by Jim Wilson
The General took over and read the following AP report. “The mosque in Dhuudo, Somalia was destroyed. High-level sources claimed that the mosque housed a bomb factory, and an accidental explosion destroyed the building. There were no survivors, but the Saturday night accident spared the lives of the students that normally attended class at the mosque.”
The Captain read from Douala, Cameroon’s local paper, “The fire department responded to twelve structure fires Wednesday. The warehouse district had the largest fire and loss of life. Sadly, the fire killed two Douala police officers. They died in a daring, but unsuccessful rescue attempt. There were no international reports on the story.”
The CIA agent took over again, “The NSA has been following the phone calls from the mosque and general Cameroon traffic. There was a single four-minute call from the Cameroon Mosque to the Benta Mosque in Paris, shortly after the destruction of the warehouse. They farmed for the names Adella and Ali. The call was in Arabic and highly encrypted. They found the name Ali, and the conversation was in regards to the death of the mullah in Cameroon.”
A report was completed and sent to the Secretary of Defense using a secure fax. Part of the report was a request for two ribbons for the Seals. The approval came with the addition of two ribbons and an “Atta Boy” for the General and the Major. The heads of the CIA, NSA, and the SOD met for an evaluation of the report and the mission. They celebrated the success and evaluated the next battle plan put on the table. The SOD commented, “The successful and completed plan for killing and destroying things in a third world hellhole, especially when well deserved, were easy to accept. It was more challenging dealing with a mosque in a suburb of Paris. They needed to find a way to pick Adella Ali’s mind. Was it possible to secretly capture him? If they had a plan, was it possible to implement it without the input of both Sam and Bill?” The men kept coming to the same conclusion. The SOD continued, “Bring Sam and Bill into the planning.”
*****
Sam was fifteen years the senior of Bill. He received wounds five years earlier, in Iraq, while he was on a secret mission to kidnap an Iranian officer. That officer was in charge of killing as many Iraqi civilians as possible. The design was for this Iranian officer to attack Iraqi sites and use the western media to present the deaths as American collateral damage. The Iranians would sponsor terrorists to destroy soft targets such as hospitals, schools or mosques, and station suicide squads to wait for the American soldiers. The international press was hungry for battle news. The American military would respond to attacks. The press always photographed death, destruction, and American soldiers. It happened repeatedly and it stuck with people. The news agencies commonly reported that many locals thought the Americans were too aggressive, and insensitive to Iraqi life.
Sam’s attempted capture of the Iranian went bad and there were rumors that someone compromised the mission. Military intelligence reported that the Iranian officer was in a safe house in Bagdad. Sam and his nine-man Seal team used the cover of darkness to approach and surround the urban building. A superior enemy force was waiting for them on rooftops around the safe house. Their opening volley killed six Seals. Sam and three Seals were able to find shelter and returned fire. The battle lasted one hour. Sam wounded three times was the last man standing. A three-helicopter assault team responded to the firefight and neutralized the enemy. They rescued Sam and the three wounded Seals, but only Sam made it through the night. His wounds required two months of treatments. It took years for him to lose the feeling of responsibility for the nine deaths.
He returned to San Diego for three months of light duty, but his marriage of ten years was over. The next year was what he called his dark period. He was alone and started drinking too much. He had been on numerous missions and was always part of a small team of special men doing what normal people would think of as crazy. He felt that he had little to show for his life except bullet holes, and considered suicide. At his darkest moment he received a call from his old friend that had just made general in the Air Force. The General was worried about him and knew of a Seal training unit that needed a leader.
*****
The General was watching Sam and Bill. He knew they made a great team. The General was ten years older than Sam was. Before Iraq, they had worked together for five years in a special CIA unit. He was the experienced solder when Sam was the new man, and the General traded knowledge for energy and strength. The General thought, if they could do a few more missions together, Bill would gain the special skills he needs to stay alive. We need to break some eggs here. What do we need to do? We need to win. How do we win? We don’t fight fair. Who wins a fair fight? The bad guys do. What do we do? We win. Who is coming back? We all are. He read the memo from the SOD that ordered Sam and Bill to come to CIA headquarters for a meeting. I have spent my life making plans work. I will also attend the meeting.
