“You know where your team is currently?” Epstein asked.
“We’re working on pinpointing them as we speak, Madam Secretary.”
Epstein took a moment to sip her water and gather her thoughts. “Major, this cannot be a zero sum game. I know we’re asking a lot of your people, but if there is the slightest chance that we can positively affect the balance, we have to take it. This End of Days thing … If it happens … Well, we just can’t allow it to happen, that’s the bottom line.” The SECDEF’s phone sounded. She plucked it off the table and scanned the screen. “Do you follow the President on Twitter, Jill?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He has just now tweeted, ‘Mr Scorpion we have the very very best military in the world. We will bury you…’” Epstein looked hard at Schelly. “The commander-in-chief has put the shovel firmly in your hands, Major. Any questions?”
Jesus Christ, where do I start! “No, ma’am.”
An alert on Schelly’s phone. She glanced at the screen - the president’s latest tweet.
“We’ll need your update and operational thoughts by 6 pm this evening,” Epstein continued. “You’ll join us at the Situation Room.”
Jesus! “Yes, ma’am.”
“Not a lot of time, I know. Tell me … What did you think, generally speaking, when you saw this latest video?”
“Ma’am, I was thinking that the Scorpion knew he had the Cheget when the first video was shot. He held back that information so he could take another opportunity to turn the screws, raise the terror stakes …”
“And.”
“Both videos were shot at the same location, though in today’s video the sun was higher overhead, which means it was shot later in the day. Could be the Scorpion wants us to believe he’s, y’know, bivouacking out in the desert – marking time, staying in the one place. He knows the world is looking for him, and he wants the hunt concentrated on the sand between Syria and Iraq, where the video was probably taken and where we know ISIS has some support from Sunni villages. But I think that’s the last place he’s gonna be right now.”
“According to the NSA, the videos were uploaded from an Internet cafes in Raqqa. The CIA’s got eyes on that café, along with two others still functioning in the city, but frankly we’re not expecting any hits. ISIS knows how to hide in plain sight and they know how to use the net.”
“The videos are being examined?”
“Frame by frame by the Defense Imagery Management Operations Centre.”
“And the fingerprints, ma’am?”
“The NSA and CIA have confirmed the prints on the video within a certainty of eighty-nine percent, which is to say, there is no doubt. They belonged to one Vassily Borinkachov, the official holder of the Cheget.” The SECDEF paused to let it sink in. “I’ll see you this evening.” She stood.
Schelly also stood. They blew his arm off…
Walking away from the SECDEF’s office, Schelly was aware of her own heartbeat and the feeling of wanting to run somewhere. But where? The Scorpion’s possession of those codes was unthinkable. And somehow America’s effort to stop WWIII had come to rest on her shoulders and those of a four-man special ops squad lost somewhere in a corner of Syria where chaos and the fog of war were the only certainties. She slumped against a wall, feeling utterly out of her depth.
Twenty-six
Ronald V. Small @realSmall
Terrorists beware. You haven’t met our SEALs. They are the best soldiers in the world. AND THEY DON’T LIKE YOU!
“Never seen so many BTRs,” Jimmy observed.
“Maybe the Kremlin’s decided to annex the joint,” I suggested. BTRs were the Soviet-era armored personnel carriers still being used by Russian ground forces. I crouched with Jimmy behind a cluster of adolescent trees on the side of the hill overlooking the main access road to these parts, a patchwork ribbon of broken asphalt and dirt that wound through the dusty olive-green hills. Much smaller than a highway, it was still a significant east-west access road, and that made it popular with anyone in a hurry as the main thoroughfares were clogged with refugees. Now that Jimmy mentioned it, there were a lot of the Russian troop carriers on the move, another two rumbling around the bend. “How many you counted?” I asked him.
“Twenty, give or take.”
“Headed both ways?”
“Yeah, like they don't know whether they’re coming or going.”
“It’s the vodka,” I said.
I heard a noise behind me, Igor and Natasha moving through the scrubby undergrowth toward us. They took a knee either side of Jimmy and me as another BTR drove by, spewing noisy plumes of diesel smoke into the dust-cloud kicked up by its six chunky tires. “I’m sure I said stay with the vehicles,” I reminded them.
