by Brad Taylor
He seemed bewildered. He said, “May I think a moment? Talk to my friends?”
I opened the door, saying, “Sure, but don’t waste time. That’s a commodity we do not have.”
He left, and Johan returned, saying, “It’s official. All targets are down, and they’re starting to consolidate. Only two hiccups. One, the television station is broadcasting, but so far it’s just random gunfire stories. Nothing firm. Two, those idiots killed the prime minister. He was supposed to be taken for a big show trial, but he got caught in the cross fire.”
I asked, “How does that affect the coup?”
“It actually helps. He wouldn’t stand a chance against Lenatha once he was arrested, but he’d clean Thomas’s clock. He had too many allies. He’d be out of prison in hours.”
“Good. What’s the status on the aircraft?”
“It’s circling just outside of Lesotho airspace, waiting on my call. What’s up with Thomas?”
“He’s overwhelmed, and rightfully so. I’m worried about putting him in place and somebody taking him out immediately. If he can’t get support from some block in the Lesotho government, he needs immediate international support.”
“What happened with your call to higher?”
Earlier, I’d sent a SITREP to Blaine, detailing what was happening. He was a little shocked at how fast things had progressed but was on board with the wait for the coup to finish plan for capturing Colonel Armstrong—and, by extension, Tyler Malloy. I’d asked him to have the Taskforce weigh in, getting the Oversight Council to immediately support Thomas Naboni’s legitimacy, which meant leveraging the State Department to do the same. He’d said he would try, but that was about it.
I said, “My higher is going to try to work it, but there are so many layers between me and the power brokers that I don’t have a whole lot of faith. I don’t want to rescue Thomas only to see him a week later swinging from a lamppost on CNN. We need a reaction right now. Not three days from now.”
Johan said, “I have an idea about that.”
“You do? What, you think you can get South Africa to back him?”
“No, I think I can get the US reaction you want.”
And he told us his plan.
77
On one side of the hut, I watched Jennifer and Shoshana planning their part of the mission, Shoshana tracing a route on a computer screen. On the other side, Johan was talking with the rest of the team, discussing the second stage of the plan. In the back sat Thomas and two of his friends, looking decidedly uneasy.
I wondered if I should just tell all of them to stop, because I had a feeling Kurt was about to put the brakes on the entire operation.
I’d decided we needed to do a little bit of detailed planning if we were going to try Johan’s idea, so we’d turned Alexandra’s little abandoned hut into a tactical operations center. A round building about twenty feet across with a thatched roof, it was a typical Basotho structure found all over the countryside, but now it resembled something out of an episode of Get Smart—an indigenous shack with four satellite antennae poking out of the straw on the roof.
While the team dove into contingency planning, trying to predict second- and third-order effects, I had called Blaine, connecting with a VPN through my laptop so he could see my face. It was harder to tell a man no when you were looking him in the eyes. Unfortunately, as soon as I’d connected, Blaine had told me to hold on, because Kurt was waiting on my contact.
Which was odd. The only reason we had a commander for Omega operations was precisely because operational decisions rested in his hands.
Half the screen was blank, but the other half was Blaine’s face, the background showing plywood. All he’d said was that Kurt wanted to speak to me, and to wait until he connected. Since it was closing in on ten at night in DC, I knew Kurt wasn’t hanging around just to say hello.
I said, “Come on, sir, give me a hint.”
He grimaced and said, “Your last plan raised some serious concerns in DC. I’ll let Kurt explain it.”
“What? They were good with waiting on the coup to occur, but the minute I ask for help from the State Department, it becomes an issue?”
He said, “Pretty much. Trust me, this has caused a little questioning of my own ability to command. It’s not coming from me.”
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, the right half of the screen cleared, and I saw Kurt Hale. He said, “Everyone got me?”
I said, “Loud and clear.”
Blaine said, “I copy, sir.”
I said, “Blaine told you the state of play, right? Am I assuming your vaunted presence on this VTC is because you had some issues getting the Oversight Council to approve?”
Kurt spit out, “Pike, I never took it to the Oversight Council. Not only that, but I’m close to firing Blaine for even considering such a completely insane plan.”
He was genuinely angry, taking me aback. He said, “Can you still execute what you briefed before? Letting the coup happen and then scarfing up Colonel Armstrong? Or is this a shit show now?”
Confused at the venom, I said, “Sir, yes. I told Blaine that. We just need some support from State to make sure the new guy isn’t assassinated in the first ten minutes. What’s the big deal?”
“You didn’t hear me. I mean can you execute without your chosen replacement?”
What the hell? “What difference does it make?”
“Pike, you’re conducting the literal Title 50 definition of covert action. Which means you’re breaking the law.”
He saw me scrunch up my eyes, because saying the Taskforce was breaking the law was like saying you would get wet if you went out in the rain. He continued. “You are way, way outside the bounds of our charter. I can’t believe you even brought this up.”