The General stood and announced, “We are going to CIA headquarters to meet with the Director.”
Two hours later, they were on an Air Force plane. They flew to Andrews AFB and a driver picked them up for the trip to Langley. The CIA agent took the front seat with the driver, and the General, Sam, and Bill were in the back seats. They went through an unattended gate that opened as the car approached. At the next gate, four armed guards checked all of their IDs, and a concrete barrier in front of them slipped into the ground. The driver entered the complex and dropped his passengers at their entrance, and from there the CIA agent led the way. They took the elevator to the sixth floor and followed the agent. The Administrative Assistant to the Director met them at the elevator. She led them down a long hallway, turned right, and opened a ten-foot tall oak door.
Sitting at a large table in six comfortable chairs was the power behind the throne. All were older men. The DCIA, SOD, DNSA, and their three assistants stood to meet the four visitors. A card with a name and title marked everyone’s position. The General, the CIA agent, Sam, and Bill took their seats at the table for a meeting that lasted one hour.
Bill spent a few seconds memorizing the names and faces of the powerful men. His first impression was their ages. The DCIA and SOD were elderly men. The DCIA was tall and thin with transparent blue eyes. He wore a perfectly fitted dark blue suit, a white shirt with an unusually high color, and a bright red tie. A white carnation adorned his left lapel. The SOD was short, overweight, and bald. He was wearing a tan suit that looked like he had slept in it, a white shirt, and a black tie. The DNSA was in his mid-forties. He looked like a movie star, with long combed back blond hair.
The DCIA began. “Let’s get started.”
One hour later, they walked from the meeting with a bold plan. Sam and Bill would go to Paris, kidnap Adella Ali, and bring him to a friendly facility in Accra, Ghana, Africa. Bill thought. Mullah Ahmed, our first captive will now have a friend.
The team returned to Mac Dill to hone their plan down to the smallest detail. CIA agents watched Adella to determine his routine. He was not a cleric, but a shady figure of the radical Islamic community. In addition, he was in some way a part of the Muslim charity world and strangely, there was no credit record for him. His French passport showed that he was born in Pau, France, an area just north of the Spanish border, and his age was twenty-seven. Two CIA agents had followed him for ten days. They reported that he appeared to be about forty. The review of his file revealed his school entry documents, and vaccination reports. The last document in his file was a death certificate.
The CIA agent called the General on a secure line. “Adella Ali died in an auto accident at the age of seven! Our analysis of his French accent points to his early being years in Saudi Arabia. There will be very few French tears when he disappears.”
“That is good news, we will be there shortly.”
The General, the Major, the CIA agent, Sam, and Bill agreed upon a code name. Together they would be known as, the Group. The Group had two weeks to complete the plan. One day would be for travel and one day would be for action. It
was important for the sense of urgency to continue. They knew the big battle was beyond Adella, and they needed to bring him in before he decided to disappear on his own.
There was a weekly Air Force flight from Mac Dill AFB to El Puerto de Santa Maria, also known as Naval Air Station, Rota, Spain. From Rota, they would fly in a small French private jet to Tours, about one hundred and twenty five miles southwest of Paris. The airport accommodated both private and military traffic. The jet and pilots would wait in Tours for Sam and Bill’s return. They bypassed immigration, and picked up a well-worn Fiat with a large trunk. Their clothing was French, but without labels. In Sam’s waistband was a Glock 23, covered by a white shirt and sport coat. In Bill’s waistband was a small dart gun, covered by a blue shirt and sport coat. Light brown wigs covered their short hair, and they carried no personal identification. On the streets of Paris, they formed stylish profiles and fit in well.
