Scorched Earth

by George Galdorisi

  When no sound emerged from his captive, the frustrated interrogator drew his right leg up then let it fly, knocking the chair and Bruner backwards. As he crashed onto the ground and hit his head on the concrete floor, it all went black.

  * * *

  “Thank you for taking my call, Admiral.”

  “Jay, don’t mention it; we’re grateful we have you back.”

  “Admiral—”

  “Jay, it’s Eric, please.”

  “That will take some getting used to. I called to ask two things. First, has NCIS turned anything up yet? And second, I’d like to call Admiral Williams and thank him for rescuing me.”

  “I’ll text you Admiral Williams’s direct line; just please keep it to yourself, okay?”

  “I’ll do that, thank you.”

  “As to NCIS, I talked with their director earlier today. He’s opened a file on Dale and he assures me he’ll put his best people on the case.”

  “I’m grateful for that, Admir … Eric,… but are we treating this as a criminal case or an act of terrorism?”

  Oldham considered this. From his perspective he was doing all the proper things to help find the younger Bruner. He didn’t need to be second-guessed by a junior admiral.

  “Look, Jay; I briefed CNO on this early this morning. He concurs that we are doing what we need to do to help you find your son. Just give it some time.”

  Help “you” find “your” son? Jay Bruner didn’t like what he was hearing, and his gut told him he wasn’t going to motivate Oldham to do any more.

  “Thank you, sir, and roger that.”

  “You rest up now, Jay.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  * * *

  Mabad al-Dosari exploded when his interrogator found him and admitted that he had knocked their prisoner unconscious. “You fool. Did you kill him?”

  “No, he’s just knocked out. He’s breathing and he’s okay. When he comes to, I’ll continue my work. I’ll get him to talk eventually—”

  “We don’t have time for ‘eventually,’” the ISIS leader interrupted. “We need to know who he is.”

  “He hasn’t said a word in response to anything I’ve done. He may never say anything, no matter what we do to him.”

  “I want to know who he is!” al-Dosari shouted.

  “There may be a way,” the man replied. “We have equipment to take an adequate set of fingerprints. And we can take a DNA sample just as easily—”

  “What does that get us?” al-Dosari asked. “We don’t have the equipment to test DNA samples, and we don’t have access to databases where we can screen fingerprints—especially the fingerprints of Americans.”

  “I know that, but the Saudi General Intelligence Directorate does. We’ve cooperated with them before, and they’ve been helpful.”

  “Do it then!” al-Dosari barked. “But do it quickly.”

  * * *

  Jay Bruner had called Chase Williams and the Op-Center director had listened to his story from start to finish. He expressed relief that Bruner had been rescued and gave all the credit for it to his CIRG HRT team. Once those pleasantries were done, Bruner got right to the point.

  “Admiral, I’d be lying if I told you I thought the Navy was going full bore trying to find Dale. It seems like they’re treating this as a criminal case—and he’s the criminal.”

  “I don’t believe they think he is, Jay. They just have to follow procedures; I know I had to during my thirty-five years in uniform.”

  “I know your outfit can bend the rules when they have to, sir. All I’m asking is for you to jump in if need be.”

  “That’s more than fair. We’re running our own trap lines as we speak. If Dale pops up on our radar, I’ll let you know immediately.”

  The call complete, Williams headed for the Geek Tank via Duncan Sutherland’s small office.

  “Hey, boss, anything new?” Sutherland asked.

  “Only that I’m more sure than I was earlier that we need to keep Brian and the team in Baghdad and maybe move them north like we did before. You’ll know more when I know more, but for now, work your magic with CENTCOM and the 75th Ranger Regiment. They’re our wheels.”

  “I’m on it.”

  * * *

  Mabad al-Dosari’s number two knew his leader would brook no delays. He called his contact at the Saudi General Intelligence Directorate and told him what he wanted. His contact said he understood his urgency and would get him what he needed.

