Quest for Honor (26 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

M
c
Lean, Virginia

T
he day before
they left Langley, Jim was briefed about what to expect when they got to the Horn of Africa. For an hour, a very capable young man showed him slides with pictures of the people, the terrain, the cities. He went over maps of Somalia and advised about how to interact with the locals, what to say and what not to say, even how to use a public restroom, if such a thing could be found, which was not likely: “Enter with the left foot, depart leading with the right. Remain silent while on the toilet. Use of toilet paper is acceptable. If another man is sitting next to you, do not look at him, do not converse, do not look at each other’s genitals, and especially do not touch another man’s genitals.”

Jim told him they wouldn’t have to worry about him on that score. Nobody else thought it was funny.

He wondered how much of this was necessary. After all, he didn’t intend to do any sight-seeing. The briefing before the lecture on culture had finally given him a precise itinerary: fly from Washington to the Air Force base in Ramstein, Germany, refuel there during a brief layover and then on to Djibouti, arriving on the morning of the thirtieth, local time. He’d have the rest of that day to get over the jet lag and then they would head to Mogadishu the next day. The meet with Shalita was set for seven in the evening. They’d be back in Djibouti before midnight and he’d be winging homeward at first light.

It sounded pretty simple, but Jim had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite that easy. He was going to ask how many of their operations wound up going exactly according to plan, but decided against it.

At noon on the twenty-ninth he sat down to a private lunch with the CIA Director himself, along with Allenson, in an executive dining room. Jim had seen the DCI on television but was somewhat surprised by how congenial the man turned out to be in person. He asked several questions about Jim’s background, and although Jim was pretty sure the Director knew the answers already, he was happy to oblige. They finally got around to discussing the mission.

The Director touched his lips with his napkin, then took a sip of coffee. When he looked over at Jim, his eyes, through his glasses, were more serious. “Jim, I don’t have to tell you that this mission has some risks associated with it.”

“I understand that, sir. Your people have been very thorough in helping me get ready.”

“We don’t expect you to have to do anything except show up, basically. When you meet with Shalita, confirm that it’s him, as best you can—I know you haven’t seen him in some time—and then let my people do their jobs.”

“Yes, sir. I do have a question, though.”

“Certainly.”

“What if it’s him, but he backs out?”

The DCI glanced at Allenson, then back at Jim. “Well, we have contingencies planned for different…eventualities.”

Jim nodded. “Meaning, you’re bringing him out one way or another.”

The Director sat back in his chair, offering a hint of a smile. “Let’s just say we have contingency plans, and leave it at that, shall we?”

Jim nodded, but he could see how this might unravel. Shalita shows up, gets cold feet, tries to leave. He’ll have some men with him, certainly. Jim and Allenson wouldn’t be there alone, either. It could get rough, and Jim had a feeling that when things got rough over in Somalia it was a lot worse than here in the States.

The DCI glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting on the Hill coming up, so I have to be going.” He stood, Jim and Allenson following suit. The Director extended his hand. “Jim, thanks again for your help. You’re doing very important work. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll do what I can.”

In the hallway outside, the Director nodded at one of Jim’s minders, who was waiting for them. “Jim, this agent will escort you back to the training area. I’d like a brief word with Agent Allenson.”

As the two men walked away, with Jim glancing once back over his shoulder, the DCI turned to her. “What do you think, Denise?”

“I think he’ll do all right, sir. He’s sharp, and he’s in great shape. Takes instruction pretty well, doesn’t seem to get rattled. He must have some excellent trainers back in Wisconsin.”

“No doubt he does, but as good as they might be, they won’t have prepared him for where he’s going.”

“That’s true, sir. He’s only been out of the country once, to a resort in Jamaica a few years ago.”

The DCI scratched the bridge of his nose. “The White House is worried he might try to be a cowboy over there. What do you think?”

Allenson bristled, then caught herself. Was that just a professional reaction, or was it starting to get personal with her? “May I speak freely, sir?”

“Of course.”

“If the White House people were doing this, they couldn’t find their asses over there with both hands and a flashlight, as my grandfather used to say. I think Mr. Hayes will do just fine.”

The Director smiled. “I think you’re right on both counts.” He extended his hand. “Good luck, and happy hunting.”

Allenson came by the townhouse at four to pick Jim up for the trip to Andrews Air Force Base. Inside, she found him packing his bag. The agent on duty would be driving them to Andrews, and after they left, an Agency-contracted cleanup crew would come in to sanitize the safe house.

“All set, Jim?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He stuffed his toiletries kit into the bag and zipped it shut. As instructed, he was dressed casually, in the same clothes he’d worn on the flight here from Wisconsin. There’d be a change of clothes waiting for him in Djibouti.

Jim looked around the place once. He was just getting used to it, but still he preferred his place back in Cedar Lake. Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d ever see it again. He sighed. In a few hours he’d be over the Atlantic, heading east, a trip his brother had made many times during his career. That reminded him of something else.