It was 1600 hours local time when they arrived at Adella’s apartment building. They parked in the alley behind the building. A locked door and an alarm protected the back entrance of the apartment. They walked around to the front entrance, an attendant smiled, opened the door, and they entered the lobby. Adella’s apartment was on the fourth floor and they used the elevator. They went to the door and knocked. There was no answer. Bill picked the lock and they entered. They examined the one bedroom apartment, and determined the positions to best overpower Adella. They measured the sight line for the path of the dart and picked areas that would conceal them when Adella entered. They settled in for a long wait. Waiting was part of Seal training. They could not let their minds wander from their task. They sat watching the door like a spider watches a fly approach his web.
Early in their Seal training, they would lay in the cold California surf. A remote sensor would track their body temperature. When a Seal’s core was too cold, their trainer called that Seal. Their mind was forced to listen for their name. With practice, their bodies learned to conserve heat longer and longer. The training was not just fighting the cold, but fighting the pain and keeping a single thought in their brain. Waiting was a trance state where time passed quickly, but their minds and their hands on their guns were wide-awake.
Two hours passed and they heard the key enter the lock. Their breathing was steady and their eyes narrowed. Sam waited patiently for the possibility that Adella would offer resistance. He was behind the opening door and Bill was across the room behind a kitchen counter. They were ready to act, but something was wrong. Behind Adella were two tall figures and Bill only had the dart gun. Sam would wait until they were all fully in the room. Bill would then dart Adella, and Sam would kill the men behind him. Suddenly Adella shut the door and Sam had no shot. He was face to face with Adella and the two tall men. Bill fired and the dart hit Adella in the butt. It would take fifteen seconds for the drug to take effect and the tall men reached for their guns.
Bill cocked his dart gun and fired a dart into the neck of the closest tall man. At the same time, Sam lowered his shoulder, and rammed it into Adella’s chest. In midair, he fired four times into the general direction of the tall men. The man with a dart in his neck fired twice at Bill. The first bullet hit Bill’s right shoulder, causing his body to snap back, just enough for the second bullet to only graze his right forearm, and Bill went down. The second man fired his thirty eight twice at Sam. The first bullet heading toward Sam missed close to his right ear, but the second bullet pierced his right hip. The bullet continued and entered the chest of Adella. Sam and both of the tall men went down. Quiet came to the site, and pain filled both Bill and Sam’s brains. Sam was thinking. Get up. I need to finish them. Both of the tall men were dead.
The people in the apartment next door called the police, and reported the gunfire. Sam and Bill were able to stand, and their heads cleared. They knew time was short. Sam was able to walk, and Bill was able to lift Adella over his shoulder. They headed out the door and toward the elevator. The four-floor ride took thirty long seconds. On the ride to the first floor, Sam holstered his Glock and said. “If the door opens and police meet us, this is Paris, and we cannot shoot our way out. If we meet resistance, we surrender.”
The elevator door opened and the attendant met them. Bill raised his dart gun, fired into the man’s left thigh, and said, “Except for him.”
Sam was the first out and pushed the attendant away to clear their path. They limped down the hall to the back door. The door opened, the alarm rang. Bill used his free hand to open the trunk of the Fiat. He lowered his shoulder and rolled Adella into the trunk. Sam’s wound had two openings. He placed a finger into the exit hole in the cloth and ripped open the seat of his pants. He drove the one hundred and twenty five miles back to Tours with one hand on the steering wheel, and his other hand reducing the blood flow at the exit wound.
Bill grumbled, “Do you think Adella will make it?”
“I don’t know, but I hope he does.”
Three minutes after the Fiat pulled away from the rear of the apartment, Chief Inspector Rene Gualt arrived at the front entrance. Gualt had been watching Adella Ali as part of the Green Family murder case. He was only a few blocks away when he heard the radio call. He saw the dart in the thigh of the door attendant and stepped over him to enter the elevator. He put on gloves, blue booties, and pushed the button for the fourth floor. He noticed the drops of blood on the floor as he left elevator. The door to Adella’s apartment was open and Gualt drew his pistol and entered. Near the door were two bodies in dark suits, and the chief inspector called for backup.
