Fueling the Rage

by Jim Wilson

  *****

  Bill and Sam had a two-man job to do in Cameroon. It was time for a name change and they became Aukmen and Mohammed. Cameroon was three thousand miles to the west of Somalia. Douala was not Dhuudo, it was a real city, and it would take more than photos from a satellite for a winning plan. Bill Crane would change his name many times in the future, but now he had a partner who knew his real name. He was getting ready, but he was not ready.

  Sam learned because he too had a teacher. His teacher did not give lectures, but fought side by side with him. Now Sam made the choice to come out of retirement and fight side by side with Bill. Bill just had his first real life lesson. There was only action, and little went wrong. There were no friends lost or returned fire. There was killing, and Bill handled it well. Sam would do Cameroon with Bill, and if they were lucky, then the two of them would go back to Mac Dill.

  They had a plan for Cameroon. The carrier headed to Malta, where the other Seals would fly back to San Diego, but Sam and Bill had new travel identities. Mohammed and Aukmen were now Iranians posing as cleric brothers. They both spoke Arabic well and in the last ten days they had both developed dark black beards. They wore long white cleric robes and hoods covered their heads. It would begin with a boat trip to Egypt and then the long train ride to Douala, Cameroon. The plan was to stay at local hotels, eat local food, and rent local cars. Each would carry their Iranian passport, one thousand Euros, one million units of the currency used in Cameroon called CFAs, and a Visa card with their new name. Unlike most clerics, under their robes they would each carry a Glock 23, with two extra thirteen round clips and a long knife. Their robes had special lightweight linings made of Kevlar. Both carried a medium size suitcase that contained a change of clothing, a second robe, and personal items. “Bill, this is not the Orient Express,” Sam said.

  They boarded their first train in Alexandria, Egypt to begin their trip to the south. They had second-class tickets and the carriage was old but clean. There was no air conditioning and the windows were open. It had rows of wooden seats that held three adults each. Clerics hold special respect in Muslim countries and their size turned Egyptian heads. Sam and Bill were much taller than and twice as wide as anyone they saw. They entered and walked down the aisle looking for seats. Four Egyptian men saw the clerics. They were occupying seats that normally held three and they willingly offered their seats to Sam and Bill.

  Bill took the window and Sam the aisle. The seats were wide enough for them, but their knees needed to be turned to the side. The overhead was full and they held their suitcases in their laps. Shortly, a conductor approached checking tickets. He stopped at their row and waved at the bags above them in the overhead. The owners of the bags rose and snatched them. The conductor placed their bags in the now empty space above their seats.

  The train stopped and picked up riders along the way. By their last stop before Cairo, there was no standing room, except for the space in the aisle beside Sam. In Alexandria, they changed trains and headed to Cairo. For the Cairo to Khartoum, Sudan train, they changed to first class tickets on a modern and shining silver coach. The seats were individual, comfortable, and leather. The dining car had white tablecloths and a fine menu. After dinner, they returned to their seats and slept until the border of Sudan. Sudan soldiers carrying AK47s walked up the aisle checking the papers of the passengers. A soldier checked their papers and in a kind voice, told Sam that if they were tired they had two beds in the officers’ quarters that they could use. Then they could pick up the train again in twelve hours. They retrieved their bags and followed their new friend.

  It was too late for dinner, but they would meet for breakfast in the morning. They shared a single small, but comfortable room with two small clean beds. It had a bathroom with a shower, which was a luxury in Sudan. They did not talk and were careful to hide their weapons from view. They were vulnerable to a possible camera, but for the most part, they felt it was a gift to the clerics. They washed and removed their boots, but otherwise they were fully dressed. Guns and all, they quickly fell asleep and the morning came after a good night’s sleep.

  A knock on the door alerted them that breakfast would be ready in thirty minutes. They both had Iranian lives that they had rehearsed. On time, they entered the breakfast room and approached a table that would serve about ten, but there were only three officers sitting at the far end. The senior officer was a Colonel. He was a small thin man with dark black skin and strong black eyes. They bowed to the officers, and took seats at the table. Two neatly dressed Sudan women served the food. They had a classic English breakfast of meat, eggs, toast, fried tomato, and potatoes, but they replaced the ham with a tasty substitute.