“Say, Denise, I wonder if I might be able to call my brother. Not now, but when we get to the base, before the flight.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Feeling nervous?”

For a second there, he thought she was about to reach out to him, but she held back. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I just thought it would be good to talk to him.”

“I’m sure we can work something out.”

Jim settled back in the comfortable seat and tried to relax. He knew he should really try to get some sleep, but his mind was going almost as fast as the jet. He’d taken a melatonin tablet just after takeoff; that usually worked back home when he needed to get some sleep, but this was different.

The lights in the small cabin had just dimmed, an hour after they left the ground, and the few other passengers seemed to be settling in, some sleeping already, others reading or working on laptops and tablets. No doubt they’d done this before. Out the window to his right was nothing but darkness. They’d be landing at Ramstein in about five hours. He’d always wanted to visit Germany, the country his great-grandparents on his mother’s side had emigrated from a century before. Wouldn’t get to see too much of it on this trip, though. But there would be other trips, assuming he survived this one.

Denise had followed through. Just before boarding the jet, she handed him a cell phone. “Your brother’s on the line,” she said.

His hand actually trembled as he took the phone and walked a few paces away from the rest of the people getting ready to board. “Mark, are you there?”

“Yeah, big brother. I hear you’re taking a little trip.”

“I guess you could say that.” He had no idea whether Mark knew what was going on, but he suspected he knew at least some of it. “How are you doing? How’s the head?”

“Okay. I got lucky that time.” Mark hesitated, and Jim could hear the hiss and pop of the line reaching halfway around the world. “Listen, you be careful, all right? Listen to your people. They know what they’re doing.”

“I will. Mark…I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch more. Next time you get some leave, let’s get together.”

“Yeah, we both need to get better with that. Drop me an email when you get home. I think I might get back for a week or so in the fall. I’d like to see the leaves turning.”

“Sounds good.” Jim could feel himself starting to tear up. “I better go now, we’re leaving soon. You take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will. Say hello to my niece for me when you get home. And God be with you, big brother.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Afghanistan

T
he General looked
as fit as ever when he climbed out of the chopper, crisply returning Mark’s salute. Behind him was another man, a bit taller, wearing NATO-style
flecktarn
-patterned cammies with no insignia. His dark green beret sported a badge Mark had seen only a few times before, featuring the NATO compass, flanked by wings and backed by crossed sword and trident with a parachute at the top. Mark would’ve known something was up just by having the General make this short-notice visit, but seeing the visitor with him confirmed it.

The General returned Mark’s salute and his handshake was firm, as always. “Mark, I don’t think you’ve met Captain John Krieger.”

“No sir.” He offered the man a hand. “Captain, welcome to Camp Roosevelt. Mark Hayes.”

His hand felt like it was gripping a piece of iron. “Colonel, a pleasure,” Krieger said with a slight German accent.

“
Sind Sie deutscher, Herr Hauptmann?”

“Ja, aber sprechen wir Englisch, bitte.”

“Very good,” Mark said. That was just as well, his Academy German probably wouldn’t go very far. “This way, gentlemen.”

The General made the rounds of Mark’s headquarters, saying hello to everyone, remembering the names of every soldier except the recent arrivals, whom Mark introduced. This would almost certainly be the last time the General was here; in another few weeks he would be retiring from the Army and heading back home to take over CIA. After a few minutes, the General said, “Well, Mark, I’d like to tour the base, but I need a word with you first.”

“Of course, sir. Step into my sumptuous conference room.”

Adjacent to his own tiny office, the room was big enough for a table, six chairs and a white board on one wall, with a map of Afghanistan on another. The General got right down to business. “Mark, I have an update on that situation we discussed on the phone the other night. The DCI and I have been sharing intel lately, as you might expect, and he gave me a heads-up on this one because our people here are likely to be impacted.”

Mark glanced at the German, who so far hadn’t said a thing since their exchange out near the chopper pad. Krieger was the commanding officer of Unit 7, a very specialized outfit within NATO Special Forces Headquarters. During his time on the General’s staff at ISAF, before being given command of Roosevelt, Mark had been read in on the unit’s presence in country and a couple of their operations. Mark was familiar with special operators from Army Green Berets to Navy SEALs to the French Foreign Legion’s elite troops, but Unit 7’s work was at the top of the ladder. Krieger’s presence here was deliberate on the General’s part. “I take it you’re thinking about Captain Krieger’s unit, General,” Mark said.

“That will depend on the where and the when, but yes.” He rose from his chair and went to the map. He ran a finger along the southern quarter of Afghanistan. “For anything down here, or over the border in Iran, if we have to go in hard and fast, I have two of the captain’s teams ready to move on twenty-four hours’ notice.” His finger moved to the eastern valleys. “Over here, in your area, Mark, I have other assets available. I have a feeling, though, that we’ll be looking in the direction of Iran.”

“Anything specific guiding your thinking along those lines, General?”

