Secret of the Oil: Prequel to the Donavan Chronicles (14 page)

“My pleasure, and I agree. Right now, however, I suggest we adjourn for tonight and get a good night’s rest before our mission,” she said, giving him a gracious smile.

“Okay, I agree. It’s time to get some shuteye. Let’s go.”

Walking back to their rooms, Matt sensed that they were developing a good strong friendship, which might be a critical factor in the coming days. Then again, it might be more.

“What are you going to do when you get out?” he inquired. He desired to know this if he planned to continue his relationship with this woman.

“Haven’t made any definite plans. I’ll see what turns up. I’ve always been interested in archeology. I might take that path—university, degrees, after I get out.”

Saying good night, they went to their rooms. The conversation had disturbed Matt as it brought up some old memories and some new thoughts that he needed to explore. Also some feelings he thought were dead. He knew he would have to do something about the situation with his daughter or she would grow up knowing him as a spastic weekend visitor instead of a father.

* * * *

OFFICE OF GENERAL BERGERMEYER

2:35 P.M.- 25 OCTOBER

As StrikeTeam-1 went to sleep in Turkey, the phone rang in the office of the Director of the Center. The secretary stepped into her office.

“General you have a call from the Israeli Embassy, a Major General Samuel Harnel.”

Mary Jean picked up the receiver and said, “This is General Bergermeyer.”

“One moment and I’ll connect you with General Harnel,” said an aide.

“General Bergermeyer, Samuel Harnel here. We’ve not had a chance to meet since you took over the Center. I hope to correct that very soon.”

“I look forward to that,” replied Mary Jean, waiting for the real reason to emerge as she guessed it was certainly not a social call out of the blue.

“The reason I have called is one of my colleagues arrived in Washington late last night from Israel and I believe he would like to meet with you rather urgently. May I put him on the phone?”

“Of course,” came Mary Jean’s reply, now with her interest peaked.

“Hello, General Bergermeyer, I am Brigadier David Seigel. I’m your counterpart in the Israeli Defense Force. I hope you don’t mind this presumption, but I need to talk with you right away and not in either of our offices. Could we have a drink somewhere this afternoon?”

“I would be delighted. Shall we say Fadó’s in Chinatown at four? That’ll be before the after-work crowd arrives.”

“Until four,” said Siegel and the phone went silent.

A few minutes after four, Mary Jean entered Fadó. Although the bar was quite dim after leaving the bright sunshine outside, she had little difficulty in identifying the Israeli. Cream collar shirt and blue wool slacks; a dark face with round black eyes topped by a receding gray hairline. And when she approached, he looked at her and smiled, a nice smile.

“Hello, General,” Mary Jean said.

“Please, David.”

“Mary Jean, pleased to meet you.” They shook hands.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Of course. I would like a vodka and tonic to ease out of the office atmosphere.”

“I’ll get that and I’ll have a Guinness. I developed a taste for it in the United Kingdom while spending some time at the London School of Economics.”

Brigadier Siegel went over to the bar and ordered the drinks. Fadó’s was an Irish establishment in the Chinatown area of the nation’s capital. The décor was similar to a pub in the old country with concessions to the tastes of the American drinking public. The size of the public standing area was far greater than that found in Ireland. The area around the bar was spacious and there were cozy tables with comfortable chairs on the sides of the room. One could have a private conversation at one of the tables and not worry about someone overhearing, especially before the bar filled up around five o’clock.

David returned to the table and set the drinks down. He picked his up and so did Mary Jean. Since they were in an Irish pub they both clicked glasses and said the Irish, “Slainté.”

Mary Jean opened the conversation. “You sounded quite serious on the phone. I didn’t know I had an exact counterpart in the IDF. What’s up?”

“I arrived here last night on a prior planned visit to assist the Defense Attaché on a project. Just before I left Tel Aviv yesterday, I learned some interesting information that I think I need to share with you. You realize, of course, this conversation never takes place, no attribution as to source.”

Mary Jean nodded her understanding and took a sip of her drink. She was appraising the man in front of her. He was certainly an intense one and from her gut feeling she sensed that he was someone who had been out there and done the real intelligence work. She came to the conclusion to trust him.