His glance on the computer changed, and I knew he was looking at Blaine through his camera. He said, “And I cannot believe that the Omega commander even considered this insanity. You get rope to run missions based on judgment. Of which neither of you apparently own.”
I said, “Wait a minute, sir, what’s the big deal? Watching the coup is okay, but helping with a good outcome is not?”
“Precisely! Precisely. The Taskforce exists within a charter, and I tested the bounds of that charter to give you a chance to get Aaron. I’m glad you got him, but now you’ve completely left the reservation. You’re going to overthrow an entire country?”
“Wait, sir, you knew that was going to happen.”
“I knew you were going to watch, sitting on the sidelines. Now you’re working the coup.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Pike, the law allowing covert action was specifically written to require a congressional finding before executing any activity that would affect the political, economic, or military conditions abroad, period. We fall outside of the title because capturing and killing terrorists doesn’t do that. Our charter was specifically built around the proscriptions in Title 50. For a reason. Now you’re running Operation Ajax and want me to sell that to the national command authority?”
Operation Ajax was the code name for the coup the United States conducted in Iran in 1953, when we overthrew Prime Minister Mosaddegh and installed the shah. That action had led to another overthrow in 1979, and a hostage situation culminating in a disastrous failed rescue mission executed by a unit we’d both once served in. He was making a point.
I said, “Sir, we didn’t plan or execute this thing. We’re just helping to ensure a good outcome. What’s the fucking difference? I don’t get it.”
“Pike, you sitting back and letting the coup happen is like a war photographer just documenting the battle. I can get away with that because the mission—our mission—happens after the fact. We had no play in the coup. Now you’re putting down the camera and picking up a rifle. It may sound like sp
litting hairs with you, but it’s a major, major problem.”
I leaned back, making sure nobody else could hear what was being discussed, relieved to see they were all engrossed in planning. I said, “Sir, the coup is almost complete, and we had nothing to do with it. All that matters is the outcome now.”
“Fine. That’s what I like to hear. Conduct our mission and get out.”
I glanced at Thomas, seeing him fearfully talking to his friends, the precariousness of his position starkly evident by the trembling in his hands. I knew he would now be dead regardless of his participation. The new prime minister, Lenatha, would see him as a threat and he would disappear, just like he had before, only this time permanently.
“So, no help from the mighty United States? Just let this play out?”
“Pike, get on the airfield and get me Colonel Armstrong. I’ve already leaned way out on this. Accomplish our mission.”
The truth of the matter was I could execute Johan’s plan without even reading Kurt on to it. The question was whether I was willing to. I thought about it, putting myself in Kurt’s shoes—or more appropriately, putting him in mine. Would he do what I wanted to do if the roles were reversed? It didn’t take a lot of reflection to come to an answer. I glanced at the crew, making sure they were still engaged.
Johan had told us that not only had he planned the targets to neutralize but he’d also planned no-fire areas, because the last thing he wanted was a foreign embassy to react on threats against its citizens. First on the list was the US embassy itself, but farther down was a children’s hospital in the city. Johan was afraid that if it were threatened, the United States would react, sending troops to protect it, thereby interfering with the coup. His solution to my dilemma for US involvement had been simple: Threaten the hospital. Or at least, tell the embassy it was under threat and get them to react. Get them on the street. As far as I knew, it wasn’t under duress, but it might be, and that might be enough to get the reaction I needed of American boots on the ground.
Here we go.
I said, “Sir, I’ll get to the airfield and accomplish the mission, but there’s something else you should be aware of. The coup’s gone a little bit out of control, and American citizens are in danger. Do you want me to ignore them?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s a children’s hospital over here, in the city of Maseru. It’s the Baylor College of Medicine, and it’s caught in the cross fire.”
“Baylor? As in Baylor University?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that it’s full of AMCITs and it’s under fire.”
Kurt said, “How do you know this?”
“It’s uncorroborated reporting. I don’t know for sure, but I felt I should bring it up, even though it’s not in our charter.”
He ignored that last comment, saying, “Can you do anything about it? With the force you have?”
“Not really, beyond a reconnaissance. I can’t secure it, but there’s a Special Forces security assessment team on the ground here, at the embassy. We could get them rolling, but it’ll require release by the RSO at the embassy.”
Another Johan nugget. Apparently, he’d been interrogated by some paranoid members of General Mosebo’s staff while he was conducting a reconnaissance for the coup, and in their amateurish questioning, they’d let it slip that they thought he was a member of US Special Forces that were on the ground right now.
“How do you know about the team?”
“Found out from Mosebo’s boys while we were rescuing Aaron. They thought we were them.”
He seemed to buy it. I said, “We’re probably looking at a NEO here, regardless of the outcome with Armstrong and Malloy. You might want to start that ball rolling.”
NEO stood for noncombatant evacuation operation, a template most US military forces on alert had on their plate. It was usually conducted when a situation in a foreign country went south and American citizens had to be rescued. Like when there’s a coup . . .
Kurt said, “I can make that happen, but it’ll be a while before any forces can get on the ground. Can you get me information on the hospital without affecting your mission?”
