by R G Ainslee
I broke in, "I've only been here a couple weeks."
The younger guy glanced down at the paper and said, "Sixteen days to be exact."
The older guy continued, "But we were looking in the wrong place. Turned out it was an Army operation." He sat on the edge of the table. "Now, what you got to say for yourself?"
"Something I don't understand."
"Now, what would that be?"
"You say you're working with Hakim." He nodded. "And she works for Hakim." He nodded again. "Why are you following her, if she's working for Hakim, isn't she by association working for you?"
He paused for a few seconds with his lips scrunched up and turned his head to the other agent. "Looks like we got some sorta philosopher here." He lowered his head down to my level. "Are you some sorta philosopher, Son?"
"No, I'm a simple cowboy from New Mexico."
"I'm gonna ask you one last time—"
"Like I said before, you don't have the need to know. You're dealing with a matter way above your paygrade. Give it a rest before you get yourself in too deep."
He reeled back in false amazement. "Lookie here, he's not only a cowboy philosopher, now he's a jailhouse lawyer."
"Need to go to the latrine."
"You mean you Army hotshots can't hold it?"
"You want to find out."
He jerked his thumb towards the other agent. "Keep an eye on him."
When I returned, the older agent said, "Now let's get down to business. Start at the beginning and don't leave out anything. You understand, Son?"
"I understand. The beginning and the end is — I'm innocent, ain't done nothing."
"In my book everybody's guilty as hell until proven innocent. Start talking."
Resigned to the prospect of an all-nighter, I folded my arms and sat up straight. "That’s all I've got to say."
I clammed up and they tried unsuccessfully to question me for the next thirty minutes. Frustrated, they left me alone until 0430 when they returned for an encore. They kept it up until 0520 when another agent came through the door.
The older guy was at the end of his rope, his voice hoarse and raspy, face flushed red. He roared at the new guy, "What the hell you want?" His voice cracked. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
The agent stood in the door and said, "We gotta cut em loose."
"Like hell we do."
The younger agent asked, "Why? What's up?"
"Message from TUSLOG Ankara came in, seems this is an authorized CIA operation."
The older agent lost it and unleashed a speculative rant on the unsanctified circumstances of birth of everyone connected to the CIA, NSA, the US Army, and the higher levels of TUSLOG. After he calmed down, he asked with a plaintive tone, "We gotta let 'em all go?"
"No, one of them, a mechanic, is being held. We found a stash of heroin in his work locker at the hangar. We can't tie any of the rest to them or the heroin. Gotta let 'em go."
Disgusted, the older guy glared at me as he spoke to the younger agent, "Agent Thomas, we're finished here."
As they started to leave, I asked, "What about Anya? Is she—"
"Oh, it's Anya now." The older man said to the younger agent, "Told you they were hooked up."
"Is she working for Hakim willingly of is she being forced?"
"She fed you that line too." He shook his head. "Thought you intel-squirrels were smarter than that. If you're an example of what's supposed to be protecting this country — Lord love a duck."
"I want my knife back."
The agent at the door said, "They get their weapons back too."
The older guy pulled my knife out of his pocket, slammed it on the table, and stormed out of the room.
Thomas, the younger agent headed for the door.
I said, "Still want to know the real story on Anya. Is she being forced to work for Hakim?"
He paused and came back into the room. "What makes you think she's working under duress?"
"She was sporting a black eye a few days ago, right after I told her I knew she was working for Hakim."
"You knew?"
"Sure, seems like it's common knowledge."
"Why you want to know? You involved with her." He shook his head. "Don't tell me you've fallen in love."
"No, nothing like that, I just want to find out. Don't like getting played for a fool, but this one… can't tell if she's lying or not."
He sat down. "Between you and me, don't go no further than this room — understand — Hakim does have some sort of hold over her, not sure what, but most likely involved her papers or maybe even drugs. She could be an addict for all I know. Hakim keeps her in a shack-job apartment close to base. I'm not surprised he may have beaten her. From what I can tell, he uses her for whatever he wants. You get my drift?"