“You are not commanding officer for me,” Natasha said.
“You’re with my unit, you do what I tell you. Both of you. That’s how it works. There’s a lot of Russian activity on the road. You’re welcome to go join it.” I motioned at the BTR disappearing around a bend. “There’ll be another one along any minute.” Natasha stared at me, and I stared back, wondering what was going on behind those photogenic eyes. She blinked first, which meant I won.
Igor grumbled, although it could have been his stomach. None of us had eaten much lately.
Two Russians who would rather hang out with a handful of despised Americans than hook up with their own who were hunting high and low for their president. One and one usually adds up to two, but this wasn’t one of those times. The old Cooper would have scratched this itch. But the new Cooper? Well, let’s just say the new Cooper was aware that the old Cooper was starting to make his presence felt.
“Make that twenty-one,” Jimmy offered as yet another BTR, this one in a hurry, made an appearance.
“What I tell you?” I said to Natasha.
“Ruskies look a mite jumpy,” Jimmy observed.
He was right about that. Desperation was in the air, the kind that clouds judgment. The Russian military probably wasn’t aware of an American Special Ops team being in the vicinity when the sky shat out their top banana, and experience told me that it would be in our best interest for them to continue in that ignorance. The Russians do like to tell the world that Uncle Sam is capable of anything, maybe even of shooting down their first citizen. “We’re going to hold our position and reassess later,” I told him.
“Roger that, boss.”
“I’ll send someone to relieve you in an hour.” I edged back from the road, ushering Natasha and Igor ahead. We needed the cover of darkness to move about in open countryside, which meant another whole day to kill. But movement would only get more difficult as more Russian resources were brought in, so there was that to consider also. I wondered where the sweet spot of that particular Venn Diagram was. I was not keen about us staying in the one place, especially when the place in question offered no height advantage.
“Where do we go?” Natasha asked.
“We go back,” I said. “And sooner rather than later, you’re going to tell me what the hell happened inside your helicopter and why.” There it was – Old Cooper. I knew it was only a matter of time before he lost patience and announced his presence.
***
It was pointless returning to Fort Myer - Schelly knew that sleep would elude her anyway. The offices of the Joint Chiefs of Staff weren’t far from the Department of Defense and so, five minutes later, she walked into the clean but uninspiring box set aside for her with a desk, a chair and a sofa. Importantly, there were two computer terminals on the desk, one called SIPRNet and the other NIPRnet, known colloquially as sipper and nipper, the former for secured information and the latter for everything else. The air smelt of new carpet. Framed side-by-side photos of President Small and Admiral Kirby Rentz, each trying to outdo the other in the serious expression stakes, hung on the wall.
Schelly eyed the sofa with longing but instead took the seat behind the desk. “Right.” She opened her mouth wide a couple of times so that
the skin around it stretched, and patted her face lightly to get the blood circulating. “Let’s get this party started.”
A gentle knock on the door. It opened and a familiar face appeared – the yeoman who’d dropped off her credentials
“Mr Goldman,” said Schelly, reading his nametag again.
“Thought you might be paying us a visit, ma’am.”
“Seriously, doesn't anyone sleep around here?”
“Insomnia is part of the deal, ma’am,” he replied. “Bathrooms are 30 yards down hall. Turn right. Help yourself to coffee and cookies. There’s fresh cream in the fridge. And if you want something more substantial, there’s a cafeteria on Corridor 8, our level, at the C ring. Can’t miss it. Open 24 hours.”
“Of course it is,” said Schelly, grinning.
“Like I said, ma’am, need anything, just call.”
“Thanks…”
“My name’s Idris, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Idris.” Those big soft brown eyes - you I can trust.
The door closed.
