Flash Point (46 page)

No one said a word. They wanted to do something: plan, figure routes, calculate fuel consumption for various weapons load-outs, anything — anything except sit around and wonder where the Sheikh was. If they didn’t find him, this was going to get embarrassing quickly.

“Very well. Let’s get to work.”

“Sir, what about the Air Force?” Tear asked.

Red Man replied immediately. “Good call. They’re trying to make this into an Air Force event. As always, if there is something going on, they offer to preposition their forces and fly the rest of them around the world, refueling them twenty-four hours a day. But so far, this is going to be a Navy war. The President is doing what I think is the smart thing, saying that the war is narrow and short, against one man, and will be over as soon as that man is finished or surrenders. We don’t need the entire United States Air Force to go after one man. In fact, it looks like overkill and says we may have some alternative objectives in mind. If we leave it as a carrier battle, with the strikes going from here, it will appear like a very minor skirmish against a terrorist. That gives the President great comfort, although it may give the rest of the world only minor comfort. In any case, so far at least, this is a Navy war.”

“Oorah,” someone said from the back.

Red Man smiled. “We’re going to go after a very bad person and kill him dead if I have anything to say about it. We will be sending as many strikes as we need. Maybe even more than we need. But we will get this guy. I promise you that.”

Sami noticed Kinkaid’s hands. He was using them for emphasis, which he rarely did. This late night meeting was different, and everyone on the task force could feel Kinkaid’s excitement.

Kinkaid pointed his miniature laser pointer at the brand-new imagery. “Look there, and . . . there. Recent construction. And how about this? Consistent use of the footpath.” Bringing two images up on a split screen, he said, “We compared some recent IR imagery. You can see the warmth of the path compared to the ground next to it. It’s either human or animal use. Not many animals around there. This is the Lebanon fortress.” His smile was one of relief, not triumph.

“The second group of images is of the fortress in Syria.” He glanced at Sami. “Mr. History here is the one who predicted this would be the most likely to be used. So far he has been dead on. Must have inside information.”

Sami bristled at the implication. Then Kinkaid surprised him.

“For those of you who don’t know, Sami came up with these through an amazing analysis that will go down in Agency history as one of the most clever and creative — especially if it turns out to have been true.

“In any case,” Kinkaid said, clicking on the next picture, “this one also appears to have had recent use. The imagery isn’t as good, but it’s good enough to conclude that the place is active, as is . . . this one,” he said, moving to the next slide. “If you look closely you can see the same evidence of recent use—”

“But by whom?” one of the analysts asked. “If we’re going to list this as a bombing target based on it being ‘active,’ I wouldn’t feel comfortable. The last thing we need is the PR fiasco that would come from bombing some old fort that homeless people had moved into for shelter—”

“Hold that thought,” Kinkaid replied confidently. He put up the next slide and the members of the task force leaned forward to get a clearer picture in the darkened room. “This is the mother ship. Alamut. It is believed by some that the Sheikh is at Alamut in Iran. We need to at least consider it. It would be harder than hell to attack, and more likely to stimulate one of our sworn enemies than attacking a terrorist base in Syria or Lebanon. In any case, you can see that this fortress is in awfully good shape for being as old as it is.
Someone
is there. No historical preservation society in Iran. If you look close, you can make out the labyrinthine approach to the fortress. The approach is so deep in a crevice that we couldn’t get good IR to see whether it’s being used.” Kinkaid brought the lights up. “Those are the fortresses. They show use and probably are our targets.”

“But—”

“Exactly. How can we be sure?” He pulled out a piece of paper from a file sitting on the table. “Those of you who don’t know me very well don’t know my background. I was once a member of the DO.” Where Ricketts had worked until recently. “I worked in various countries. One of them was Germany. Thirty years ago now. It was during the Munich Olympics.”

So, Sami thought. Now we learn. He watched Kinkaid’s face cloud as he recalled the events of those days. It had affected him deeply. That was clear to everyone in the room.