  They took Bruner’s fingerprints with a simple machine liberated from an Iraqi notary company some time ago. His Saudi contact told al-Hamdani that if the hostage was U.S. military, as they suspected he was, then his fingerprints would be on file in several databases, all of which were laughably easy to hack into. The man scanned the fingerprint sheet and e-mailed it to the address the Saudi provided.

  The Saudi contact told him he could take a DNA sample if he wanted to, but it wasn’t really necessary. If he was an American, he was certain the fingerprints would tell them all they needed to know. Al-Dosari’s man didn’t want to leave anything to chance and stuck a swab in Bruner’s mouth, put the sample in a plastic jar, and arranged for it to be flown to Riyadh. Now all they had to do was wait.

  * * *

  Aaron Bleich barely had the presence of mind to collect Roger McCord as he made a beeline for Chase Williams’s office.

  “Roger?… Aaron?” the Op-Center director said as they stood in his doorway.

  “Boss, Dale Bruner is out of the country; we’re sure of it.”

  “Tell me more, Aaron.”

  “We hac … ahhh … checked the MAC flight databases like you suggested. Lieutenant Bruner was manifested on a flight out of Andrews headed for Baghdad several days ago. He’s in Iraq, boss!”

  “Damn; that’s our worst fear,” Williams replied. “I doubt Lieutenant Bruner flew out of here to hang out in Baghdad. Roger, get with Duncan and contact CENTCOM. Have him tell them we need to get our JSOC team moving toward Mosul ASAP. Then call Brian and tell him what’s going on. Ask him to let us know how soon he can get moving toward Mosul. I’ve got to call the president.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ISIS Compound: Mosul, Iraq

  July 23, 1830 Arabia Standard Time

  Shakir al-Hamdani had been pacing most of the day, waiting for the call from the Saudi General Intelligence Directorate. He knew the DNA sample they had taken from their hostage was still en route, but his man in the directorate had told him the fingerprints would be enough and al-Dosari’s number two was counting on that. He didn’t know who wanted the information more—he himself or the ISIS leader.

  The call had come minutes ago, and now al-Hamdani climbed the stairs to his leader’s second-floor office as quickly as he could. As he walked into al-Dosari’s simple space he had a broad smile on his face.

  “So have you heard from our friends in the General Intelligence Directorate?” the ISIS leader asked.

  “I have. You thought he was American and might be special operations; and you were right. He’s a Navy SEAL—”

  “I knew it!” al-Dosari exclaimed. Then he caught his number two’s body language. “You have more?”

  “I do. Our hostage’s name is Dale Bruner.”

  “What? Is he linked to the man we tried to capture in the United States and bring here?”

  “Yes. After our Saudi friend told me his name, I asked him to find out just that—and he did. He’s the admiral’s son.”

  “But his father was rescued. Why would he come here if that happened—to avenge an attempted kidnapping?” al-Dosari asked.

  “When we captured him, he had no identification, and he didn’t have any communications devices—no phone, no radio, nothing. He must have wanted to stay completely off the grid.”

  “I understand,” al-Dosari replied. “It’s not hard to believe he’d abandon all his radios and phones, but I still don’t understand why he would come here in the first place.”

  “
Remember, we had his father hostage for several days and we would have gotten him out of the country had the people who had him not bungled what should have been a simple mission. The son must have assumed we were going to bring him here and decided to come to get him. But now we have the best of both worlds.”

  “I see where you’re going with this,” al-Dosari replied as he smiled.

  “Good! The father attacked our old compound and killed your son—as well as many others. Now you have his son and you can extract revenge and broadcast it for the father to see!” al-Hamdani replied emphatically.

  “You’re right; but I want to know more. I want our interrogator to confront him with what we know, and I want this American to understand precisely what we’re going to do to him.”

  “It will be done. Do you want me to alert our contact at Al Jazeera?”

  “Not yet. We want them to broadcast his death, but let’s tell them later. We don’t want any leaks.”

  * * *

  Brian Dawson and Hector Rodriquez were in the back of the lead Humvee of the convoy as they pounded north through the Iraqi desert toward Mosul. “We’re about ninety klicks north of Tikrit, boss,” Rodriquez said. “At this rate we should get to Mosul a little after dark. We get any more intel on where we should lay up when we get there?”