Right. To work. Schelly unpacked her briefcase and spread Major Cooper’s records across the floor. Knowing what kind of a man he was might be helpful. Cooper…Cooper… Your name is vaguely familiar… Why is that?Touching the space bar on the nipper keyboard revealed her Common Access Card needed to be scanned prior to use. She swiped it through the gate and the screen welcomed her. Access gained, next task was to tap “Vincent Cooper, USAF” into the search bar. The window loaded with multiple hits on the OSI Special Agent and almost all of them were surprising. Whaaat? People Magazine’s World’s Most Sexy People issue? She followed the link and read the article. Cooper had provided close protection in the Democratic Republic of Congo for a rapper whose music she’d never liked – Twenny Fo – and his former fiancée, Leila. She’s cool – her, I like. Schelly read the article. The rapper was captured by one of the DRC’s warring factions, but somehow Cooper had managed to effect a rescue and get everyone out alive. Is that what really happened? Sounds like tabloid nonsense.
Shifting to his records, she located the mission report. It neither confirmed nor denied as most of it was redacted. Back to the computer with you. Schelly read aloud the article’s closing para: “Cooper was not only defending freedom, he did it with rock hard abs. What’s not to like?” Right.
Schelly shook her head. As for the abs, where’s the proof? Where’s the shirtless pic? There wasn’t one accompanying the article – just a reportage photo of Cooper in combat uniform beside a CV-22 tilt-rotor. Ho-hum.
She checked images associated with her search. There were shots of Twenny Fo and Leila, but also good clean images of Cooper in Air Force blues from a very public court martial connected to the mission in Africa, which had found the OSI special agent not guilty. There were other photos, but no images that proved the existence of the alleged rock hard abs. One image showed Major Cooper in a navy polo shirt and tan chinos talking to an attractive woman similarly dressed. Her name? Schelly clicked through. OSI Special Agent Anna Masters. Your name is familiar too. Why is that? She returned to Cooper’s file. Masters … Masters …
The answer was found in a mission rep, which she held up to catch the light. Here we are. Anna Masters, also OSI, partnered Cooper at Ramstein Air Base, Germany, where they investigated the murder of the Commander-in-Chief, United States Air Force in Europe, General Abraham Scott. Schelly skimmed the pages anew, again, most of them redacted. And here – another case Cooper and Masters worked together. She skimmed it, the gruesome murder of the US Air Attaché to Turkey, Colonel Emmet Portman. Once again, plenty of redaction, but the investigation eventually led Cooper and Masters to the Department of Energy’s depleted uranium storage facility at Oak Ridge where Masters was fatally wounded in a gun battle. Two tough, violent missions, the latter ending in tragedy.
Aside from the photo of Cooper and Masters together, the search engine could only find one other image of Masters, an official portrait of her in Air Force dress uniform lifted from Airman Magazine, where she was one of a number of contributors to a feature on activities for US airman newly posted to Ramstein. Even with her hair pulled back in a severe bun and wearing a flight cap, Masters was super attractive: dark hair, olive skin, piercing blue-green eyes … Were you single? What about you, Cooper? Schelly again checked his stats and service photo. Some women considered danger an aphrodisiac and Cooper had danger written all over him. And while he wasn’t Hollywood handsome … There is definitely something about you. Divorced, too, I see.
Turning to sipper, Schelly went hunting for Masters’s service record. Sealed. Access denied for some reason. Hmm, interesting, but you’re a rabbit hole I don't need to go down. Focus – back to Cooper. There were other photos of him in combat uniform somewhere in Afghanistan, and a particularly striking shot of Cooper’s face covered in white concrete dust, his eyes black and cavernous, bloody stripes across his lips. It was a famous photo. She remembered it splashed across the news for a time. So you’re that guy…
Another reference, a news article. She followed the link to the page in The Washington Post. The headline read, “Silver Star for Jungle Hero” and the article featured the horror movie portrait shot she’d just looked at. The article outlined the action in brief – Cooper, under intense fire during an ambush, had single-handedly cleared a two-story building of Taliban fighters. He had further risked his own life to save a wounded buddy, carrying him to relative safety during the firefight, and then stayed behind to cover the battered and bruised unit as they drove off to safety. Schelly glanced up from the screen. Purple hearts, jungle rescues against the odds, controversial courts cases, top-secret murder investigations, rubbing shoulders with celebrities, the People magazine thing, the Silver Star … There was another report from the MPs. It was a while ago. Cooper had assaulted a colonel. And then there was the court martial – another assault, this one on a US contractor. A colorful service record to say the least. Randomly sifting through reports, Schelly came upon another almost wholly redacted case. Her eyes jagged on a name – Bradley Chalmers. There was not a lot to go on other than Chalmers was involved as the Deputy Director of the CIA Tokyo station. There was criminal activity and somehow the CIA had been caught up in it and clearly Cooper and Chalmers had gone head to head. They had a history, one that somehow played into the CIA’s new Associate Deputy Director’s animosity. What happened between you two?