"Yeah,'fraid so."
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Another thing, I've got a bad feeling that Hakim is using CID to help eliminate some of his competition."
"Competition?"
"My sources tell me he's involved in the local drug trafficking scene. Probably why he comes up with such good intel."
"You think he might be involved in this deal? Could be the reason he's been giving us so much attention."
The agent shot me a foreboding stare. "Not sure I want to find out." He inhaled a nervous breath. "Let me give you some advice. Watch out, he's dangerous, even the Turkish military folks on base are afraid of him. Don't go digging in to his business — not if you want to leave this base in one piece."
"Thanks, but I still want to know what the real story is on Anya."
"The best I can tell, most of her story is true. She came across the border about a year ago with her mother and ten-year-old son. No way to verify anything about her husband."
"Can he send her to the Kerhane?"
"Yes, he can do what he wants with her."
I started to respond but he cut me off.
"Listen, she's radioactive. Hakim owns her. If you stir up trouble over her, there's nothing we can do when he comes after you. Understand?" I nodded. "She's compromised and there's nothing you can do about it."
"You're right. I guess I'll mind my own business."
He stood. "You still not going to tell about your unit's mission?"
I shook my head. "I wish I knew myself, so far it's a goat-rodeo. My enlistment is up in January and all I want is to get out of the Army. Had all I can take. This dope business has made me even more wary. Something doesn't add up. But, if I find out anything that might pertain to your jurisdiction, I'll let you know."
We shook hands. He said, "Fine with me and good luck."
Chapter 10 ~ The Intercept
0600, Saturday, 6 October
The four of us left the base security office at 0600. I learned later, CID interrogated the rest of the detachment separately. Initially, they had ignored Wyndham's intense objections and his claims the unit was a CIA operation. After several fruitless hours of trading insults, they allowed Wyndham to send a message to Ankara. He almost popped his cork when they asked him why he didn't use his secret decoder ring.
About 0500, a teletype message arrived from Ankara. After a brief, but spirited exchange, the CID agents, with obvious reluctance, deferred to the CIA man.
Morgan told me, when the CID confiscated his PPK, Wyndham didn't lift a finger in defense. Before we left, Soldano asserted our weapons were mission related and demanded their return. When the head CID agent pressed him on what the mission was, Wyndham intervened, and our weapons were returned.
Soldano, Morgan, and I, dead tired from a lack of sleep, assembled in the briefing room. The ordeal had been nerve-racking, and we still had no explanation.
I told Soldano, "Thanks for getting my knife back." Morgan concurred.
"We might need them, sooner or later, the way things are going."
"Anybody special in mind?" I quipped.
Wyndham strode in to the office. Soldano gave me a wry smile and shifted his eyes to the CIA ma
n. I got the message.
"Our mission has been compromised. The base commander ordered us to shut-down immediately," said Wyndham. He sat on the edge of the desk and gazed around with disgust.
Soldano spoke first, "I think we're entitled to know what's going on." Wyndham glared at the captain, but Soldano refused to go away, "Did you hear me? I want an explanation and I want it now."
He seemed taken aback by the captain's outburst and reacted with a nervous cough. "Someone infiltrated our operation and attempted to utilize our flights to Cyprus to transport drugs." He hesitated for a moment and coughed again. "Rankin has been arrested and is in custody of Air Force CID. He placed heroin packets in the cargo compartment on one or more sorties. The scheme was uncovered when the sergeant on the receiving end was involved in a traffic accident and the drugs discovered by civilian police."
"What about my men?" Soldano was hot. "Was anyone else involved?"
"As best we can tell, he was the only one implicated on this end — so far."
Couldn't be good, this was the Army, they needed to find somebody to blame. As I found out before, it all rolls downhill and the lowest ranks always get the shaft. I started to ask about Bolan, but Soldano waved me off.
