The Honorable Knight

by Patrick John Donahoe

  The other whispered back, “Eeeffective.”

  Even wet and itchy from the salt water and tired from the stress of the last hour, Ian smiled at the Marine’s comments, but didn’t respond.

  When they arrived back in the torpedo room, Ian asked one of the Marines for a blanket to cover the shivering man and for two cups of coffee, one for himself and one for the prisoner.

  With his prisoner settled on a folding chair, wrapped in a blanket and sipping his coffee, Ian told the XO, “We can begin recording again.” He turned to his prisoner, and asked, “What is your name?”

  “My name is Faruq.”

  Ian replied, “Your name means one who can distinguish between right and wrong in Arabic.”

  Faruq stared at Ian. “You are well versed in my language.”

  “I’m also well versed in when I’m told truth or lies. What were you doing on the deck of the Taruq?”

  “I was only doing my job. I don’t know why we were firing the rockets. Some training, I think.”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  “I’ll tell you everything if I can have asylum in the US.”

  Ian smiled at the XO, this was the cooperative attitude he was looking for.

  The intercom buzzed. The XO answered, “Yes, I understand. We’ll be up immediately. I don’t know how you do it, but the USS The Sullivans, an Arleigh Burke class destroyer, is approaching. It will escort the Kilo to Naval Station Mayport, or to Cuba. Our leaders in Washington are trying to decide which. Your teammate is going to helo over here to assist you with your prisoner’s interrogation.”

  Serena climbed aboard the Seahawk helicopter and flew over to the USS Montpelier to assist Ian. She intended to bring Ian and the prisoner back to the USS The Sullivans, along with Colby and McLeod. Between guarding and interrogating the prisoner all four of them would be fully occupied. Once they had what they needed they would have to turn the prisoner over to lesser mortals.

  The helicopter hovered over the upper deck of the USS Montpelier and Serena lowered a rope ladder. Ian uncuffed Faruq, so Faruq could climb the rope ladder on his own. Ian followed Faruq up the ladder to catch Faruq if he decided to end it all.

  As soon as Faruq entered the helicopter cabin, Serena forced him down into a frame chair and zip-tied his hands again, then using two larger zip-ties cinched his arms to the frame. The less mobility Faruq had, the more comfortable Serena would feel. He could still recant, try to commit suicide, or try to kill them all and thereby commit suicide in the process. The Seahawk co-pilot lowered the basket and retrieved Ian’s weapons and the Seal’s personal baggage.

  Once Faruq, Ian, Colby, and McLeod were all aboard, the Seahawk flew back to the destroyer.

  Serena led Faruq and the team to The Sullivans’ brig where she locked them all, except for Colby, in one cell together. Colby would take the first break so he could shower, eat, rest, and relieve McLeod on guard duty in two hours.

  Faruq pushed the sheets and blanket aside and sat on the pipe frame cot. Serena and Ian sat on the folding chairs she had brought in earlier. There would be no video record of this interrogation.

  McLeod stood behind Serena in the small cell. He had some Farsi proficiency and was a fearsome looking character when he chose to be, a natural intimidator with bulging arm muscles that could snap a human neck like a twig.

  Serena started off with her own agenda of questions in Farsi, asking Faruq his name, his nationality, what village he was from, did he have a family, a wife, children, all of which he answered without hesitation. Faruq, Iran, Rask village, he had a wife and one child. Serena took her time and jotted down notes in her iPad mini. She looked up at Faruq and said, “I hope you live up to your name, one who distinguishes between truth and falsehood.”

  The next question would make or break Faruq’s future. “Did you know what was being used as a weapon in the MANPADS rocket?”

  He replied, ‘no’ in English.

  “Why did you try to use the MANPADS against the United States?”

  He replied in Farsi, “I am a low level soldier in the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, or ISIL. I was trained on the MANPADS because I had a talent for operating RPGs and rocket type weapons. I could not refuse the assignment without cruel punishment inflicted on me and on my family.”

