“So they start handing out weapons of mass destruction to Middle Eastern madmen?” suggested Jim.
“Yeah. That’s what’s going on. Only it’s bigger than that. They need to neutralize America. They obviously can’t beat America in a head-to-head fight. They are basically a land-based power. Any confrontation at sea might be costly to us but we would win. There is no more potent weapon system than a carrier based task force. We’d sink them just like we would have sunk the Russians.
“The Chinese have a problem. First, they have to create a threat outside of the sphere of influence. There are a lot of candidates, but certainly, Saddam is the craziest of the bunch. That’s not to say the Iranian Mullahs aren’t bonkers, but we need a proven bogeyman, so we use what’s already been created. None of the Iranian Mullahs have name recognition like Saddam, and George Bush never finished Saddam off. They were too busy working on the one-hundred-hour-war speech and playing silly geopolitical games.
“Next, they start funding presidential elections through illegal campaign contributions. A little hoopla in the South China Sea with war games, and pump up Saddam’s war machine with a few nukes and chemical weapons. Not enough to make the fellow dangerous to the homeland, but enough to threaten American interests like the Saudi oil fields and Israel.
“Finally, the Chinese sit on the UN Security Council and refuse to agree to reasonable American demands about weapon inspections in Iraq. Keep the pot boiling, and eventually it’ll blow. That’s what they are counting on. Force the US to act unilaterally against Saddam, pick your target, and move. They couldn’t care less about Saddam or the oil. They want America distracted and committed to the wrong threat.”
It made a sick kind of sense. “You figured this all out this afternoon looking at some pictures?”
Brian shook his head, chuckling. “No, no. I wrote this scenario up this past summer. The Russians always used the chess paradigm. The Chinese prefer indirection. You know, martial arts and that sort of thing.”
“I’m vaguely familiar with the martial arts kind of thing, but I’m not following you exactly,” replied Jim.
“Well the martial arts thing is split into two basic systems. Use your attacker’s force and power against him—that’s basically Aikido. Or, you cause your opponent to believe the fake move just before you punch their lights out—that’s Tae Kwon Do. I think the Chinese have merged both concepts into their current strategy.”
Stillwell might not be in fighting trim, but he was a great talker, and Jim could appreciate the thought behind his words.
“Besides, you’re the data expert right?” asked Stillwell.
“Amongst other things,” replied Jim.
“Do you think we’re simply going after a couple of barrels the Chinese delivered?”
Another scenario brewing? Jim had his own reasons for going back to Iraq. In part, it was revenge and closure. He intended to wreck their database and cripple the Iraqi weapons program as effectively as he could. Knowledge was power in any complex data model, and weapons’ research was a complex data model. Destroy the model and the backup tapes and he could destroy the program. It was payback for Jerry’s death. This time he could come back home knowing he did his best.
Harper chose, for the moment, to ignore what he knew to be the truth.Vengeance is Mine, I will repay. He had no illusions as to feeling better about Jerry’s death after this was over. He simply wanted to make the price for his blood cost the Iraqis more than it had. Jim had considered what he intended to do. Stillwell was not the internal threat, and probably Captain Burns had not been given any dirty assignments either. That left the other three.
“Well, do you?” repeated Brian.
Jim returned from his musings and shook his head. “No, we’re not going to find the barrels. We’re going to find where the barrels were sent.”
“We need a copy of their database,” continued Brian. “If the Chinese and Russians have been feeding them weapons material and research we could learn a lot about Chinese advances.”
“I don’t think we’ll have time to make a tape backup. I suspect the Iraqis will be on top of us pretty fast.” Especially if the Iraqis knew they were on their way. The nagging doubts regarding the last mission continued to haunt him.
“No, I thought we could just steal one.” Jim appraised his seatmate again. “Look, I don’t want to get shot up either. They told me we are going in to open up their database and transmit back to Uncle where everything is. I think that’s a pipe dream.”
“Really?”