  The Colonel asked questions in the form of small talk about where they were going and why they were going there. They spoke in Arabic and Sam told them that Iranian charities were looking for ways to help in Cameroon. Their job was to go there and see what action they could take. The officers were pleased with the answer. The Colonel had a brother-in-law that was high in the government of the Central African Republic. He had called him the night before and they decided that if during their trip, the clerics were hurt or worse kidnapped, it would be bad. The Colonel could not take the chance.

  “For your safety we can’t allow you to travel unprotected. We’ll drive you to the border of the Central African Republic and from there my close relative will arrange to escort you to Cameroon.”

  “We’re poor clerics, how can we repay you?”

  “Your safety is all that I require.”

  In the middle of nowhere, they knew that they were talking to a powerful man.

  The Colonel knew the clerics were dangerous men. He wanted them out of his country as fast and safely as possible. He also knew his brother-in-law would want the same. Three Land Rovers with Sudan flags waving from their front fenders pulled up.

  “Our visit to Sudan must be kept secret, Colonel,” Sam said.

  He agreed with a nod of his head. One of the lesser officers beckoned for them to follow, as he led them to the rear Land Rover and opened the door for them to enter. On the roofs of the first two cars were mounted machine guns and sitting behind them were men that looked like they could use them.

  It would take two long days to travel the twelve hundred miles. Along the way, they stopped for prayer, fuel, food, and sleep. All of the stops were at military bases or small guarded outposts. The trip was pleasant and cool in the air-conditioned Land Rover. During the trip, they had conversations about Sudan and Iran and the officer was amazed how fast Bill, now Aukmen, had learned the Sudan language. Aukmen claimed it was a gift from Allah and they all agreed. When they reached the border of the Central African Republic, their new ride was waiting for them. An older black Mercedes 600 was waiting for them and again two armed Land Rovers led the way.

  The Sudan officer introduced Mohammed and Aukmen to the new drivers and immediately they drove to a military base. Driving while it is dark was very dangerous in the Central African Republic, even for the military. This part of the trip took two days to travel eight hundred miles. Along the way, they stopped for prayer, fuel, food, and sleep. Near the Cameroon border, they were delivered to a first class train to complete the rest of the four hundred mile trip to Douala, Cameroon. They had a sleeping room with two fold down beds and no tickets were necessary. The next morning, the train pulled into the large Douala train station.

  It was the end of a long journey and they each held their bag as they left the train. They both had the same feeling, as if someone from their family should be there to pick them up.

  Sam was the first to speak, “I guess we’re on our own from here on out.”

  They were approached by three men dressed in robes identical to the one’s they wearing.

  In Arabic the tall one asked, “Are you the cleric brothers from Iran? Our mullah offers our mosque for your service.”

  Bill replied, “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Our car’s w
aiting.”

  They were driving a blue Mercedes that was similar to the ones Mo and Ike used. It was a twenty-minute drive to the mosque, which was on the edge of town. Several times Bill rested his right hand so that he could feel the Glock 23 below his robe. Sam had an idea.

  They arrived at the mosque and the Mullah Torka Quanah walked out to greet his visitors. Sam bowed to the mullah and asked for a private audience. Bill was ready for a gunfight, but wanted the name of their contact first. Sam asked the mullah if he had called anyone about them being in town. The mullah told him that only a high official from the Central African Republic had called him. Sam whispered that he feared the Americans and that any call could be intercepted and that meant the possible death of all of them. He actually feared a call to Iran, because their cover was not that deep. Not only did the mullah agree about the phone call, but also the statement instantly cleared any fears from the mullah’s mind about these two big Iranian clerics.

  The mullah was a big talker and at lunch, he bragged on the quality of the suicide vests that they made. He told of the French contact that had given his mosque almost a million Euros. The contact was Adella Ali, a name Bill would not forget. Bill asked if it were possible to see the vest making operation. The mullah could not wait to show them. Soon after lunch, the mullah and the three clerics that picked them up drove them in a large Ford van into the city. They arrived at a warehouse and parked the van.

