. As long as we’re not paying that satphone bill.”

  “It’ll be taken care of, don’t worry. Hold on. Don’t hang up until I tell you to, okay?”

  “What’s going on, Ed?” his wife asked, but he had already lowered the phone. Najar and Saidi looked at his stunned expression, then looked at the phone but made no move to take it away from him.

  This is insane, Harlow thought, completely unbelievable—but he was beginning to believe it. He turned toward his waiting cadets and shouted, “VanWie! Over here.”

  Katelyn trotted over, smiled at Najar and Saidi, snapped to attention, then saluted. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” she said.

  “At ease, Lieutenant. With me.” Harlow stepped several paces away from the others.

  “Why are my parents here, sir?”

  “No questions now, Katelyn,” Harlow said. He turned toward the helicopter and pointed at Hamilton. “Do you know that man over there?”

  “He’s a friend of my dad. They work together at the finance company, I think.”

  “His name?”

  “Mr. Hamilton. I’m not sure of his first name.”

  “How about the guy looking out the door of the helicopter?”

  Katelyn looked, swallowed hard, then looked at Harlow. “He’s a friend of my dad’s too,” she said nervously.

  “A ‘friend?’”

  Katelyn looked a little anguished. “What’s happening, sir? Why are my parents here?”

  “Katelyn, this is very important,” Harlow said, studying her eyes carefully. “What you tell me next will determine what I’m about to do in the next few seconds, but you have to be completely honest with me or I could do the wrong thing and…and put you in very great danger.”

  “Danger?” The apprehension in her face melted away, replaced by concern and steely determination. “What’s happened, sir?” Her voice had changed—markedly so.

  “Katelyn, yes or no, and be honest with me: are those two people really your parents?”

  “What’s happened, sir?” she repeated, almost a demand now.

  “Answer me, Katelyn, or I’m going to grab you and take you and the rest of the squadron back into the woods and call for help.”

  “Something’s happened to my parents,” Katelyn breathed. “Hasn’t it, sir?”

  “Are these your parents, Katelyn? Yes or no. Tell me.”

  Katelyn realized she wasn’t going to get the answers she wanted unless she changed her tactics. “No, they’re not,” she replied. “They are Major Najar and Lieutenant Saidi.”

  “What do they do?”

  “They are specially chosen members of the King’s Palace Guards, assigned to protect me,” Katelyn said. Harlow’s mouth dropped open, and a roaring sound unrelated to the Black Hawk’s idling turbines began in his ears. “Now tell me what’s happened, sir. My father…?”

  “Is missing. They said they’ve come to take you away from here. They…”

  “Na baba!” Katelyn shouted in a voice Harlow had never heard from her before except in instances of extreme excitement or tension. “Fori-ei! I’ve got to do something!” She dashed off toward Najar and Saidi, who snapped to attention as she approached.

  “Katelyn!”

  The girl turned, then stood at attention and saluted. “Pardon me, sir, but I must leave. Thank you for all the precautions you’ve taken on my behalf, and thank you for your leadership and dedication. I won’t forget it.” She dropped her salute, then ran for the helicopter, with Najar and Saidi close behind. The two men inside the helicopter scrambled out and snapped to attention on either side of the Black Hawk’s right door. The last Harlow saw of her, she was pulling a headset over her fatigue cap, gesturing for Hamilton and Lawson to get inside, and pulling the Black Hawk helicopter’s door closed herself.

  After the helicopter lifted off, Harlow raised the satphone. “It’s okay, babe,” he said. “I’m heading home now.”

  “Ed, I heard some of that,” his wife said anxiously. “What’s going on out there?”

  “I’ll explain everything when I get home—or someone will.”

  “What do you mean? Ed…?”

  “I’ll be home in a few hours, babe. See you,” then reluctantly pressed the red button on the phone.

  He was never certain, he thought as he turned and headed toward the other completely stunned cadets, exactly where Katelyn VanWie belonged…until now.

  “What can you tell me about my parents, Agent Hamilton?” Azar Qagev asked as soon as she donned her headset.

  “The Protective Liaison Division agents assigned to your mother and father found your parents’ home empty early this morning, Your Highness,” Hamilton said. “There’s been no word on any of our message lines. We executed the recovery network established for them but they have not made contact with anyone in the system.” Every foreign dignitary in the United States had a plan established where they would go to a particular city and make contact with a certain individual, usually at a hotel, airport, restaurant, or other such public place in a large metropolitan area, in case of danger. In the meantime, the area would be flooded by agents of the Diplomatic Security Services, Federal Bureau of Investigation, U.S. Secret Service, U.S. Marshals, and other federal law enforcement agencies. Unfortunately, foreign dignitaries who stayed in the United States for long periods of time rarely updated or exercised their plans until it was too late to respond to an attack. “It’s still very early, but we decided to make contact with you and take you to a safe location.”