“Sure.Tomahawk Cruise missiles are wonderful things, but mountains can absorb a great deal of damage. The only reason Saddam still has a weapons’ program is due to camouflage. He hid everything under rock and sand in the desert. We aren’t going to get this stuff with air strikes and missile attacks.”
The old adage came to Brian. “What you’re saying is very expensive. The only way to secure these systems is with a soldier and a rifle on the ground.”
“That’s right. We need the ground pounders again.”
Duty, honor, country was a soldier’s call. The seeds of the second Gulf War had been sown by the failures of the first. How many would die this time to satisfy political rather than military objectives? Jim closed his eyes.
“You’ve been to this Data Center,” stated Brian. His mind seemed to zip from subject to subject like Nintendo games flipped from screen to screen.
Jim nodded. “Once.”
“They’ve probably upgraded computer systems since then. How do you propose to get inside?”
“I built some back doors the last time. Those back doors should still be there. I never really got to test what I had done. You see, the bad guys showed up and started shooting.”
“You have an account on the UNIX system?”
“Uh-huh. We also had a satellite modem. It was powered by a solar battery and connected into their fiber network. They must have found the modem or unhooked that segment of their network. It went dead six months later. From what I understand, we got a pretty good idea where things were in late 1992.
“That was five years ago. They’ve shuffled things around since then; moved to new holes—so to speak.”
Stillwell glanced back at the Marines who were catching up on their sleep. Not a bad idea since he doubted they would get much once they hit the ground. “So why are you along for this joy ride? I mean, I don’t get the idea they could simply hand you a piece of paper and reenlist you.”
Harper’s game face fell back into place. He pulled away to the icy cold core inside and back to a time he thought had ended. “Unfinished business.” The eyes were flat and the voice cold.
“Huh? You’re along because you want to be here?”
“I’m not sure anyone would understand why I decided to come back.” He paused, wondering why he decided to try and explain this to a stranger. He might need this stranger to watch his back in less than twelve hours. “I left a friend in the desert five years ago. He was with me when we went in the last time. I don’t think the Iraqis have paid enough for his blood.
“The other reason might sound self serving and prideful, but I’m the best man for the job. I know where the Data Center is. I know the layout and I know the technology.”
Stillwell calculated his response. “Besides, you want a shot at the guy who killed your buddy.”
Jim simply nodded.
PART 2
Blood and Honor
“There is need of a sound body, and even more need of a sound mind. But above mind and above body stands character—the sum of those qualities which we mean when we speak of a man's force and courage, of his good faith and sense of honor.”
Theodore Roosevelt 1913
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Persian Gulf
Sunday, November 16, 1997
6:00 A.M. (GMT + 3.00)
The ninety-seven-thousand-ton carrier sliced through the turquoise Gulf waters—the block white lettersCVN-73 prominent on her bow.
She was better known as theUSS George Washington . Her four-and-half-acre flight deck was relatively calm as two F-14Tomcats lifted off for combat air patrol. The snarling snake insignia of the VF-102Diamondbacks glittered in the morning sun off the twin tailed fighters—members of Carrier Air Wing One were taking up flanking position around the carrier.
EachTomcat is capable of tracking twenty-four targets simultaneously. The potent AIM-54 Phoenix system has a published range of ninety nautical miles. With fire-and-forget-me capability, theTomcats could easily repel an attacking force several times their size. Standing orders were to protect the carriers in a three-hundred-sixty-degree configuration; for the forces hostile to the carrier task force could come from any side of the Gulf.
A third aircraft followed theTomcats into the crystal blue skies over the Gulf. ASeahawk SH-60F helicopter lifted to the north towards Al Faw. Once airborne, a second flight ofTomcats would be launched to follow theSeahawk on its journey towards the Iraqi coastline.Desert Storm had devastated the Iraqi Air Force, but it still existed and the potential for mischief could never be underestimated. TheTomcats ensured the Iraqis would never get within a hundred miles of theSeahawk .
The twin General Electric T700-GE-700 engines sent them towards the coastline at one hundred fifty knots. A four-man crew, three Navy divers and Jonas Benjamin, hurtled towards the inevitable discovery waiting for them in the waters south of Iraq.