  In English, to Ian and McLeod, Serena said, “Unfortunately, he’s lying. He’s not a low level soldier. He’s an intermediate level terrorist. Maybe he needs another dunk in the water to help him speak the truth, Ian.”

  Faruq squirmed on the bunk, indicating he understood some or all of Serena’s comments. McLeod stepped forward between Ian and Serena, seized Faruq’s head in both hands, and started to squeeze.

  In Farsi, Ian threatened, “If you don’t tell us the truth, you’re a dead man. Not later . . . now. You’re not an official prisoner of the United States. You don’t exist. I can throw your lifeless body back into the sea where I found you.”

  Tears began to roll down Faruq’s cheeks from the crushing pressure McLeod exerted on his skull, until finally he pleaded, “Please, stop. I will tell you all,” in English.

  Serena ordered Faruq, “Talk!”

  McLeod stepped back behind Serena.

  Faruq started, “We were trained to fire the MANPADS into a hurricane. The cargo . . . excuse my English.”

  “You mean payload.”

  “Yes. The payload in the opening can . . .”

  “Dispersal canister?”

  “Yes, dispersal can. I think it was full of some kind of thick sickness.”

  To make it easier for Faruq, Serena continued in Farsi and asked, “By thick you mean concentrated?”

  “Yes, concentrated, to be useful in much water. To make great sickness even with small amount of sickness in large amount of water.”

  “Were there any more MANPADS or dispersal canisters onboard the Kilo?”

  Faruq responded with, “We had only two MANPADS and six rockets with canisters. They were all lost to the sea during the attack. We had only a small window to launch all the rockets. It was launch them all in one attempt or fail. Failure was not an option.”

  Ian said, “The Kilo can go to hell now for all we care. Now we need to know who obtained the biological weapon and from who and where. You can be given asylum in the US if you give us all this information.”

  Faruq replied, “I am wanting you to help my family escape from Iran, also. Otherwise they will be dead and my life will be unworthy.”

  “Make your information worthwhile to us and we will do everything we can.”

  Now, apparently eager to talk, Faruq continued in Farsi, “One of the other three men on the submarine obtained the MANPADS and dispersal canisters and was our leader.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Qadir. He did all the negotiations between our leader and us.”

  “Your leader’s name.”

  Faruq hesitated.

  Serena wrote something on a piece of paper, folded the paper, then hit Faruq on the right knee with her pistol butt, hard.

  Faruq winced from the pain.

  “We know when you tell the truth and when you lie, so tell the truth. Who was your leader?” Serena unfolded the paper and held it in front of Faruq’s eyes. On the paper was written one word in Farsi, Jahangir.

  Faruq’s eyes opened wide in surprise. He held back until Serena poised her pistol to hit him on the right knee again.

  He blurted out, “Jahangir! Yes, Jahangir was the leader, but is now dead.”

  “We know,” injected Ian, “we killed him. So cut the crap and tell us what we want to know.”

  Serena held up her hand and took control of the interrogation again. “Tell us about the MANPADs and the sickness.”

  Faruq slumped down in his chair and with a look of resignation on his face answered, “The MANPADS came from a cache stolen when Iraq fell to the US. The sickness came from Brazil.”

  “How do you know the sickness came from Brazil?” Serena
asked in Farsi.

  “I met the man, I mean men. There were two of them. They brought ice chests with sickness in them to the submarine in Mariel, Cuba. One man was about fifty the other, maybe his father, about seventy. They were distinguished looking, like they owned a great deal of money and importance. They seemed to know about medical things,” Faruq answered.

  “Do you know their names?”

  “No, I did not speak to them. Abdul-qahaar did all the interaction with them. He and Qadir, the weapons expert, handled the sickness and loaded the opening cans just before we went out on deck. I was merely the MANPADS operator, the lowest man on the crew. The fourth member of the crew, Ahmad, was a MANPADS operator like me.”

  Ian said, “Thank you, Faruq. We will do all we can to help you. That is all, unless you have more questions for him, Serena.”

