The gentle lower slope of the extinct volcano grew progressively steeper as the team climbed. The red lava soil turned into a greasy, clinging mud with a passing evening shower. Burdened by their heavy loads, they slipped and slided up the slope. The last hundred yards turned into a near vertical climb up a rock face. The only other access was a narrow road carved out of the side of the mountain, but the heavy patrols prevented its use.
Razor-sharp lava rock made progress slow and difficult. Each new handhold bit into the flesh, every slip left cut and flailed skin. The team finally lifted themselves over the edge and found meager concealment in the scree laying in heaps around the cliff edge. The radomes were plainly visible under the camouflage netting further up slope, but the missile launchers and command facilities were not to be seen.
Carefully snaking around the cliff edge to the North, the trio conducted an inch by inch surveillance of the mountaintop. The top of the mountain was crawling with troops. It seemed that every few feet they encountered another patrol.
They could not afford to be discovered. Although they might win a firefight up here, the mission would be compromised. Reconnoitering became a process of slipping forward a foot or two, stop and listen for several minutes, carefully move forward another foot. It was excruciatingly slow and nerve-wracking.
Manuelo almost stumbled over a sleeping guard sitting with his back propped against a boulder and his legs sprawled out in front. He managed to stop just short of stepping on the guard's legs and slowly backed away. The guard muttered incomprehensibly in his sleep and rolled over. Manuelo slid the razor sharp combat knife back in its leg sheath and slipped around the other side of the boulder.
Johnson finally found the command trailer and the missile launchers in two adjacent small gullies cleverly camouflaged to appear as a continuous hummock. A faint glimmer of the coming dawn was just visible on the horizon as Boats transmitted the digital imagery and location data back to SAN FRANCISCO. They slid back over the edge of the cliff face to descend in the last bit of cover from the darkness.
The third squad also left the mangrove swamp for the lush tropical rainforest. But instead of climbing higher, they skirted around the base of Mount Guishu to the Northeast.
A few hundred yards beyond the mangrove swamp, they happened on a well-used single lane dirt road. The team concealed themselves in the underbrush for fifteen minutes, carefully watching to see if the road was patrolled. Nothing moved. Finally, Stuart signaled Tagamond to cross. Crouching low, the SEAL scurried across the road and disappeared into the undergrowth. The muzzle of his H&K machine pistol was just visible, pointed down the road.
Stuart signaled again and Wood scurried across. He rolled under a small tree and guarded up the road. Another signal from Stuart and Heigle ran across the road. Finally, Stuart crossed, checking carefully to make sure there was no sign of their passage.
Stuart moved the team about twenty yards up slope. They slipped forward, paralleling the road, but several yards further up the slope so they could stay hidden. The team moved quickly.
They covered almost a mile of thick jungle, occasionally catching glimpses of the road off to their right through openings in the trees. Twice they saw the headlights of trucks driving down the road toward the harbor. Each time they froze, relying on their camouflage to keep them concealed.
Finally, the team halted. The road made an abrupt turn to the left, up the mountain slope. They could see a flickering light coming from a guarded checkpoint. Beyond the checkpoint, arc lights illuminated what appeared to be a military compound capable of housing several hundred troops. Parked in the central courtyard were several armored personnel carriers, each sporting a 23-mm machine cannon.
They skirted around the checkpoint and climbed to high ground. From this vantage point, they could look directly down into the compound and beyond it.
Troops moved around the brightly-lit inner area. The center courtyard was dominated by a large wooden building that appeared to be a headquarters and possibly a barracks. A smaller wooden building stood to the left of the main building, separated by a tall chain link fence. Stuart could see men dressed in white smocks walking in and out of it. Several sat on the front porch of the building, smoking.
A few yards beyond the small building he could see the opening of a large cave with bright lighting inside. Around the entrance the terrorists had placed sandbag emplacements containing Chinese made four-barrel Zu-23 anti-aircraft machine cannons and shoulder-fired SA-7 Grail surface-to-air missiles. A number of people, some in military uniform and others in civilian clothes, were entering and leaving the cave.
They had found the factory complex.
The digital targeting information for the command compound and the cave location were rapidly passed to SAN FRANCISCO.
As the team maneuvered around the complex to determine the defensive measures that were in place and the extent of the facility, they passed above the cave entrance. Here they crossed a footpath that they had not previously seen. The footpath headed over a low ridge.
Carefully paralleling the footpath, they crested the ridge and peered into the gully beyond. Even with night vision goggles, it was difficult to discern any human mark in the gully. The path seemed to suddenly end at the edge of some heavy undergrowth. It just didn’t appear natural. Why would a well-worn path suddenly end abruptly with some brush? The team spent the next hour working carefully around the uphill side of the gully to try to get a better view. They settled in to observe the mysterious end of the path.
22
21 Jun 2000, 0300LT (1400Z)
The dark shape emerged from the water and crouched under the low rock ledge at the water’s edge. As he removed his scuba equipment, three more men joined him. They buried their equipment in a hastily dug shallow hole. The men removed their weapons from waterproof pouches, then slithered across the damp grass to the edge of First Avenue.