The crew had been outfitted with flak vests, and the window mounted 7.62 machine guns were fully loaded. The only one aboard who had any idea as to why such precautions were being taken was the civilian sitting ramrod straight in the rear compartment. He had conferred with the divers before leaving the carrier, and he had provided a map with the approximate destination. They would be within half a klick of the spot they were looking for.
As to what they were actually going to find, no one really knew. The body bags stacked in the rear of theSeahawk suggested something unpleasant. The additional oxygen masks and special breathing gear suggested something considerably worse than a couple of floating corpses.
Jonas Benjamin held a briefcase tight to his flight suit. Inside were the entire series of U-2 photographs, plus additional enhancements from the National Reconnaissance Office of the area since the encounter. Every attempt had been made to track the Iraqi vessel as it pulled away from theHan Class submarine. It apparently had disappeared into the gloom.
He had had little sleep since the briefing yesterday morning with the National Security Advisor and the Deputy Secretary of State. He had left the Pentagon directly for Andrews, and found himself strapped into the rear seat of an F-15Eagle . From Andrews to Kuwait City, it had been a rocket ride at speeds approaching Mach two. Now he was the forward edge of an intelligence operation that could lead him just about anywhere.
A command post had been established on theGeorge Washington and a second post was inside a hanger at Al Jabar. The Navy was not unfamiliar with accommodating the intelligence community. SinceDesert Storm , several black ops had been staged from the floating American armada. The Kuwaitis were very happy to do whatever the Americans asked, and they rarely asked any questions. Liberating one’s homeland has a way of focusing one’s attention on reality. The people of Eastern Europe honored Ronald Reagan by putting his photograph on their fireplace mantles for defeating the Soviet Empire. George Bush was equally honored in the homes of Kuwait. Ten months and several thousand lives had driven a hefty stake through the heart of Arab unity.
Jonas Benjamin checked his watch. By now the infiltration team assembled by Louis Edwards would be leaving Andrews Air Force Base for the Gulf Region. They were scheduled to land in Kuwait City late this afternoon. Hopefully, Jonas would have some answers for them.
The pilot looked back into the cabin and keyed his microphone. “Mister Benjamin, we’re coming up on target.”
Jonas looked through the open side door of theSeahawk . “Okay, we’re looking for debris and anything that shouldn’t be here. That includes funny looking water, dead fish, and so forth. Depending on what we find, we’ll figure out how to safely retrieve it.”
The pilot glanced at his copilot and both turned to stare at their passenger. They had done some strange things for the spooks before, but never had anyone bothered with dead fish before.
“Yes, sir.”
TheSeahawk slowed to ten knots and began a slow scan over the surface of the ocean. The brightening day found a solitary helicopter bobbing across the surface of the Gulf looking for bodies. The radar detectors indicated land based signals from Al Faw, Kuwait City, Abadan, and Bandar-Khomeyni were tracking them. The Iranians were smart enough not to light up American aircraft with attack radars. They had learned the lesson clearly in observing the response elicited from the Americans each time the Iraqis were foolhardy enough to try.
It was one of the gunners who spotted the yellow suited corpse rolling in the waves below. Jonas moved quickly through the cabin to stare through binoculars at the body. It rolled on the surface, kept buoyant by the containment capacity of the suit and the gases released as the body decomposed.
Success is generally greeted with a pat on the back. Jonas could only feel the bile gurgling at the back of his throat. Their worst fears were being confirmed, and Stillwell’s scenario seemed to be playing itself out. Jonas had a copy of it in his briefcase. He dare not think of the connections between Chinese mischief, campaign contributions, submarines delivering deadly product, and Iraqi madmen. He lowered the binoculars and turned to his divers.
He pointed through the open side door at the bobbing yellow mass. “That corpse is possibly contaminated. It is very important that none of you touch the body or the material. While it is reasonable to believe the sea water has washed the surface contamination away, we can’t be sure.” He paused. “If anyone of you wishes not to go, that’s alright. No one—I repeat—no one will count that against you.”