  “Yes, I do. Do you understand that you might have cost the lives of thousands of Americans if you had been successful?”

  “For this I am regret. I had a large hammer held over my head. I am sorrowful.” Faruq wept.

  Forty

  Ian, Serena, Desiree, and Jacques walked into the same briefing room Serena had used the month before. Serena wore calf length patent leather black boots, a tailored navy blue business suit, a minimum of makeup, and her hair nicely done in a French roll, as ever ready to provide an update on what they had accomplished and what was next. Again, the room was nearly full with representatives from the CIA, NSA, Mossad, DIA, Homeland Security, CDC, the Pentagon, and others whom the four had not met before.

  Serena, cool, calm, and collected as always, handed her mini iPad to the audio-visual operator and strode to the front of the room with her laser pointer. “The file, update15, is the presentation material,” she announced to the AV operator. As soon as the first PowerPoint slide illuminated the giant LCD display with a photograph of the Iranian Kilo, she began, “With the assistance of the USS Montpelier, the USNS Valiant with its high powered sonar, the P-3 squadron at NAS Key West, and support from many of you, we have neutralized a biological attack on the United States. We destroyed their deployment devices and their dispersal canisters were lost in the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “Three of their four operatives were killed, and one was captured.” The next slide was a photograph of Faruq. “This operative provided confirmation that the biological weapon supplier is the person we already suspected, who owns a pharmaceutical company in Sao Paulo, Brazil.” The next slide was a photograph of Karl Brandt. “Karl Brandt was brought on board by Jahangir, a terrorist who served under Osama bin-Laden.” The next slide was a mug shot of Jahangir. “The intermediate, between Jahangir and Brandt, Qadir, according to our prisoner, Faruq, was killed when we neutralized the attack last week.”

  Serena, noting a raised hand in the audience, paused, recognized the new head of Homeland Security, and asked, “A question?”

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m known as Serena. What is your question, sir?”

  “Serena, what are we going to do about a possible future attack?”

  “Meaning no disrespect, sir, I’ll get to our approach in a moment.”

  “Go ahead, you seem to be on a roll. Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Thank you, sir. As I see it, we have multiple problems and multiple organizations to solve them. The CIA, with help from our prisoner and several others of you, will destroy the terrorist network that deals in biological WMDs. Homeland Security will protect our borders. The Navy and Coast Guard will prevent future incursions into our coastal waters by suspicious ships, and the State Department will take the Iranians to task for providing, I assume with their knowledge, the submarine that ISIL used in this attack.

  In other words, we all have our jobs cut out for us. As for my team, we’re on our way to Brazil. We will neutralize the biological weapons threat from the person or persons who were behind this attack. We will find any other weapons and antidotes and destroy them except for samples to store at the CDC.” Serena switched off her laser pointer, walked to the back of the room, and tried to exit quietly with Ian, Jacques, and Desiree. As they walked out, the audience started a few at a time to get to their feet and applaud.

  Forty-One

  The four met at Serena’s home in McLean, Virginia. The house looked as though it could be the centerpiece of an article in House Beautiful magazine. The furnishings were all of the finest quality and posed as if prepared for a photoshoot. Nothing was out of place. She had outfitted the house with the latest security equipment, which reported to her iPad mini if any alarms went off.

  Satisfied that no one had broken in; she had each of them park their respective vehicles in her oversized four-car garage so they would not be visible on the street. She ran a ‘bug’ detector through the first story of the house from the front door to the kitchen and invited her friends to take seats at the dining room table. She brought cold bottles of Budweiser for herself, Ian, and Jacques, and a tall glass of iced Oolong tea for Desiree.

  Finally sitting at the table, she began, “You’re probably all wondering why I called this meeting,” with a wink at Jacques and a smile for the other two.

  The three chuckled and raised their beverages.

  Ian said, “Kudos for your briefing today. They were eating out of your hand.”

  Taking a sip of her beer, Serena added, “I just want their support when we need it, and I don’t want them interfering with us the rest of the time.”