  Sam thought. The problem with these Cameroon people was that they are actually likable. They entered the warehouse with the mullah leading the way. He gave a tour and his excitement about the operation would have been more appropriate if they were making baseball gloves and not suicide vests. After the tour, one of the workers offered them tea. They all sat at a long wooden table. The mullah was at the end of the table next to Bill and two clerics sat between Sam and Bill. To Sam’s right was the third cleric, and on the other side were the five workers.

  Bill’s hands were out of sight under the table and he withdrew his Glock 23. Sam pulled his knife, his Glock 23 and knew the time could never be better. They raised their pistols and each fired a single shot into the back of the heads of the clerics between them. Sam rotated to his right and fired twice into the third cleric. Bill put a single bullet directly between the eyes of three workers across the table from him. Sam fired two chest shots into the other two workers. Before Sam’s targets collapsed, Bill finished them with a few nice clean headshots.

  That left the mullah, Bill, and Sam alone in the warehouse. The mullah, paralyzed with fright did not move from his seat. Sam held his knife to the mullah’s neck while Bill worked. He went to a bench and carefully picked up a completed suicide vest, and dressed the mullah in the vest. Bill attached a long rope to the vest’s wristband. Sam tied the mullah’s legs to the table, his hands behind his back, and took the keys from the pocket of the dead cleric driver. Then he tied a line to the vest’s yellow safety.

  They walked out of the warehouse, both feeding out line along the way. As they left the door, Sam pulled his line tight and that released the safety on the vest. As they headed towards the van, two police officers on bicycles approached them. “Is someone yelling inside the warehouse?”

  Bill answered, “He had an accident, and we are going for help.” The police officers walked towards the building to investigate.

  Sam ran fifty feet to the van. Bill walked and fed out the line. Sam got in and started the engine, and Bill joined him. They drove away and Bill’s line tightened. The suicide vest exploded, and secondary explosions incinerated the building.

  *****

  In the deep background of the CIA were small groups of skilled professionals that filled in the operational details. They completed identity, clothing, and travel arrangements for agents on missions. Part of their job was to develop escape plans. They found a small airfield about thirty-five miles north of the warehouse. There were other plans, but the trip to the Mbanga Airport was a natural ending. Sam turned onto a small dirt road and stopped. They opened their bags, removed jeans, and black tee shirts. With their knives they cut open the inside of their suitcases, removed South African passports, detailed driving instructions, and new Visa cards. Both dressed in their new outfits, stuffed their robes and knives back into their suitcases, and tucked their Glock 23s into their waistbands. They pulled their tee shirts down covering their pistols, and went on their way.

  Tracy owned a twin engine Cessna. Someone hired him to wait with his plane day and night for thirty days. The South African understood and followed his orders. He was to take two fellow South Africans to SAL, an island complex with an international airport off the west coast of Africa. If his passengers arrived during the period, he would receive another generous payment at SAL. Tracy was washing his Cessna as a Ford van pulled onto the small airfield. Tracy thought. I believe I see my South Africans friends.

  Bill asked, “Are you our ride?”

  Tracy opened the right door to the four-passenger plane and Bill got in the back row and Sam into the copilot seat. Tracy took off from the grass field and headed the short distance to the shoreline. Once he reached the Atlantic Ocean, he dropped to fifty feet and followed the course to SAL.

  Sam said, “Hand me your suitcase and Glock.” He opened their suitcases, emptied the clothing out the side window, and then tossed out both open suitcases. Then Bill handed over his Glock 23, and Sam hurled both pistols into the deep water below.

  They were asleep as the Cessna touched down. Tracy knew he just earned another fifty thousand dollars. Sam and Bill felt safe as they saw Delta Airlines signs in and followed them to the ticket counter. Bill spoke, “You should have a reservation for Robert Krane.”

  The representative answered, “How many bags are you checking?”

  “No bags. Is there a shop where I can buy some clothing?”