“Yeah, I can probably do that, but I can’t interface with the embassy without compromising my mission. That’ll have to happen from your end.”
Which was an absolute lie. I had every intention of lighting a fire under the embassy’s ass. What I wanted was US forces on the ground, waving the flag and providing a visible presence, and in order to do that, I needed to make the coup look like Dodge City.
He said, “Okay, see what you can find out about the hospital. Location, threats, evacuation routes, all the usual stuff. I’ll pass that along to the embassy and try to break that SF team free to secure it until follow-on forces can get there.”
“Will do.”
He leaned back and said, “Okay, how much longer do I need to bite my nails? What’s the rest of the plan?”
“It’s pretty simple, sir. No real drama at this point. We head to the airport, the aircraft lands with the new prime minister, he takes over the country, and we take Colonel Armstrong into custody. Armstrong is supposed to stay on the ground after the mercenary force flies out, so we let them leave, capture Armstrong, then fly out on the L-100.”
I stopped and addressed Blaine: “Sir, that’s still good to go, right?”
“Yes. It’s waiting on your call in Johannesburg. Thirty-minute flight.”
I returned to Kurt and said, “We wring out Armstrong and set up Tyler Malloy. We get Malloy and the triggers, and Lesotho gets a new government.”
“What’s your timeline?”
I was a little miffed at the lack of concern for Lesotho. “Sir, what’s the difference between putting in Thomas instead of Lenatha? Can’t we do that?”
“Pike, we aren’t going to have anything to do with this coup. If they want to do that, it’s up to them.”
Which was good enough for me. I said, “Roger all, sir. The timeline is within the next two hours. We’re going to roll with your final approval.”
He nodded and said, “You’ve got it. Keep us posted, and get me some information on the hospital. The last thing I want to hear is that there are dead Americans because we let a coup go forward. I need to wake a few people up if I’m going to get that SF team rolling.”
I said, “Yes, sir,” but was thinking, That SF team will be at the hospital long before you get through the Pentagon phone book.
78
Shoshana tracked the route on her computer and said, “Next intersection, take a left. You’ll see the river and a golf course. Parallel it, and follow the signs for the Maseru Bridge crossing into South Africa. You’ll run right up to the front gate.”
Jennifer said, “Okay, time to win an Oscar. How are you doing back there, Alex?”
From the back seat, Alex said, “I don’t think I’m going to have to do any acting.”
“Hang in there. The embassy will have a doctor on staff and a medical clinic. You’re almost home free.”
Jennifer saw the golf course on the left of her SUV, and Shoshana said, “Five hundred meters.” The golf course peeled away, and she saw a cutout with metal barriers, then the United States flag.
Shoshana said, “That’s it, that’s it!”
Jennifer whipped into the turnout, and two US Marines in full combat gear, complete with M16A2s, came barreling out from behind a barricade, holding their hands up in the universal sign to stop.
Jennifer did, and the first Marine trained his weapon on her while the second came to her window. Acting hysterical, she rolled it down and shouted, “There’s fighting going on! They’re shooting people! They shot my friend!”
The Marine said, “Whoa, wait a minute. Calm down. Who are you?”
“I’m Jennifer Cahill. I’m a US citizen. We work at the Baylor Ch
ildren’s Hospital downtown. They’re shooting all around it, and my friends are still there. You need to help us!”
He looked at her passport, with Jennifer holding her breath that he didn’t inspect it closely enough to realize she had no work visa for Lesotho. He did not. He turned and shouted to the gate, “Metz, Blashford, get out here and give me a hand!”
Twenty minutes later they were inside the embassy compound, with Jennifer spilling her tall tale about hostiles threatening US citizens. A man in business casual attire appeared, looking like he was going to attend an embassy briefing, except he was wearing a Kevlar helmet and had a pistol on his hip.
He said, “My name is Ian Tesler. I’m the regional security officer here. What’s going on?”
Jennifer was surprised. She’d figured it would take ten minutes of screaming to get him to appear. She had to feign ignorance of embassy operations, but the RSO—the man from the Diplomatic Security Service charged specifically with the safety and security of citizens overseas—was the one person who could create the visible presence Pike needed.
She repeated her story, ending with, “You have to get some Marines over there right now. Protect the people at the hospital.”
She knew there was no way Ian would release the Marines, as their specific mission was protecting the US embassy from harm or takeover, but it was her first step.
Ian said, “That’s not the reporting we’re getting. The fighting is localized to specific areas. Very surgical. In fact, it looks like it might just be a gang war or something like that.”
Jennifer pointed to Alexandra, now on a stretcher and being treated with an IV. “Does that look localized? She’s shot, for God’s sake.”
Ian held up his hands and said, “Okay, okay, please calm down. I know the hospital you’re talking about. It’s not near any shooting that we’re tracking. We’ve sent out a Warden message for people to remain in their homes, and we’ve had no calls from the hospital.”
Jennifer faked being incensed. “Maybe their phones are out. Did you think of that?”