  “The Ranger regiment is working on it,” Dawson replied as he pointed at the electronic tablet. “There are a few places we can stage just outside the city. We’re heading for this one right now,” he continued, tapping the screen. “For now, Laurie’s just trying to get us close to the city without being detected.”

  Several Humvees back, Laurie Phillips rode with Major Mike Volner and Master Guns Charles Moore. The CENTOM commander had dedicated one of his two Global Hawks to this mission, and Laurie saw what the bird was seeing on her secure iPad. One half of the screen had the video the RQ-4B was piping down from its position about twelve klicks north of their convoy. The other half of the screen displayed the chat window she had open with the Air Force’s 13th Intelligence Squadron at Beale Air Force Base. As their convoy snaked its way north across the desert, avoiding major roads, she was giving the controller constant instructions, and the Air Force captain controlling the bird kept it flying just ahead of their convoy at an altitude of fifty eight thousand feet.

  “This doesn’t look so good up here,” Volner offered as he tapped the screen. “Looks like several trucks. It could be an ISIL patrol. We may want to turn to avoid them.”

  “I agree. I’ll recommend that to Mr. Dawson.”

  In the lead Humvee, the tactical net crackled in Dawson’s ear, “Mr. Dawson, Phillips on tactical.”

  “Go ahead, Laurie.”

  “Sir, I’ve got the Global Hawk flying about a dozen klicks north of us. I’ve picked up what looks like several vehicles heading south. Don’t know if they’re ISIL, but whoever they are, I don’t think we want them seeing our convoy.”

  “I don’t either. What’s your recommendation?” Dawson asked. There was an unmistakable urgency in his voice.

  “If we head east, the terrain rises pretty quickly and it gets rugged real fast. That would slow us down. I recommend we head west a bit, and then head north again. It’s flat and it doesn’t look like we’ll hit any towns—”

  “Concur. I’ll have our driver slow down. Have yours speed up and take the lead. You’re our guide now.”

  Laurie tapped their driver on the shoulder. “Sergeant, Mr. Dawson wants us to be lead vehicle. Jump ahead of his Humvee. Once you’re in the lead I’ll give you a vector. We need to head west to skirt around some trucks up ahead.”

  * * *

  Al-Dosari had given his interrogator specific instructions to soften their hostage up and gave him almost an hour to do it. The man had done his job, and as the ISIS leader entered the room, he saw a face covered in blood. One of Bruner’s eyes was almost swollen shut and his broken nose jutted sideways at a precarious angle. Their hostage’s head was bowed, and it looked like he was about to lose consciousness.

  “Stand over there,” al-Dosari barked at the interrogator, as he glared at him and shook his head in disgust. The brute had done his work too well.

  Al-Dosari stood inches from Bruner. He grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. “Look at me!” he shouted.

  Bruner complied and held his head erect.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  Silence as Bruner just stared straight ahead.

  Al-Dosari grabbed Bruner’s bloody face in both hands and shouted, “I said, do you know who I am?” as spittle hit the hostage’s face.

  Still silence.

  The ISIS leader smiled and bared his teeth. “I am the caliph and I will lead my followers on a crusade to ultimately destroy everything that you hold dear.”

  When there was no reaction from his prisoner, al-Dosari continued. “Now that I’ve told you who I am, perhaps you can return the courtesy. Or would you like me to leave you alone with him again?” he asked, gesturing toward his interrogator.

  Bruner stared at the ISIS leader for a few seconds, and then looked down again.

  “You pig!” al-Dosari shouted as he balled his fist and delivered a blow to Bruner’s head. “We know who you are, Lieutenant Bruner, Lieutenant Dale Bruner.”

  The shock of hearing his name registered on Bruner’s face and caused al-Dosari’s smile to broaden. “Surprised? You underestimate us. We know who you are, and of course we know who your father is. So what are we to do with you?”

  Bruner was still processing the fact that they knew who he was. He was certain he hadn’t brought any kind of identification with him. How could they know this?