A performance report revealed Cooper’s most recent supervisor, one Lieutenant Colonel Arlen Wayne, was stationed at Andrews AFB, serendipitously around twenty minutes drive from Fort Myer …
Schelly’s encrypted cell suddenly buzzed, startling her. Who’s this calling? “Major Schelly,” she said.
“Morning, Jill.”
Colonel Gladston. She checked he watch. 0210. Yep, morning. “Morning, sir.”
“You’ve heard from Secretary Epstein?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Seems the ball’s now firmly in our court. Don’t let me down.”
“No, sir.” Three bags full, sir.
“The folks at Creech took their bird for a few passes over Quickstep’s secondary when I called them yesterday. A good result, apparently. I’ve been informed the intel has been uploaded to the CAOC Quickstep mission server. You might want to take a look.”
“Great, sir. I’ll do it right away.”
“Where are you?”
“OJCS – at the Pentagon, sir.”
“I don't know how you do it. Get some sleep, Jill. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Sure, I’ll just tell the world to go away.
“I’ve requested continued surveillance on Quickstep 3 until further notice. Waiting approval on that, but given the priority I’m pretty sure we can count on it. SECDEF Epstein told you whatever you need …?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She means it. Assume you have your orders. Officially, they’ll be with you later today. Major?”
“Sir?”
“Good hunting.”
The call ended.
Well, at least he didn't say, “Good luck.” Now, where was I? Returning to sipper, she cruised through the various levels of digital security, arriving first at the Quickstep portal and then Quickstep 3’s files. Burrowing into them revealed a folder titled, “Operation Smirnov”. An interesting coincidence given the names for these things are chosen from a pre-existing list… Perhaps someone out there has a sense of humor… Additional clicks showed a range of other folders including a recently added one titled “Imagery”. From this she extracted a range of scans converted to PDFs and pulled them up in a preview program. According to the numbers, the Reaper had loitered over the secondary RZ at a height of 39,000 feet for around half an hour, utilizing scanners in the thermal and visible light ranges.
At just over 0930 yesterday morning local Syrian time, the first pass picked up the reflective strips on the helmets of four US assets – Quickstep 3. Gotcha! But, right off the bat, things got weird. Additional thermal imaging showed that five additional persons accompanied the unit. Still higher power photos captured one of these extras, a naked woman apparently splashing around in a river, with two Quickstep members present. WTF? Other images showed a dark-haired man standing up in the engine bay of an ambulance with a red crescent on the roof. Schelly was perplexed. Are you pissing on the engine? Two other males, and a third member of Cooper’s team (or Cooper himself), were standing nearby. Another male was shown to be lying under the canopy of a tree, his identity obscured by the canopy. The fourth Quickstep asset was some distance from everyone. I would say you’re keeping watch on the only road in – that makes sense at least.
The story changed dramatically, though, when a large mobile force in four vehicles showed up. Photographs revealed these vehicles flying black ISIS flags. Shit. The vehicles stopped briefly to disperse armed men in a manner designed to outflank Quickstep 3 and company. Subsequent visible light photos of the immediate area around the ambulance were obscured by a localized dust cloud, probably kicked up by the incoming ISIS vehicles, but subsequent thermal images showed the smaller Quickstep force hidden by the cloud rapidly overpowered the attack. The final pass identified persons lying on the ground, presumably dead or wounded, none of which were US personnel, as all were accounted for standing around.
Kingdom Come Page 17