The little community was nearly silent. Only the sounds of the night insects and the gentle lap of the water broke the stillness. Not a soul was out for a late night stroll, nor was there any traffic on the quiet street. The sweet scent of plumeria hung heavy in the moist night air.
The four black-clad intruders slipped quickly across the street and hid in the deep shadows under the banyan tree. There they briefly reviewed the plan.
All had gone better than expected so far. The Hawaiian spy had passed the information through several cutouts to Mustaf.
He had planned the action and handpicked these four for this mission. They were his best, most ruthless followers. The four had rehearsed this mission many times on the shore near Benghazi and at their desert camp. They even built a full-scale mock-up of the house and street to practice with. Mustaf had given them the high honor of giving them their final briefing himself.
The four arrived in Honolulu two days ago, coming in on four different flights from different US cities. Before that, they had flown, under different names and passports, from various Middle Eastern cities.
Security at the American airports was laughable. Ashad, the leader, had a moment of panic when a Customs Inspector at New York's JFK Airport reviewed his passport and visa. The Inspector held out his hand to stop Ashad. "Just a minute."
Ashad's heart nearly stopped. Had someone betrayed them? Were the Americans wise to their plot? His documents were flawless and he wasn't carrying anything that would incriminate him. It must be the Jew loving Americans harassing Arabs. They would pay for this!
The garrulous Inspector then added said, "Welcome to America." For the rest, cursory inspections of their documentation and then they were through.
The more difficult arrangements were those to smuggle in the weapons. Hawaii had some of the toughest gun control laws in the world, with registration of even ammunition, so locally acquired weapons were out. Smuggling the weapons into the Islands was the only alternative. The weapons were purchased openly in Los Angeles last month. They were modified, adjusted and sighted in by Mustaf'
s weapons experts in the desert East of Los Angeles. The machine pistols arrived in Hawaii on schedule yesterday in a container manifested as hardware onboard the new Matson liner, President Reagan.
They had slipped into the water from the public footpath near the COMPACFLT Boathouse just after midnight. The swim around Ford Island, under the new Ford Island bridge, was uneventful. The only near call was an unexpected late boat running from the Merry Point Landing to Iroquois Point. Ashad broke the surface to check his navigation almost directly in front of the launch. No one onboard saw him quickly dive back below the surface just inches before its keel cleaved his head.
From under the banyan tree, Ashad sent his team to their assault stations. One man took cover under a plumeria bush at the rear corner of the house, giving him a clear field of fire down the rear and side. Another set up at the front corner under one of the banyan’s massive aerial roots. His field of fire was down the front and interlocked with his companion down the side. The third moved to the lanai door and quickly picked the simple tumbler lock. No resistance was expected, but weren't all Americans armed? Better safe than sorry.
The door was opened just enough for the four to silently enter the house. Downstairs was empty and quickly secured, the phone lines cut and the breakers for the electrical supply opened. Anyone upstairs was now isolated from the outside world.
They silently padded to the stairs and moved upward. The corner tread, halfway up the stairs was creaky. Hunter had promised to fix it at least a dozen times, but it had never come to the top of the “honey-do” list. The first terrorist stepped on it and it creaked loudly. They instantly froze. Had the sound warned the quarry? Were they armed? Would the next step be met with a hail of bullets?
They waited, frozen in place but poised for instant response, for five minutes. No sound. They proceeded up the stairs much more cautiously.
The hallway was laid out exactly as they were briefed. Doors to the left and right opened onto small bedrooms, the door at the end of the hall opened onto the master bedroom. A terrorist stopped by each door waiting for a signal from the leader.
Simultaneously they jerked open the doors and rushed into the rooms. The occupants were each jerked out of their slumber and hauled to the floor. The two girls were roughly shoved into the master bedroom where the wife was defiantly facing the leader.
“Mommy, what’s happening? Who are these men?” the young redhead asked in a quavering voice.
“”Quiet, dear. Don’t be afraid,” Peg Hunter answered.
“That’s not very good advice,” the Ashad growled, menacingly brandishing the dangerous looking machine pistol. “You should be very afraid. If you don’t do exactly as we say, you won’t live to see the sun rise.”
Unnoticed, the oldest daughter slipped behind her mother. The cell phone that she had earlier used to talk to her best friend was on the bedside table. She pressed the “mute” button and then the “send” one. Don’t let them see her. Please let Sally wake up and understand what is happening.
21 Jun 2000, 0330LT (1430Z)
Over on Ford Island, in Colonel Johnson’s house, the phone rang. At 0330, Colonel Johnson was not amused as he reached across his sleeping wife to pick up the phone. As well as being Sally’s father, the Colonel was also PACOM J-2 Special Intelligence Officer. He was one of only a small handful of people who had an idea of what was currently happening off Nusa Funata.
No one answered his gravelly greeting so he thought that it was another call from a drunken sailor who had dialed the wrong number.
He had just started to replace the receiver when he heard something that made him pause. He thought he heard a threat in an accent that he had not heard since he left Iraq at the end of the Gulf War. Immediately, he was wide-awake, all senses on peak alert.
