9
Mike Ram:
The gang’s all here.
You’re surprised that they’re doing this as a semi-live meeting, not just conference-jacking into our feeds like they’ve done with every other game they sent us to run. They got us a room with a big solid table and decent chairs and individual screens. There’s even fresh-ground coffee. And guest speakers.
Henderson is here in the flesh, along with General Collins (the Joint Chiefs CSA), and Richards (looking like he’s trying to cope with a serious case of reflux). And Becker and Mann (both looking more than a little uncomfortable, though Becker looks more nervous than his older SENTAR counterpart).
You and Matthew come in fashionably late, though only by a few seconds—just enough to make Richards that much more tense. Manning and Ivan flash grins at you from their seats. Abbas and Ibrahim are too riveted on the feed to look at you. Which gets us to the guest speakers:
Not live, they flash in by holoscreen to join us as the sentry systems secure the room. One of them you recognize as the Israeli Aman director, General Sharavi. The other is a fatherly-looking bear of a man with a frosted black beard and longish, wavy hair.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce Attila Mooradian, your Mossad liaison for this mission,” Henderson is saying. “As this will be a joint-combined operation with NATO and the Israelis, Mr. Mooradian can give you the target specifics.”
“…’Attila’…?” You hear Manning mutter incredulously under his breath.
“General Sharavi,” Mooradian pointedly greets first with cheerful familiarity. “Gentlemen… Let me introduce you to your target for this mission…” He has a thick accent that exacerbates the relaxed, cheerful tone—he sounds more like a host than an operative.
The screens fill with images of a strongly built and severe-looking man with cropped gray hair and a short-trimmed beard, usually seen wearing a well-cut suit or business casual.
“Mahmoud Hatif,” Mooradian identifies the man, his voice shifting effortlessly from cheery to a distain so bare that you almost expect him to spit as punctuation. “Jordanian expatriate. Fled from his safe-house in Turkey last year, after a mysterious string of assassinations of known or suspected terrorists throughout central Europe made things uncomfortable for him…”
You catch Richards glaring at you then, just for an instant. Matthew shifts in his chair, and seems to purposefully avoid eye contact.
“…He resurfaced a month ago in Berlin, where his interests bought him a block of run-down townhouses that are serving as his new base of operations…”
Datascan pops up a series of stills of the structures: narrow two-story walk-ups stacked around a small inner court with a private garden area, accessible only through one small gate. The buildings themselves look to be deteriorating. A number of the windows are shuttered. The exterior entries have reinforced steel security doors. Another iron fence circles the property, eight feet high. Floorplan graphics show us the interiors.
“Challenging…” Ivan mutters.
“Yes,” Mooradian readily agrees. “We have reason to believe he has already hardened the site: armored shutters, security systems, surveillance jamming. Passive observation has us guessing that he has up to a dozen men onsite. Small arms have been detected, but they may also have RPGs and other heavier weapons…”
“Who is he?” you find yourself interrupting.
“Former Jordanian Special Operations,” Sharavi explains quickly, as if not wanting things colored by Mooradian’s apparent personal feelings. “He was connected to WMD dealing in the region over the past few decades, and has been identified as a support for insurgencies during that time, both in recruiting and supply. He may or may not have been involved in getting some of Saddam’s infamous disappearing arsenal out of Iraq, and he may have brokered a number of deals for nuclear materials for extremist interests. He was identified two years ago as a potential conduit for the Jerusalem weapon…” He trails off then, letting that sink in. You can feel Ibrahim get tense in his seat.
“I didn’t think we had anything hard on Hatif,” Richards counters.
“What do you need, Colonel?” Mooradian throws back, looking like his already fleshy face is swelling with blood. “We have him connected to insurgent arms for the last decade or more. He didn’t leave his accounts hidden well enough when he fled Jordan, less than a week after The Bomb. He had his hand in something expensive.”
“What’s he been doing since… Well… Since he left Jordan?” Matthew asks, apparently trying not to mention Jerusalem in mixed company.
“His wife and son were killed in a bombing two years ago,” Richards interjects icily. “The Mossad denied responsibility, but it seemed the obvious assumption, especially after the numerous ‘surgical strikes’ initiated by Israeli gunships throughout the region post-Jerusalem. One of those rocket attacks took out Hatif’s house in Jordan, directly encouraging his relocating his family to Turkey, though he stubbornly stayed put in Istanbul after they were killed there.”
So Hatif stayed put where his family died, up until you had your impulsive little spree last Fall. Though if losing his family didn’t budge him, you can’t imagine why the Grayman could have. You must be scarier than you give yourself credit for.
But it’s funny: you don’t remember Hatif’s name in any of the Wab flashware you’d appropriated in your travels.
“You have a point, Colonel?” Collins moves to shut Richards down. Richards hesitates, opens his hands, almost like he isn’t sure why he’s even here.
“General,” you slide in neutrally, “perhaps the question is whether Hatif remains an aggressive threat, or whether he’s just protecting himself at this point.”
“I do see Colonel Richards’ position, but ’retirement’ does not forgive one’s sins, Captain Ram,” Sharavi tells you directly, then flashes the slightest smile. It’s oddly familiar, like he’s trying to tell you something, recall some private in-joke. “In any case, Hatif’s full file has been sent for your review. Perhaps after studying it you may better understand our position.”
Datascan is already offering the file on your screen.
“Make no mistake,” Mooradian pushes. “Regardless of hard connection to the Jerusalem tragedy, Hatif’s established record shows him responsible for costly attacks on both military and civilian targets in half-a-dozen countries. And he is sitting on a small arsenal in the heart of the European Union. What he may be planning to do with it, we cannot say. But our most pressing concern is what would happen should any conventional CT force try to move in and neutralize his cell in such a densely populated area.”
“And you have Hatif confirmed onsite?” Richards wants to know.
“These pictures were taken two days ago,” Mooradian explains, putting up blurred shots of what looks like Hatif, surrounded by guards in heavy coats, moving from a small caravan of SUVs into the complex. There is a slight, sandy-haired young woman on one arm.
“Who’s the girl?” Matthew asks.
“Mistress. Naria Harriman. College student. Local. He apparently scooped her up out of a local boarding school last Spring and has been paying her way ever since. This considering she just turned eighteen last month,” Mooradian leers. “It is safe to assume he is no longer mourning his wife.”
“Is she still there?” Matthew keeps after it.
“We assume so,” Sharavi answers.
“Are there any other civilians onsite?” you ask him.
“Not that are apparent,” Mooradian replies. Matthew shoots you a wary look. Richards doesn’t appear particularly confident either.
“This will be a joint-combined operation,” Collins takes over quickly and firmly. “You will link up with the Mossad team onsite. The Israelis will provide support and intelligence. A NATO CT unit will also be on hand as backup, and well as specialized WMD squads. But the burden is on you, gentlemen. Tactical Team One is point. You will go in fast, engage and neutralize, clearing and securing the site with priority on preventi
ng civilian casualties. Do NOT underestimate this one. Good luck. God speed.”
Grayman Book One: Acts of War Page 41