“The sources of what I am going to relate to you, Mary Jean, are my own assets. Therefore, I have no doubt on their veracity. One of my deep cover agents called a few days ago to report that he firmly believes a quantity of weapons grade uranium has been stolen from the nuclear plant in Iran. He is someone we have had in place to monitor things at their plant. It wasn’t until I received the second piece of intelligence that I connected the events.” He stopped talking, took a sip of his stout beer, and again slowly looked around the pub. Satisfied no one was observing them, he continued.

“There was a gun battle in Beirut a few days ago in which a major terrorist leader was presumably killed. I know you know this, Mary Jean.” He waited for a response.

“David, we’re getting along just fine. You know that I read the intelligence reports of what happened in Beirut.”

“Okay, but I’m hoping to establish a good exchange relationship here. Anyhow, the terrorist was not killed on the spot, and I know it was by an American team. I think it was your operation.”

“Let’s assume you are correct,” said Mary Jean. “How do you know he wasn’t killed? I was led to believe he was dead.”

“The man was Kemal Hassan, and one of my men gathered him up from the restaurant just after the firefight, and rushed him away. Not a good thing, you know, to put on a firefight in downtown Beirut by someone who is not a local.” David seemed to put on his warmest smile as he conveyed this dig.

“Actually,” the Israeli continued, “we got the man to one of our safe houses in the city and a medic attended to his wound. The medic knew it was only a matter of minutes as the wound was fatal. An attempt was made to get information out of him before he died.”

“You are being very open. Yes, that was my team. I have already had a session with the commander in question and he knows his mistake. I suppose there is a price for this?”

“What are they doing now?” the Israeli asked.

“They are in Turkey and we’re going after the ones who escaped us in Beirut,” Mary Jean said; she had to give him something as this conversation progressed.

“Let me tell you some interesting things we learned from Mr. Hassan before he expired. I’ll skip the details and give you the end result.” He stopped and again surveyed the area around them. “The organization that sent them to Lebanon is called Fatimah. I don’t know why they use the Prophet’s daughter’s name, but anyhow, we have suspected for some time that there is an overall agency, a control mechanism, that is overseeing the worldwide efforts of all the major terrorist groups. Al Qaeda, Hezbollah, Islamic Brotherhood and even ISIL. We believed there had to be some form of direction and financial control. We now know that agency is Fatimah, and that it is located somewhere in Iran. He died before we got anything else.”

Mary Jean said, “I am extremely glad you called me. I believe we can have a working relationship and inform one another of things as long as it is on a one-to-one basis. Since this meeting didn’t take place it is easy for me to tell you what we have.” She related to him information from the tapes recorded in Beirut. Now this Fatimah was a known entity and was definitely the enemy with the intent of detonating an atomic weapon. She had to find out more. When would they attack? Where?

* * * *

STRIKE TEAM ONE

NEXT MORNING - INCIRLIK, TURKEY

Matt checked on his men in the morning to ensure they had eaten breakfast, and then they all waited for the aircraft to arrive. He received new satellite photographs of the location and vehicles. All seemed to be the same as the day before —just twenty-four hours later. Those vehicles on the imagery could be extremely important, but as a safety measure he had requested an on-call helicopter rescue from the target area. The analysts at the National Photographic Interpretation Center had said their best guess was eight to ten people still remained at the Ayun compound location. At 1600 hours, the latest imagery showed the target area looking the same, no changes. It was six hours before the planned assault would take place.

In a few minutes they entered the C-130, and shortly afterwards they were airborne. Onboard the aircraft, Matt once again went over the details of their attack plan at the target.

Five hours and fifty minutes later, the red light in the back of the plane illuminated. They were ten minutes from their drop point. After one final check of their parachutes, weapons and equipment, the aircraft loadmaster opened the rear clamshell ramp to the tremendous roar of the wind. The pilot had brought the big bird down to ten thousand feet, the altitude at which they would exit the aircraft. Each team member stood up, checked the equipment of the next person to ensure safety, and stood ready. It was now 2400 hours, midnight.

The small light in the rear of the aircraft started flashing green.