21 Jun 2000, 0332LT (1432Z)
Ashad ordered the three hostages to sit on the double bed. The calm dark night outside gave a sharp contrast to the awful tension in the master bedroom.
The three underlings took defensive positions; one at the master bedroom window, one at the window in Megan’s room and the last downstairs.
“Now listen very carefully,” he began. “Whether you live or die depends on how well you follow orders. We are soldiers of Allah and Mustaf al Shatar. Life is meaningless to us. We don’t usually make war on women and children, but your husband has forced this on us. He is trying to stop our great revolution. You will stop him. When the sun rises, we will call your Master of Submarines. You will tell him to order your husband to surface and go immediately to Surabaya. If he has not complied within twelve hours, one of you will die. We will kill one of you every six hours until he complies. Do you understand me?”
The three women huddled even closer together and Peg shook her head in acknowledgement. Maggie put her arms around her mother and whispered, “Don’t worry, Mommy, it’ll be alright. I won’t let them hurt us.”
21 Jun 2000, 0340LT (1440Z)
Colonel Johnson picked up his cell phone and dialed a special number. When the duty officer at PACOM answered, he gave the code word for a hostage situation and rapidly explained what he thought was happening. His orders to the duty officer were precise and measured.
Camp Smith, high above Pearl Harbor, erupted in a bustle of controlled activity. The trace on the call to Colonel Johnson proved his supposition that it originated from Peg Hunter’s cell phone. Calls to the house on Hospital Point went unanswered.
A security guard drove by the house on routine patrol. He reported the house was dark and there was no sign of unusual activity. Externally all seemed normal, but the cell phone still gave the listeners a ringside seat to what was really happening inside the house.
The PACOM Command Center changed its emphasis from watching the events in Indonesia to directing the response to this hostage situation.
Across the Ko’olau Mountains, at Kaneohe Marine Station, a clanging alarm bell roused the Marine Force Recon anti-terrorist team from their slumber. They jumped from their bunks, donning their combat outfits as they raced toward the flight line. The black jump suits contrasted sharply with regular Marine cammies. The Kevlar vests under the combat harnesses gave them a bulky, sinister appearance.
Three large green MH-53 Sea Stallion helicopters were warming up for the quick flight from Kaneohe to Hickam Air Force Base, next to Pearl Harbor. The fully outfitted teams ran out onto the flight line and jumped in the choppers just as the pilots completed their pre-flight checklists. Within minutes of first receiving the alarm, the ungainly birds were enroute.
The small Marine barracks on Pearl Harbor Naval Station also got a call from the PACOM Response Team. They rushed out of their barracks, grabbing their weapons from the Armory on their way to set up roadblocks. They sealed access to Hospital Point, controlling all activity entering or leaving the Point. This was easily accomplished since there were only two roads leading to the small, isolated housing complex.
The gates to Pearl Harbor slammed shut. No one could enter or leave. All ship traffic in the harbor was stopped.
So far the activity had all been scripted. The hostage response plan was designed to get everything in place as quickly as possible to contain the situation.
The next part would not move so quickly. They had to gather as much information as possible and plan the response. The only constant that they all knew for certain was that there would be no negotiation.
There had been no contact from the terrorists. The waiting game began. This was the hard part. Waiting ground on the nerves as they sat, unable to do anything to rescue the family of one of their own.
Evacuating the small isolated community began. The first few houses were easy. Marines in full combat garb rushed into the houses without bothering to even knock. The surprised residents were shuttled on to launches waiting at Charlie Landing on the windward end of the Point. The launches carried them up the harbor, past the shipyard and the submarine base, to Merry Point Landing, well away from the danger zone.
The houses within view of Quarters G presented more of a problem. Brenda Calucci was awakened by a Marine pounding on her back door. She and her son, still in their nightclothes were hustled down the shore, through a hole cut in the fence, to Dry-dock Four. They joined the residents of the last five houses on First Street, huddled together and chattering nervously, trying to find out what was happening.
Two Marines managed to approach the other side of the duplex from the terrorists’ blind side to evacuate the family that lived there. They implanted two sensitive listening devices on the shared wall, but so far nothing had been heard.
21 Jun 2000, 0430LT (1530Z)
“What do we know so far?" Admiral O’Flanagan demanded as he stormed into the command center.
The admiral had been enjoying a few hours of rest at home when the call arrived. The boat ride from his home on Ford Island to the SUBPAC landing had been at full throttle. He had not wasted any time in the short dash to the SUBPAC Building or the hurried descent into the basement.
His aide and most of his senior staff were already in the command center. Some of them had been there to monitor the events off Nusa Funata; the rest had just arrived after being summoned to deal with the latest crisis. They were all focused on the house over at Hospital Point. The high priority communications lines between SUBPAC and PACOM up at Camp Smith were humming with activity.
LT Pyler answered the admiral’s question, “PACOM is in command of the situation. The cell phone is still working but the batteries appear to be dying. They have heard all three of the family and at least three terrorists. The one that we think is the leader, some character named Ashad, was heard telling Peg that they were going to demand that SAN FRANCISCO divert to the nearest Indonesian port. PACOM has some voice experts coming to help determine their country of origin."
Operation Golden Dawn Page 22