  “Thank you, Agent Hamilton,” Azar said.

  “Unfortunately, because your father runs his Internet blog and frequently comments on happenings in Iran, the media is all over this development,” Hamilton went on. “It was only a matter of time before they tracked you down to Grand Rapids. And now that your parents have disappeared, you’ll be the focus of their attention. There’s already been a leak to the wire services that Iranian royalty is being protected in the United States, and the FBI and State Department have already received inquiries. I hope you understand how hectic it’s going to be. The State
Department will do all it can to shield your movements from the media, but they are very persistent.”

  “I understand, Agent Hamilton.” She thought for a moment, then said to Major Najar in perfect Farsi, “Major, I need to contact the Court immediately.”

  “Of course, Malika,” Najar said. “I will…”

  “Do not call me that yet, Major,” Azar said. “I am Shahdokht to all until the whereabouts of the King and Queen are positively determined.”

  “I apologize, Shahdokht,” Najar said. “Agent Hamilton, when is the first chance we will have to access a secure telephone or Internet connection?”

  “We’ll return to Grand Rapids, then take a chartered flight to Minneapolis,” Hamilton said. “The FBI office has loaned us armored vehicles, which will take you to a safe house outside the city. They should have secure communications capability in the vehicles. We’ll arrange a secure satellite Internet link in the safe house if it doesn’t already have it.”

  “Very well. Thank you,” Azar said. To Najar, she asked in Farsi, “What’s the latest about the insurgency back home?”

  “Confused and sketchy information, Shahdokht,” Najar replied, “but it appears that General Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi has launched a major attack on a mosque in Qom that may have been a safe house for a good number of clerics and government officials. Speculation is that he destroyed the Khomeini Library with his captives inside.”

  “Bavar nakardani!” Azar exclaimed. “Buzhazi is either completely insane or utterly ruthless—we need to find out which it is. Major, I need the latest information on Buzhazi, the Pasdaran deployments, and our resistance and intelligence networks in-country.”

  “Yes, Shahdokht.”

  “Buzhazi is blind with rage and power-lust, Shahdokht,” Lieutenant Saidi said. “He and his followers have narrowly managed to avoid complete destruction by the skin of their teeth. They are outnumbered at least ten to one. The Pasdaran will crush them soon enough.”

  “No insurgency of any kind has had this much success—and Buzhazi has taken on the Pasdaran directly,” Azar said. “If he succeeds, or even if he ignites the passion of freedom in the people, we can use it to our advantage. We must learn everything we can about Buzhazi’s goals and plans and see if we can join forces with him.”

  “Join forces?” Najar asked. “Princess, Buzhazi was the Faqih’s chief executioner not too long ago—he and his minions killed most of your family and drove us out of Europe and the Middle East. He can’t be trusted. It would be better to bide our time and see what happens with this insurgency.”

  “If Buzhazi is crushed, the Pasdaran will only grow in power and status, perhaps eclipsing the army,” Azar said. “If the regular army or the people will follow Buzhazi in destroying the clerics, we must be sure we have a seat at the table for whatever else may happen. But we must know what is going on, up to the second.” She fell silent for a moment, then said, “I want you to activate the rud-khaneh immediately.”

  Najar’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you certain, Princess?” he asked. “The underground network is secure and has been growing for a decade. If we activate the network and the Revolutionary Guards destroy Buzhazi and discover it…”

  “We must know,” Azar said. “It must be done. Our people will just need to take extraordinary precautions and be prepared to go back to ground if the insurgency fails and the Pasdaran start a new purge.”

  Najar looked at the princess carefully, then said in a low voice, “Should you not wait to hear from the King, Princess?”

  Azar looked at her long-time bodyguard, considering not only his words but the tone. “They’re alive, Major. I would have felt their passing.”

  “Then wait a while longer before committing to activating the intelligence network, Shahdokht,” Najar said. He smiled at her. “I’m happy to see you are so ready to take charge, Princess—the lessons we taught you were not lost in the thick mud of Western decadence that you have subjected yourself to for all these years. But use caution. The situation is dangerous for you, but to our friends and supporters back home, it is deadly. When we rise up, we should do it in concert.”

  “We will, Major,” Azar said. “But in order to decide when to rise, we need information. If my parents are alive, it is my responsibility to assist them in making the decisions that affect our future.” She squinted back tears, then said, “If they are dead, I’ll need the advice of the network to assess the situation and decide a course of action—whether we support Buzhazi, conduct our own insurgency alongside his, or go back into hiding and await the will of God.”

  “Insh’ Allah,” Najar and Saidi said together.