“In this business you build and maintain relationships. Some endure,” he said shrugging, “others don’t. I’ve known one man since then who has been a friend. You’ve heard me mention him on occasion. I’ve never explained why we are able to communicate like we do. He was involved in that investigation. His name is Efraim. We shared many hours together in Munich and elsewhere, and became close. We have spoken many times since then. He tells me what I need to know, and I tell him what he . . . needs. Always unofficial or unclassified. Just a heads-up, if you will. Sure, once in a while we trade actual intelligence. With approval,” Kinkaid said quickly, “and
some
times it has been helpful.”

Kinkaid waved his piece of paper. “This is one of those times.” He walked around the podium and leaned on it, looking very casual and chummy, unlike the other people there who were becoming less comfortable the more Kinkaid went on.

“You recall how all this started? Navy officer from the — which ship was it?”

“Washington.”

“Right. Ran off to Israel. With an Israeli woman . . . Efraim called me back this morning. I had asked him for a reality check on these fortresses. I wanted to know if they had come to the same conclusions from a different direction.”

“Did he know about the Sheikh before Gaza?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t they tell us about him?”

“No need to know. They didn’t think the Sheikh was going public anytime soon. And they thought that Israel would be the primary target. Unless they see us being implicated somehow, they wouldn’t necessarily share that kind of information with us.”

“We might have been able to intervene — “ Cunningham said.

“Let me go on. Here’s the crux of the matter. As part of their attempt to close in on him, they found what they believe to be his primary base of operation. Alamut. He has a free pass from Iran and goes as he pleases. They’re very happy with his work, and they’re prepared to overlook his ties to the Isma’ili sect with which they are not terribly friendly.

“The second most used operational base is the one Sami identified in eastern Lebanon, in Teru’im. Makes perfect sense as it’s the closest one to where the Israelis attempted to take him out by that air strike. According to their best information, that is where the Sheikh himself has one of his headquarters.

“The third location is exactly where Sami predicted it would be — southeastern Syria. In other words, they confirmed exactly what Sami came up with in his analysis. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I think it means Sami was right. So, the question becomes whether this information is good enough to list them as targets for air strikes for the Navy.”

Kinkaid put up a large-scale map of the Middle East. “Now that you know everything I know, is this good enough information for targeting? Because if it’s wrong, you know who’s going to eat it.”

The members of the task force sat silently — there was almost too much to consider. Sami spoke first. “Did you tell your Israeli friends about our theories before they told you what they did?”

“Good question. Are they just giving back to us what we already know? Good intelligence trick. But no, I had not told Efraim about the three fortresses you identified. He came up with the identical information without knowing that I expected them to do just that. Anything else?”

They all had concerns, but no one wanted to express them, because they weren’t sure they could defend them. There were concerns. Feelings.

“Well?” Kinkaid asked, waiting. “Good targets?”

Still no one spoke. Several glanced at Sami, who was studiously staring at his hands.

“Then if no one objects, I’m sending these off as good targets.”

No one said a word.

“Done,” Kinkaid said as he gathered the folders together.

“We the fighter or bogey?” Woods asked Wink.

“Bogey. We’re supposed to be taking the 290 radial at sixty miles.” Woods stared at the TACAN needle, which pointed to the carrier on a compass. He tried to study it to figure their heading to the 290 radial sixty miles away.

“Head 323,” Wink said before Woods could make the calculation.

“Roger,” Woods said. “Show off.”

Wink ignored him. “You think we’ll ever get to go after these guys? I mean, we’ve declared war, are we ever gonna like,
do
something about it?” Wink asked.

“I think they’re worried about stirring up Syria or Iran. Those guys don’t need much of an excuse.”

“I think it’s time to stir them up. They let terrorists operate from their country but they don’t want anybody coming after them on their territory? They can eat shit.”

“I think their time is about up.”

“So what the hell are we going to do about it?”

“Maybe we’ll go sooner than you think.”

“
I’m
ready to go. They should target where they think he is right now.”

“Air Force is sending all kinds of airplanes to Sicily, Aviano, Italy, England, you name it.”