Morgan asked, "What about the rest of us? Are we still under suspicion? What happens next?"
Wyndham reacted in an assertive manner. "Someone from the agency will arrive in an hour from Ankara. I expect he'll have further information as to your final disposition."
Soldano exploded, "Final disposition — what the hell are you talking about — you know very well we weren't involved. Don't think you can leave us holding the bag. No way in hell."
"Please excuse my unartful choice of words. I will personally see to it no blame of any sort falls on you."
Soldano didn't seem satisfied but held off on further comments. I glanced over at Morgan. He shook his head.
"You are not to leave the area. Do not return to your quarters," said Wyndham. "Bear with me a little longer until I confer with my agency colleague after he arrives."
It hit me. This was a CIA operation, but the military personnel involved were from the Army Security Agency, NSA not CIA. We weren’t there for our expertise, but as potential fall guys if the caper went south. The brass hats would manipulate the facts to protect their butts from the inevitable blowback. What do they say? — Expect the worst and you won't be disappointed.
Outside the office, Soldano said, "This thing caught me totally unaware. Sorry to have doubted you."
"I understand. It's your job. To tell the truth, I wondered the same about you and Morgan."
He waited a few seconds and said, "You look beat. Why don’t you sack out for a while, we can discuss this later."
Despite his sour disposition, Soldano made a good commanding officer. The captain was interested in results, not massaging his ego, a rare breed in my experience.
I headed over to the hangar, climbed inside the aircraft, and attempted to stretch out on the seat. Consumed by an intense and overwhelming sense of dread, I realized the situation was way beyond BOHICA. Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition, a full FUBAR alert blasted away at high volume. Everything had changed. Earlier, my goal had been to make it past three months and out of the Army.
Now, my carefully laid plans lay in jeopardy. I worked myself into an advanced state of agitation. A white-hot fury built up inside. Rage powered a renewed purpose. My focus turned cold and logical: a new reality emerged with two choices — give in or fight. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight. The bastards, somebody's gonna pay for this.
Exhausted, I drifted off into a deep sleep.
* * *
My nap lasted almost six hours. Around 1330, Collins banged on the fuselage. "Hey Sarge — got burgers and fries. You want some?" Marcos held a box full of wrapped food.
"Thought we're confined to the area?"
"Yeah, but Captain got hungry and sent Pete and me to the snack bar."
The smell was too tempting, and I joined them at the workbench. Collins passed me a cheeseburger. The big MP claimed two cheeseburgers and three bags of fries. Saleh wandered up and we satisfied our hunger in silence. They had been hauled in for questioning as well. No one seemed eager to pursue the matter any further. Bolan was nowhere in sight.
After we finished the burgers, I inquired, "Anything else happening?"
Collins shrugged. "Not much … except that Penwell dude landed about an hour ago."
His arrival scotched any idea of checking in at the office. Better to lie low when Penwell was around. I still harbored a deep suspicion he was involved with the drugs … and a whole lot more. I intended to find out.
With everything going on, I completely forgot about the previous evening's intercept. I threaded the tape on the Grundig and listened to the Knife Rest from the first leg.
"Wish we had some real analytical gear, might be able to determine signal strength. What you think?"
"Dunno, I just fix em, don't know nuthin about your side." Collins listened to the end of the recording and said, "The Air Force got plenty analytic equipment over at their shop, but—"
I finished his sentence, "There ain't a chance in hell."
He grinned. "Right on."
Saleh, listening on his receiver, let out a yelp. "Hey, somethings happening, we may have some action. Come over here."
Collins said, "Hey, I didn't think the Cowboy's game started till later."
"Don't they play on Sunday?"
"No, Oklahoma State Cowboys, they're playing the Red Raiders today. We're doin' pretty good this year, undefeated and ranked number eleven."
We ambled over. Not the first time the rookie voice-intercept operator made a big discovery. The earlier times proved to be nothing special.