The General nodded toward the German. “Last week my unit returned from a mission along the border,” Krieger said, his eyes hard. “We took two prisoners, both Takavar operators. To find one in that area is unusual. Our interrogation of the prisoners continues. So far they have not been cooperative, and we may have to employ more…aggressive measures.” He looked at the General.

“I’ll give you some latitude with that, Mr. Krieger, but only some.”

Krieger nodded and continued. “In addition, there have been several more indications of increased Iranian activity near the border. I believe you encountered some Takavar on your mission with the Legion recently?”

“That we did, Captain. Do we have any idea why they’re getting so frisky?”

The General shook his head. “Not yet. But something is in the works. I’ve already discussed this with Captain Krieger here, Mark, but if they go in, I want you to go along.”

Krieger didn’t move a muscle, his eyes revealing nothing about what the man might be thinking at that moment. Mark looked back at the General. “I’d be proud to accompany the captain’s unit on a mission, sir, but certainly not as the commanding officer.”

That drew a bit of a smile from the General as he stood. “Very good. Now, Mark, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hit the chow line with your men, then take that tour. I’m due back in Kabul by 1800.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Mark and Krieger trailed behind the General as Ruiz conducted the tour. This was the General’s second visit to Roosevelt since he’d placed Mark in command, and Mark was confident everything was in order. Letting Ruiz lead the tour gave him a chance for a private word with the German captain.

“In the event Unit 7 is tasked with a mission, Captain, and the General wants me to come along, I can assure you that you’ll remain in command.”

Krieger’s expression changed only slightly. “We are a very specialized group, Colonel. I’m sure you understand that we are not used to having people tag along with us on our operations.”

“I do indeed. I also understand that in this environment, cooperation between units within the coalition is vital to the success of our common mission.”

“That has not been our experience, to date at least. My unit is tasked with missions that are quite…sensitive, politically speaking. Missions that NATO considers vital, but about which they might also wish to maintain, shall we say, a certain amount of deniability?”

Mark had to chuckle. “Captain, I’m sure you’ve been in uniform long enough to know that sometimes things out here get a little messy, and the politicians have a hard time coming to grips with that.”

“Indeed. Unit 7 is for the messy ones, Colonel.” He stopped and looked at Mark. “If you don’t have a problem getting a little dirt on your hands, I’m sure your assistance on whatever mission the General assigns to us would be welcomed.”

“Let’s hope it won’t be necessary.”

“We always hope that, don’t we? Yet, we get missions.”

They resumed their walk, staying a few paces behind the General and Ruiz. “Your English is excellent, Captain,” Mark said, happy to change the subject. “Have you spent a lot of time in the States?”

“I was born and raised there, Colonel.”

“Really? Where?”

“From what the General tells me, a place with which you are quite familiar: Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”

Mark almost fell over. “What part of the city?”

“Northeast side. My father was a professor at UWM. We lived only a few blocks from the campus. I went to high school at Milwaukee Lutheran.”

“Well, I’ll be…what year did you graduate?”

“’Ninety-two. Went into the Marine Corps, came back and went to UWM, then back to the Corps, OCS.”

Mark looked at him again. Krieger was every inch a German, even to his accent. “I wasn’t aware NATO special ops took Americans.”

“Unit 7 does, Colonel. That is one reason why we are different.”

“And the German connection?”

“My family has a long history of military service in both America and Germany. My great-grandfather flew with the Red Baron. His son, my grandfather, was a panzer commander on the Russian Front, survived the war and brought his family to the States in ’55. My father served in Vietnam. In our home, German was my first language. My father was quite proud of our heritage. As am I.” This time Mark saw something else in those blue-gray eyes. A sense of camaraderie, maybe? “Perhaps, if we are tasked with a mission together, I’ll tell you some of their stories.”

“I’ll buy the beers.”

The General’s smile never changed, except when he was quite pleased. This time, Mark noted, it was a bit wider than usual. “Mark, I like what I’ve seen here,” the General said as they walked toward his helicopter. “Very nice job.”

“Thank you, sir. I have a lot of good men here.”

“Everything squared away between you and Captain Krieger?”

“If you attach me to his unit, General, there won’t be any problems.”

“Glad to hear it, although I didn’t think there would be. Have you heard from your brother?”

Mark had long ago ceased being surprised by what the General knew. “He called early this morning, our time. He was about to get on a plane, he said.”

“By now he’ll be in Djibouti. I would expect they’ll be going in tomorrow.”

“General, would this possible cross-border mission have anything to do with that?”

The General stopped and faced Mark. “Some people back in Washington are very nervous about this, Mark. The increased Iranian activity we’ve been seeing, the asset your brother’s mission is concerned with, some don’t see a connection. Others do. The DCI does, and I agree with him. If there is, and something needs to be done, it might have serious repercussions for the entire region. I have to tell you, some would prefer that your brother’s mission fails.”

“As long as he makes it back home safely, sir.”

“The DCI assures me he will do everything he can to make sure that happens.” He extended a hand. “I’ll keep you posted, Mark.”