  “Here, here,” Jacques raised his already half empty beer bottle in salute.

  Serena crossed her arms and in a serious voice said, “The four of us have to go to Brazil.”

  The other three nodded their agreement.

  “Ian and Jacques, you two need to help me find out where Karl Brandt is cooking up his biological weapons. As CEO of Tridente Pharmaceutical, he has access to all the equipment he would need, and with his money and connections could easily have an extensive laboratory hidden somewhere in the jungle, probably not too far from his headquarters in Sao Paulo. Desiree, you need to help me find out everything we can about Brandt, starting with a visit to his office. Eliminating him would only solve part of the problem. We need to destroy his laboratory, and find his pathogens, and whatever cures he may have developed. If we can, we need to gather samples of everything we find and take them to the CDC for analysis and storage. Desiree, you will go as a CDC officer, which fortunately you are already.”

  Serena paused, looked at her friends, and continued.

  “And I will go as Desiree’s assistant. Jacques will serve as our bodyguard and chauffeur, and Ian will assist us all as needed, including any heavy work.”

  “I’m sorry Serena, but I have a team op to report to as soon as I leave here, but I’ll meet you in Brazil as soon as I can. Duty calls.” Ian held up his empty beer bottle and added, “Serena, as always you have a good plan, but a man cannot work without nourishment.”

  Jacques laughed and added, “Me, too. I could use another one of those Buds before you get all serious on us.”

  Forty-Two

  Serena and Desiree sat patiently on the overstuffed calf leather chairs in the CEO’s reception area. Mr. Karl Brandt was rich, powerful and well respected in Sao Paulo and in the South American pharmaceutical business. The Brazilian government had awarded him many lucrative contracts over the years for drug development and production.

  Serena wondered how many of the diseases Brandt made money from were of his own creation. If so, he was the personification of evil. His involvement in the failed dispersal of a deadly waterborne virus via the Kilo submarine was reason enough to terminate him with prejudice. She needed to know for certain that he had provided the virus, and she already had a greater than three-sigma, or 99.7 percent, confidence that it was him and not some lower level manager. His delivery of containers to the submarine in Mariel was damning proof enough for Serena. She should have shot him there. Good enough for her, but not enough for her administrative superiors.


  Authorization to eliminate a high profile executive like Brandt required bona fide proof of his terrorist activities. In addition, the CDC required a full discovery of Brandt’s activities over the years including the viruses and cures he might have been developing. Also, the CIA, MI6 and Mossad wanted to know the identities of all the other conspirators, including his other contacts in ISIL other than Jahangir.

  Meanwhile in Karl Brandt’s office, Karl said, “Heinrich, my next two guests claim to represent the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia, USA. I don’t know why they’re here other than they requested a meeting to discuss a possible alliance to combat flu epidemics.”

  “We can’t be too careful, Mr. Brandt.” Heinrich hesitated before asking, “Do you think they’re involved with the failure of your experiment in Cuba?”

  “I doubt it. The American Navy was probably unaware of the Kilo’s true purpose. They were most likely keeping a close watch on the Iranian Kilo as a caution, and their interference may have been the result of diligent action rather than a conscious effort to interfere. Of course, our ISIL and al Qaeda sponsors may have just bungled their participation and only want to blame me for their failure. Nevertheless, Find out all you can about these two women and report back. Their names are on this slip of paper and as I said they claim to work for the CDC.”

  “I suggest you stay armed at all times. Even if these two women are legit, an ISIL agent may try to get their money back under duress.”

  “I stay armed at all times.”

  “I’ll dig into these women’s identities.” Heinrich walked to the bar, set down his empty glass, turned and walked out of Karl Brandt’s office with a nod to Karl as he closed the door. He wanted to pass through the reception area as inconspicuous as possible, but the receptionist called out, “Good morning Heinrich . . . I mean Mr. Duran.”

  Heinrich continued walking at a quick pace with a passing, “Good morning, Miss Gonzales.”