For the next fifteen minutes, he stood in the same spot, and slowly memorized all of apartment that he could see. Uniformed police soon arrived. The Coroner arrived at the door of the apartment and Gualt said, “Come in Jacque. The deaths were by large caliber weapons. The dart in the neck of one of the victims is interesting, and Jacque there is a similar dart in the leg of the door attendant.”
Jacque replied, “In over thirty years, I’ve never seen a victim with a bullet and a dart. You must be very careful with this investigation.”
*****
The jet was in a hangar with the door shut and the pilot was outside smoking a cigarette as the Fiat drove up. The pilot opened the door to the hangar and Sam pulled inside, well to the right of the plane. The pilot waited a few seconds for the doors of the Fiat to open, then walked over and opened the driver door. Sam looked up and said, “We’ve been hit. Get the guy out of the trunk and help us into the plane.”
The pilot called his copilot, and they carried the groaning man from the trunk into the plane.
“You need a doctor.”
Bill whispered, “Help us get in the plane and get us to Rota.”
The pilot said to the copilot, “Okay, let’s go.”
In five minutes, they were in the air headed for Rota Naval Air Station. The copilot called the Rota tower. “We need doctors and ambulances to meet the flight. We have three wounded men.”
Sam and Bill were lying side by side on the floor near the front of the plane. All the copilot had to use was the aircraft’s first aid kit. The copilot started with Sam, and followed the blood to his hip and put a pressure bandage on the wound. Then he went to Bill, and removed his sport coat and shirt and bandaged his shoulder. Next, he went to Adella, and opened his shirt to expose his chest wound. It looked bad and Adella was gasping for air. All he could do was cover the hole in his chest with a pressure bandage. As soon as the wound was covered, his breathing normalized. The copilot had just saved three lives.
Doctors and medics met the flight, stabilized and carried them to ambulances. Their IVs contained painkillers, and their bodies went limp, free of pain for the first time in three hours. They arrived at the emergency room and their wounds were evaluated. The staff ordered blood for the three of them and took them to separate operating rooms, where surgeons and nurses practiced their crafts.
Even military hospitals have administrations, and all the rules that go with them. The pil
ot was a Navy Reserve Lieutenant and he knew this was some type of secret operation. He waited for the smoke to clear and walked into the administration office. He found the Naval Captain in charge of the hospital.
“Captain, can we talk for a second?”
The Lieutenant was in civilian clothing and said, “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Boswell and just flew in your three new patients. The two big men were my original passengers. They delivered the other man to our plane in the trunk of a Fiat. I believe that the two larger men were on a mission, and wounded during that mission. You may want to keep a lid on this until one of them can tell you what’s happening.”
The Captain picked up a phone and ordered security to put an armed guard on the patients, and from that point, only necessary personnel would attend them.
The copilot was also a Lieutenant, but with slightly less time in grade than Boswell. He remembered that their flight plan was to Accra, Ghana, Africa. There would be people there who would be expecting them. He found the pilot, and together they went back to the Captain. They informed him of the flight plan. The Captain picked up the phone and called the base Commander. His assistant answered and transferred the call to the Admiral. The Captain gave the Admiral a short summary of the situation.
The Admiral replied. ”Captain, come to my office and bring the pilots. I have a file of every airfield in the world where an American military aircraft landed.”
The Captain called his security detail, “Alert me if any of the patients regain consciousness.” The three men headed to the Admiral’s office.
The Admiral was on his computer when the Captain and the pilots entered his office. “One minute.” He pushed the print command. “There it is, Accra, Ghana, Africa.”
He lifted the sheet of paper from his printer and pointed his finger at the phone number of the tower. He called the number. A man answered in Arabic.