"The Egyptian tactical net's gone nuts. They're all over the place … sounds like they have a major operation going on."
I listened to his headphones. The voices sounded excited, but not knowing Arabic, I couldn't tell if it was an invasion or a camel race. However, there was a way to find out if a war had started.
"How 'bout the Syrians?"
"The same, something's happening."
"Listen to the Israeli radio traffic. See what they're doing."
He grimaced. "Don't understand Hebrew."
"Check 'em anyway. See if they're busy." I figured it was another false alarm.
Saleh adjusted the tuning knob and listened for a minute. He shook his head and switched bands. Moments later, he flinched and handed the headphones to me. A frantic voice babbled away in an unintelligible language I sensed was Hebrew. He tuned the dial and got the same result on three other frequencies used by the Israelis.
"Something's got 'em in a tizzy," I said. "Could be they're responding to the Egyptian radio transmissions."
Saleh seemed deflated by my lack of enthusiasm and changed the frequency.
"Let me know if it keeps up. I'll check with Wyndham."
I headed over to the office and told Soldano and Morgan about the increased voice traffic. Owing to the situation, they didn't seem to care. We had our own war of survival to fight.
Minutes later, Wyndham and Penwell strode in. Penwell examined us and moved off to the side. I avoided eye contact.
Wyndham spoke with a grave tone, "Heads up — aerial reconnaissance indicates a concentration of Egyptian forces along the canal far beyond anything observed during the recent training exercises. In addition, the Egyptians marshaled a large quantity of bridging equipment on the west bank. We are of the considered opinion—"
Before I had a chance to interrupt and tell Wyndham about Saleh's radio traffic, Spec-5 Miller rushed in. The crypto operator was excited, like Saleh.
"You won't believe this." He waved a yellow TTY tear sheet. "Gonna hit the fan big time. The balloons gone up — the frickin Egyptians crossed the Suez Canal in force and they're kickin butt."
At 1355 hours, Egyptian and Syrian force
s launched a coordinated attack on Israeli positions along the Suez and Golan Heights. Egyptian troops crossed the canal and secured a beachhead in the eastern Sinai Desert. The Syrians assaulted Mount Hermon in northern Israel and captured the IDF intelligence outpost.
Later, Egyptian missile boats shelled ports on the Mediterranean coast of the Sinai, the Gulf of Suez, and Sharm el-Sheikh at the tip of the peninsula. Egyptian naval forces also raided an Israeli oil terminal on the Sinai coast.
1830, Saturday, 6 October
Collins and I had returned from evening chow, when Burns, the detachment clerk, flagged us down.
"Hey Sarge, the captain wants you over at the office ASAP."
"What now?" I had plans to spend the evening at the club disposing of copious amounts of German beer. If I got drunk enough, I was going to confront Anya.
"Dunno, but he wants the flight crew there now."
"Are Penwell and Wyndham there?"
He gave me a contrite look. "Yes."
"Tell 'em you couldn't find me."
"Can't do that, he'll know."
Collins said, "He want me too?"
Burns told Collins, "No, just the Sarge."
"If they want me, they can join me for a beer over at the club, but make sure you tell 'em I ain't buying."
"Come on, give me a break, I gotta deal with these guys all the time."
I inhaled a deep breath, glanced at Collins, and shrugged. "Okay, let's see what they want."
Soldano and Morgan stood on one side of the briefing room. Wyndham and Penwell were huddled in a far corner. The captain checked his watch, motioned to the CIA men, and said, "Let's begin."
Wyndham sat on the edge of the table and announced with a mocking tone, "This morning the Israeli prime minister met with the American ambassador. She told them Israel expected to be attacked on two fronts at any moment." He flashed a cynical grin. "Needless to say — the State Department morons were stunned by this development. They had been assured by the Israelis and backed up by clueless agency reports a few days before, the danger of war was zilch." He sneered. "This has caught the geniuses back in DC by complete surprise. Their first word was on the BBC shortwave."