Wink chuckled. “Typical Air Force. The closest they can usually get is about five thousand miles away. Except for Desert Storm, when Saudi Arabia invited them in, gave them hotel rooms, and perfectly built bunkers. Country club all the way. I tell you, if I hear one more person say we don’t need aircraft carriers . . . Where the hell are all those bases the Air Force built? Are they flying out of that wonderful Air Force base we built for our friends the Libyans? Oh, yeah. Never mind. Or maybe we should be flying out of one of the big Air Force bases we built in Iran for our good friends. Oh, yeah. Never mind. Or maybe we could fly out of our good NATO ally base in France. Oh, yeah, never mind. Or if we were in the Pacific, we could use the Air Force base in the Philippines. Oh, yeah,
they
threw us out too. For every one of those bases we built it’s like taking an aircraft carrier and sinking it. About the same cost. Except with the Air Force, they just hand them the keys. Not only the keys to the base, but the officers’ club, golf course, barracks, tower, electronics, and for good measure, sometimes we throw in the airplanes too. Somebody ought to do a damned study of how much we’ve given away supporting the Air Force pilots and their blue dickies.”

“You crack me up, Wink. You must have gotten turned down by the Air Force.”

“I did. I wanted to go to the Air Force Academy. Cool-looking chapel. But that’s got nothing to do with it. The whole idea of flying B-52s around the world is just ridiculous. Their objective is not to win a war — their objective is to
look
like they’re winning the war on CNN.”

“Victory 203, turn to 110 as the bogey.”

“
Roger
,” Wink replied.

Woods brought the Tomcat around. When he reached their radial and DME he started in as the bogey on the first intercept of the night.

“So who’s going to be on the first attack, if it ever goes?” Wink asked.

“You’re finally going to be happy that you fly with the Assistant Operations Officer. The guy who writes the flight schedule. You’re not worthy, Wink. The first flight is an attack on the fortress in Lebanon. The
Eisenhower
is going to attack the Syrian fortress. Looks like we’re on the first strike, carrying two-thousand pounders.”

“You mean it’s on?”

“Yep.”

“Shit hot! How come you didn’t tell anybody?”

“Just got the word. Bark is all over this. I think we might be on Bark’s wing, maybe even leading the strike. He wants to fly with the LANTIRN god.”

“We’re going to be leading the strike?” Wink said, suddenly concerned.

“Victory 207, contact 290 for 33.”

“That’s your bogey.”

“Judy.”

“Looks like it,” Woods replied, trimming the airplane so it would stop flying slightly nose down.

“When do we go?”

“Tonight.”

“I gotta go plan! We’ve got to get ready.”

“You just said you were ready.”

“I want to be
really
ready.”

Cunningham walked by Sami’s cubicle and saw him staring at his computer, deep in thought. Cunningham rapped his knuckles on the aluminum frame of the cubicle. “You awake?”

“Yeah, hey,” Sami said, sitting back, his expression troubled.

“What’s up?” Cunningham asked.

Sami hesitated. “I don’t know. Ever since Kinkaid told us about his Israeli connection, I’ve had an uneasy feeling. Things haven’t been adding up.”

Cunningham sat down heavily in the chair by Sami’s desk. “Don’t go paranoid on me,” he said.

“Check this out,” Sami said, pointing at the screen.

Cunningham leaned forward and looked at Sami’s computer. “What?”

“The Syrians say they found a missile casing, and showed it to everyone. Remember? That picture of a torn missile with a partial serial number?”

“Sure.”

“Then everybody wanted to know the story. So the Raytheon guy holds a press conference—”

“Right. Live. We all watched it.”

Sami glanced back at the screen. “And he said the entire lot that missile was part of was shipped to Israel.”

“Right. Confirmed what we had been saying all along.”

“Look. This is the actual shipment list. They
didn’t
all go to Israel. Eighty-five percent went to the U.S. Navy, seven percent or so to the Air Force, and seven percent to Israel.”

“You sure?” Cunningham asked, peering at Sami’s screen to see if he was reading the numbers right. “Okay, so the one Syria found was from the seven percent shipped to Israel.”