  “Insh’ Allah,” Azar echoed. She thought for a moment, then took out a notepad from her Civil Air Patrol battle dress uniform, wrote a note, and passed it to Najar. He took a deep breath as he read it, then passed it to Saidi, whose expression was even more incredulous. “Can you do it, Major?” she asked.

  Najar passed the note to the men in the back of the Black Hawk, who looked at each other in surprise, then nodded warily. Najar made a few notes of his own, showed them to Azar and Saidi, then to the men. They all nodded in assent. “It will be done, Shahdokht…insh’ Allah,” Najar said. “If it is the will of God.”

  In just a few minutes they were making an approach to Grand Rapids–Itasca County Airport and parked just outside AirWays Aviation, the lone fixed-base operator on the field. Just a few yards away was a Falcon business jet, with a Jet-A refueling truck just pulling away. The jet’s crewmembers watched the helicopter touch down, then moved to the boarding door to help the passengers aboard. Katelyn shook hands with Lawson. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Colonel,” she said.

  “Good luck to you, Lieutenant—or whoever you are,” Lawson responded.

  “Salam aleikom, agha,” Katelyn said, then shoved open the door and scrambled out.

  “The jet’s fueled up and ready,” Special Agent Hamilton said after speaking with the pilot and escorting Katelyn to the boarding door. “Weather is favorable in Minneapolis but traffic is heavy, so we’ll use Flying Cloud Airport instead of the international airport. The FBI is standing by.”

  “Wouldn’t it look less conspicuous to go to the bigger airport, Agent Hamilton?”

  “Flying Cloud is a pretty busy airport—most bizjets go there,” Hamilton replied. “The FBI thinks it’ll be safer, and you should have less interference from the media.” Within moments they were aboard, the door closed, and they were taxiing to the end of runway 16 for takeoff. With no traffic in the pattern, the jet was airborne within minutes. “Less than a hundred and fifty miles to Flying Cloud, Your Highness—no more than twenty minutes,” Hamilton said. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Agent Hamilton,” Azar said. “And I wanted to thank you again for all you’ve done for me. Your service is very much appreciated.”

  “My pleasure, Your Highness.”

  “So I hope you don’t take offense by what we are going to do.” Azar made a motion with her hands, and her four bodyguards leapt to their feet, guns drawn. Two headed immediately to the cockpit while Najar and Saidi stayed with Azar, their guns drawn.

  “What in hell is this?” Hamilton exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

  “No offense to you or the American State Department, Agent Hamilton,” Azar said, “but putting us into protective custody in Minneapolis is not what we need to do right now for the people of Iran.” She took Hamilton’s sidearm and backup weapon away from him, then turned to Najar and said in Farsi, “Make sure the pilots don’t make any radio calls or change the transponder codes to report a hijacking, Major. Can we file an international flight plan inflight?”

  “No, Highness,” Najar said. “We’ll have to fly low over the border and try to go under radar coverage. We risk a military pursuit, but they will not be able to respond quickly enough to find us. We will contact our agents in Canada and arrange for them to meet us at the alternate landing site.”

  “Very well.
” The plane started turning, and soon the two charter pilots were heading back to the cabin, hands over their heads.

  “If you wanted to get out of the United States, Highness, why not just request that?” Hamilton asked angrily. “We would have complied.”

  “We want to avoid the media as much as possible and shield our movements from everyone,” Azar said. “Going into protective custody in Minneapolis, with the media all around us, would have wasted time and put my parents in even greater danger.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Canada,” Azar replied. “We have agents throughout Canada waiting for precisely this moment. After we’re safely away, we’ll release you and your aircraft.”

  “This is completely unnecessary, Highness…”

  “Again, Agent Hamilton, I thank you for your concern and dedication,” Azar said sincerely. “But we have been guests of the American government for too long. It’s time the royal family went back to Iran and took our place among our people again.” Hamilton shook his head and sat back. Azar looked at Najar and Saidi and asked in Farsi, “Am I insane for doing this, Major? Lieutenant?”

  “Once we place ourselves in the hands of the Americans and their out-of-control media, Highness, we would be at their mercy,” Najar said. “We would be trusting our lives to someone else’s political agenda.”

  “What if Buzhazi made a deal for him to cooperate with Washington in forming a government favorable to them—in exchange for turning over you and your family to him, or having us placed in permanent ‘protective custody?’” Saidi asked. “The point is, Highness, that with us in the hands of the Americans, our fate is not our own—it belongs to them and whatever agenda they may have. It will be difficult for us, but at least our fate is in our hands and the hands of your loyal subjects.”

  “We are proud of you, Highness,” Najar said. “It took extraordinary courage to do this. It would have been far easier and more comfortable and perhaps safer for you to simply go along with the Americans, but you instead decided to take the initiative and plan your own escape. Now whatever happens is up to God and ourselves. That is the way it should be.”