AL-HANBALI’S COMPOUND

27 OCTOBER - AYUN, SAUDI ARABIA

Yuri had labored all day to get all the equipment and the uranium ready for transport. It was not easy for him to stop his work, which was nearly complete, put it all in boxes, and be ready to depart at 2200 hours. The two assistants had done most of the packing. He had carefully supervised the operation.

At nine o’clock, just an hour before the scheduled departure, one of al-Hanbali’s men arrived with the vehicle in which Yuri and his equipment would travel. The man parked it just outside the building and entered the workshop to tell Yuri that Tewfik wanted to see him in the main house. Yuri put down his notes, closed the lid on his computer, and proceeded to the main house. After he left, the assistants took a short break. They were experts in short breaks.

While Yuri was gone, Abda, one of the assistants who coveted the music on Yuri’s CD, went over to the computer, took out the CD, and replaced it with a blank one. He had never heard Yuri listen to the music on that disc. Yuri would never play the music on it before they left and everyone was in such a rush to get everything loaded onto the trailer he wouldn’t notice that it was missing. Abda put the CD on the bench next to his knapsack, and opened the drawstring to put it in the pack. Just then he heard Yuri’s voice outside the door; he slid it under the knapsack and returned to work.

“Anything we need to do different?” asked Abda as Yuri entered the room. He moved so that Yuri was looking at him and not at the bench.

“Nothing new for us to do. Just be ready to leave in an hour. We can start loading the trailer now. It’s just outside. Tewfik had it moved to just a few meters from the door. He wants to leave as soon as we load. Let’s get going,” Yuri said.

The operation to move all the equipment took the better part of an hour. The pressure increased as al-Hanbali came down to urge them to make greater speed. At last they secured the tarp with a rope and the trailer was ready for the road.

“Grab your personal stuff right now and get out to the trucks,” al-Hanbali ordered.

They all picked up the packs they had prepared. Abda lifted his knapsack, put it over his shoulder, and headed for the door. He did not dare pick up the CD from the tabletop as al-Hanbali was watching all their movements to ensure quick compliance with his order to get to the trucks. The disk remained on the tabletop, unobserved by the others as they left the building. Abda regretted that he would not be able to listen to the Russian music on his CD player, doubting if Yuri would even miss one disc.

****

The convoy was assembled now and ready for departure. Tewfik signaled Yuri to come to his vehicle and ride with him. The remaining two dark green Land Rovers followed his white Land Rover. The middle SUV had the trailer attached. That way if anything happened to it there was a vehicle behind it to render any needed assistance.

The vehicles started toward the main road. It was exactly ten o’clock. They would travel for over two hours in darkness to their new destination. Al-Hanbali had ordered them not to use headlights on the back roads he had selected for their journey. There was a full moon that illuminated the desert landscape. That would be sufficient for driving. By not using lights on the vehicle al-Hanbali was determined to keep any prying eyes away and make it difficult to identify who or what was traveling the roadways. In al-Hanbali’s mind this reduced their vulnerability.

They had been on the road with no headlights for about twenty minutes when the horn of the last Land Rover in the convoy began to beep. Tewfik stopped his vehicle, got out, and walked back to see what had happened. Arriving, he saw the front right tire was bent at an angle, with the top of the tire leaning in and the bottom sticking out. In the dark, the vehicle had hit a rut the others missed, twisted the front axle, and stopped.

“There is no way this vehicle can proceed to the next place. Return to the main house, get one of the other vehicles, and rejoin us,” al-Hanbali commanded.

“It will take us well over an hour to get back to the house and to get one of the new vehicles. Can we wait there and join you in the morning in daylight?” asked the driver of the ill-fated Land Rover.

“Yes, do that. There are three of you, so bring two other vehicles up so that we have extra transportation in case we need them,” al-Hanbali ordered.

He returned to the front Land Rover and gestured for the driver to proceed with extreme caution, hoping to avoid a similar fate as they traveled under blackout conditions. He did not like having his unit split up like this, especially now, in the final phase of his attack plans. The six remaining members proceeded toward their destination.

They arrived at the new house and Yuri started to unload his trailer into the workshop. It was almost identical to the previous one. The assistants put everything in the same locations, ready to start work in the morning.