Jonas had given the same speech aboard theGeorge Washington . It was the second time he had offered the divers a chance to avoid deadly contact. He had explained that they were dealing with a chemical or biological warfare product, and that the hazards were unknown. It was the first time for the helicopter crew.
A second time the pilots looked across to each other. “Excuse me, sir, did you say chemical warfare?”
Jonas turned to the pilot and nodded. “Yes. I have every reason to believe that man down there was exposed to something thirty-six hours ago.”
The lead diver interrupted to exchange, “Sir, we know the risks. We were trained to do this job, and I appreciate your concern. Not everyone cares like you do, sir. But we’ve got a job to do.” He turned to the pilot. “We’ll double bag the corpse and load it into one of the skiff canisters for transport. If you can get about ten to fifteen feet off the deck, we shouldn’t have too much trouble.”
The pilot nodded and keyed his microphone. “All right, you heard Mister Benjamin’s explanation. We’ve got a job to do, let’s get to it.”
Jonas had a character defect for his chosen profession. It was called a conscience, and he detested sending men into situations they were ill prepared to face.
TheSeahawk swept in low towards the target. It came to a steady hover about a hundred yards from the floater. The pilot did not want to risk disturbing the body with the downwash from the rotor blades. He brought theSeahawk low as the three black suited divers slid from the side door into the sea flippers first.
Jonas watched them disappear beneath the waves and turned his attention to the floater in the distance. He lifted the binoculars back to his eyes and pressed the telephoto zoom key. The image snapped towards him in a blur, before the glasses had a chance to recalibrate the focus. Enemy or not, no one deserved the ignoble dumping into the sea.
A wave slapped the floater’s faceplate, rolling him to reveal the dissolved remains of a face. Jonas gasped as the haunted eyes stared back. The neoprene faceplate had shredded corrosively and the floater's face had suffer
ed great damage. It had the appearance of being torn by an angry beast. The eyes bulged as if they were struggling to escape the skull, and the lips were pulled back in a startled, strangled rictus. The skin was scarred with green and black stripes.
No stray bullet had killed this man. Something far more sinister had invaded his body and ripped the life from his very being. The savageness of the expression and obvious pain inflicted suggested their worst-case scenario was beginning to unravel. Should Saddam mount this terror into warheads and launch them toward Israel, the Jewish State would retaliate with a nuclear firestorm that would level Baghdad and engulf the world in a dangerous confrontation.
“Mister Benjamin, I have FLASH message traffic coming in for you.”
Jonas dropped the binoculars and turned his unfocused gaze towards the pilot.
“You can take it on the monitor in the passenger compartment, sir.”
Jonas nodded dumbly. He cleared his throat. “Could you make sure the cameras are turned on to record the body’s recovery, and indicate the date, time, and global positioning coordinates? Thank you.” He turned towards the rear monitor. The world would need evidence, and the evidence must be unimpeachable.
He flipped the monitor on. The screen warmed up and scrolled the first twenty-four lines of the message.
FLASH MESSAGE VIA USS GEORGE WASHINGTON
EYES ONLY JONAS BENJAMIN
FROM NATIONAL COMMAND AUTHORITY
NATIONAL SECURITY ADVISOR OFFICE
SATELLITE RECONNAISSANCE SUGGESTS RECEIVING IRAQI VESSEL DID NOT ATTEMPT TO NAVIGATE THE SHATT AL ARAB WATERWAY RIVER TOWARDS AL BASRA FOR PACKAGE DEPOSIT. BELIEVE VESSEL WAS SCUTTLED BY CREW TWENTY (20) TO TWENTY-FIVE (25) KILOMETERS SOUTHWEST OF AL FAW BETWEEN THE JAZIRAT BUBIYAN AND THE IRAQI COASTLINE. YOU HAVE COMPLETE NATIONAL COMMAND AUTHORITY TO PURSUE THIS TO CONCLUSION. CINCFIFTHFLEET HAS BEEN APPRISED OF YOUR STATUS.
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