  “First class tickets to Tampa International Airport, by way of South African Air through Kennedy International. You have four hours until the flight. Just before security is a duty free shop, and you can purchase clothing. Our first class lounge is next to the duty free shop.”

  Sam called the General and gave him his schedule. A car would meet them in Tampa. Bill reviewed the past few days and marveled at how much he had learned about his job. His new task would be to find Adella Ali.

  With dark and toxic education

  And joyous memories of the dead

  Brings the sinister revelation

  Of greatness poised within his head

  Chapter 5

  Clean-shaven and wearing their new sports coats, they were the first to leave the aircraft after landing in New York. They followed the signs to immigration and as they entered a large hall, they saw a familiar face. It was the Chief. They all shook hands and followed him away from immigration to a secure section of the airport. The Chief showed his ID, a guard let them pass, and they entered a military section with two gates and an officer’s club.

  “I have presents for you.”

  They entered the club and hanging in the coat closet were two complete dress white naval uniforms. To the right were two barbers waiting to cut their hair. All Seals hated hair, and ten days’ worth was too much.

  Sam looked at his ticket, “We’re short on time, and we won’t make our connecting flight.”

  “Sirs, the Air Force has a G5 waiting for us at the military gate. We’re going private.”

  *****

  Muzuk was an oasis town in southwest Libya, Africa. Settled as a fort town, the settlement dated back to the Ottomans. The young Mohammad Gresera was there. He felt safe, and this was one of the few places on the earth where it was almost true. The Sahara Desert in all directions protected him. Everyone in the town was his employee and almost seven thousand people were on his payroll. It was a give and take proposition; there was no crime, no hunger, and no alcohol. Everyone could come and go at will, but interviews and discouragement met visitors.

  Before Mohammad, there was no health care,
so he built a clinic and a small hospital and staffed it with qualified doctors and nurses. Imported medical drugs and diagnostic equipment routinely saved the lives of villagers. New agricultural training and modernized farms allowed them to grow much of their own food. Schools taught both boys and girls to levels near French standards. In the future, plans for additional training would give students specific job skills that they could use locally. If the town needed visiting workers, their stay in Muzuk was limited to six month at a time. The price for this endeavor was a negative cash flow of twenty million Euros per year, but Gresera’s net worth was now approaching twenty one billion Euros. Each day his projected income was over two million Euros and he felt ten days of work was a fair price to live in a happy place.

  Mohammad was wonderful resource for the once poverty ridden town. It was difficult to understand the wide range of his behavior. He was pleasant and brutal. He was a good manager and a horrible psychopathic killer. The killing of his family would sometimes replay in his mind, and in a way, he viewed it as a fond memory. It would begin by building the case that his father was a wealthy man, but he would never have supported what Mohammad really needed to do. Any cleric worth his salt will tell you that leaving the faith means death. It was harder for him to kill his mother, but she was only a woman. The mullah recommended taking her first and it was a very good suggestion. The mullah had given him a knife with a slightly curved fourteen-inch blade used to kill farm animals. His sisters were easy to kill. He cleverly adapted to the presence of a second person with his father death, and the little priest that jumped onto the blade of his knife was an added prize. The memory without all the details had a way of strengthening his faith and he said aloud, “No one remembers or cares anymore.” He ended the review of the event with a short prayer, “Allah Akbar.”

  *****

  The Chief Inspector had almost perfectly recreated the details of homicides. After Gualt finished his workday, he would sit in his favorite chair in his apartment and review his most important unsolved crimes. This was his tool to solve crimes, and help him retain enthusiasm as time passed. He would shut his eyes and viewed the crime in his mind as a play. He would start the process with an introduction. “Oh yes, the Green Murders. Let me see. His mother was cooking dinner. Junior approached her from behind. He raised his knife, and plunged it into her back. He withdrew the knife. She did not fall to the ground, but turned to face him.” He would often add emotion to the process. “The expression on her face showed that she did not understand, and his answer was to slash her throat. In their private dining room, his sisters were watching television and drinking wine. He stood close behind them, and made two fast moves with the sharp knife. Slash, slash and it was over for them.” Gualt had trouble seeing the rest of the crime, but he knew Junior had done it.