  “You want to ask me how I know this, but your code of conduct says you can’t. But you are military, a Navy SEAL, and that code says you can tell me your name, rank, and serial number. Shall we start with that?”

  Bruner continued to stare ahead in stony silence.

  Still smiling, al-Dosari turned to his interrogator. “It’s still several hours until the evening news broadcasts on the United States’ East Coast. You can work on him for about an hour longer, but then I want his face cleaned up and I want him put in an orange jumpsuit.”

  The man just nodded.

  For the first time, fear registered on Dale Bruner’s face.

  * * *

  Eric Oldham was the person who knew the Bruner family the best. As Op-Center’s JSOC team closed in on Mosul, Chase Williams called Oldham. The VCNO had told his senior staff to put Williams through to him immediately without the usual skirmishes that EAs and other horse holders usually engage in.

  “Chase, thanks for calling. I got your e-mail, and you said you’d have more to share when you phoned.”

  “I do. All the intel we have says Lieutenant Bruner flew into Baghdad on a MAC flight. After that, the trail is cold, and he’s completely off the grid—or he was.”

  “Was?”

  “We’re working on the assumption he didn’t know his dad had been rescued and that he thought he had been brought to Mosul. Based on what you told me about the family and especially what his skipper at the Naval Special Warfare Command told you about Dale, we feared he might have decided to take matters into his own hands.”

  “And I guess finding out he was on a flight to Baghdad pointed in that direction,” Oldham replied.

  “It did, but then the next step was trying to figure out how he could get from Baghdad to Mosul. I had our J4 shop run their trap lines. Turns out, there’s a contractor in Baghdad that provides security for State Department and other U.S. officials working there. Part of their contract requires them to have GPS trackers in all their vehicles. Seems they were doing their normal inventory of trucks in their motor pool last night, discovered one missing, and traced it to Mosul.”

  “That pretty much squares the circle, doesn’t it?”

  “We can’t be certain Bruner is the one who took the vehicle—and it was never signed for—so there’s no one in that outfit we can quest
ion. But I’ve got my JSOC team headed to Mosul right now. I want them to be in position to snatch him if he falls into ISIL’s hands.”

  “Got it. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “There is. If the worst happens and ISIL captures him, we all know what’ll happen. I think your best place right now is with the Bruner family.”

  “I do too. I’ll head over to their home right now.”

  * * *

  As their convoy steered a wide arc around the suspicious vehicles, Laurie Phillips was able to keep them in her sights. She typed furiously as she worked the chat room window with her Beale controllers and they flew the Global Hawk over the suspect three-truck convoy. Brian Dawson, now in the number two truck, was active on the tactical net talking with the 75th Ranger Regiment contingent in Baghdad. The Rangers knew where the ISIL compound was, but they were still struggling to find the best lay-up spot for Dawson and his JSOC team once they got to Mosul.

  “Those trucks south of us now, Laurie?” Dawson asked.

  “They are, boss, moving south and opening. I think we can pick up our original route again.”

  Just then, the Iridium satellite phone Hector Rodriquez was monitoring came alive. “Rodriquez.”

  “Hector, it’s Duncan. Are you all still moving toward Mosul?”

  “We are. We had to take a little detour, but we’re back on track now, about thirty klicks south of the city outskirts.”

  “Good. The boss says keep going. We’ve located the vehicle we think Lieutenant Bruner used to get from Baghdad to Mosul. He may be with it. We want you to head there now. I’ve got a lat-long for you. You ready to copy?”

  “Ready,” Rodriquez replied as he wrote down the latitude and longitude of the GPS fix. Then he turned toward Dawson. “Duncan’s located the truck Bruner took to Mosul. Here are the coordinates,” he began. As he read them, the ops director punched them into his tablet. “We heading there now?” Rodriquez asked.

  “Yep, straight shot,” Dawson replied as the triangle appeared on his screen. “I’ll tell Laurie we’re jumping back into the lead.”

  * * *

  Maggie Scott appeared in Aaron Bleich’s office with the rest of her team in tow. “Got something, Maggie?” he asked as they all filtered into his small space.