The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (28 page)

Chapter 35

Just as Marta and Josef left the hotel room, three US Army Delta Force teams with a sprinkling of CIA Special Activities Division operatives pulled out of Mahmudiyah 30 miles south of Baghdad. Loaded in three cargo trucks, humorously labeled by Seibel as Mushroom, Pepperoni and Sausage, their route would skirt the southern reaches of Baghdad until they crossed the Tigris River just three miles from the transaction spot. The trip so far had been without event, which made it a rousing success.

The teams’ helicopter flights from Hafar northwest to Al Jumaymah and then across the Iraq desert in the black of night to the west of Karbala and to the north side of Mahmudiyah had gone without apparent detection. No shots had been fired on their birds. They landed safely in a clearing 200 yards from a warehouse where the three trucks sat parked. The cover of night and their low altitudes had secured their entry. The two helicopters were refueled and covered by huge drop cloths that made them virtually undetectable from the air.

The Delta Force commandos were veterans all. Each had seen action in theatres from Grenada to Panama to Libya. Before being diverted to this mission, they had been training for a recon strike mission along the coast just south of Kuwait City.

Situated now in the cargo holds of the trucks, they each wore nondescript clothing that would fit in well in Baghdad or the Bronx. Bulletproof vests added a little weight. Some had beards, hair had been died black, skin darkened. All could pass for locals for a brief period if necessary. One thing they all possessed was a look of determination; a single-mindedness for the mission ahead of them. They had trained non-stop for three weeks for this Baghdad smash and dash, beginning the day after Seibel had received the call from Smelinski. He knew with no time to plan an extensive mission, he would need his Delta Force friends. A call to the general in command of Special Forces was all that was required to reorient the three teams for his mission.

In stark contrast to the serious and stern looks shared by the Deltas riding in the rear compartment of his truck, Lance sat smiling beside Tarwanah in the bouncy cab. Jamaani drove the truck 200 yards behind them on the dirt road. The lead truck a mile ahead was being piloted by Abdullah, a Seibel-secured resource who had worked in Iraq for so long it was his home more than the small village outside of Cairo he knew as a boy.

He wasn’t in the convoy, but Lance could feel Fuchs’ presence. He knew that Seibel would not allow the operation to fail. Putting everything in Lance’s young but capable hands was a stretch. Tarwanah and Jamaani could only be called upon to do so much. He expected the satellite phone in his pocket to ring at some point with Fuchs on the other end, serving a role and purpose only he and Seibel knew about.

“Fourteen minutes ahead of schedule.” Tarwanah looked from his watch to Lance and smiled. “Always good to be a little ahead so that there is room to massage the timeline, right?”

“I’m trusting you on that aspect,” Lance responded still looking out the window at the surprisingly lush landscape passing by as they traveled the dirt road.

“Your trust will not be misplaced.”

Lance turned to his Jordanian counterpart. “So this is number two for us. How many Seibel missions does this make for you?”

Tarwanah laughed at the question. “I can’t recall the exact figure, I’m sure it exceeds two dozen, maybe three. But remember, some of them lasted months. Why do you ask?”

“No reason really. Just like to know the motivation for my character.”

“This motivation comes from inside, does it not?” The Jordanian smiled again at his much younger mission mate. “Motivation is not hard to find for this mission.”

“Not this mission. I’m thinking in more general terms. Why we’re doing what we’re doing.” Lance turned back to the window.

“Good and evil. That simple.” Tarwanah was a man of few words. “We are in a battle every day. We choose sides and do what we must.” The Jordanian looked over at Lance with a quizzical look. “What are you thinking?”

“I know the good and evil stuff. I understand making that choice, I just wonder where it all fits sometimes.”

Tarwanah added, “You must concentrate on the mission. That gives you the answers. Everything else has no importance until it is completed. And then of course, there is the next one.”

Lance turned from the window and smiled at Tarwanah. “Don’t worry about me brother. Failure is not an option.” He turned back to the window. “I just like to let my mind wander when I’m riding in a car and can look out the window and see the world here and now. I wonder about it all.”

“I understand. Don’t like your timing particularly well, but I understand.” Tarwanah’s voice was soothing.

Lance leaned his head against the window glass and closed his eyes. He started humming and then singing. The song his brain chose for the occasion was both melodic and touching. It was one he had come to truly love in the two years since he first heard it driving from San Angelo to San Antonio to catch a flight. It told the tale of a young woman trapped by society, by her loyalty to others who let her down at every turn.

“This is nice,” Tarwanah responded. “It is a love song, yes?”

“No. It’s about loss, poverty, unrealized dreams.”

“It is a fast car, no?” The Jordanian asked.

Lance smiled. “The car is just a vehicle, it isn’t the way out she thought it was. Just a car.”

They rode in silence for several minutes. They passed farms, groves of trees, canals bringing water’s lifeblood from the Tigris River into the fields to grow the plants that feed the people of the land of Eden.

“So the car in the song is fast, but it isn’t fast enough to escape reality?” Tarwanah asked.

Lance opened his eyes and laughed. He reached over and smacked Tarwanah on the shoulder. “Exactly, my man. You nailed it.” He said this in Arabic. “He can leave or he can stay and face the world as it is. Deal with responsibility or move on down the line.”

“Yes, he’s got to make a decision. Now here is my problem with America.” And Tarwanah looked stern for the moment.

“How’s that?”

“Americans always dream of a better life, more money, more things. They think they can get it all just by changing, by leaving one place, one home for another.”

“Go on…” Lance nodded.

“He thinks because he has a car he can get a better life and she thinks that because he has this car he can give her a better life. Nowhere do they talk about work, struggle, commitment, dedication.”

Lance’s turn. “Ah, now here is the problem I have with Arabs. They jump to conclusions without all the facts. They assume that because some Americans have nice things that everyone wants nothing more than a fast car, nice house or worst of all, to be famous. You didn’t hear the rest of the song.”

“I assume it will be the usual American story of boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy wins girls back. Everyone lives happily ever after. The end.”

Lance smiled and laughed at this. “You realize, you’ve said more to me in the last few minutes than you’ve said in the weeks we’ve been together before.”

“This is what I do when I am riding in a car and have time to think.” Tarwanah smiled.

“Very good, that I understand.” Lanced turned back to the window and the groves of trees. “Let me sing the rest of the song for you.”

“Please.”

Lance closed his eyes and tapped his hands on his thighs to get the rhythm back. He sang the whole song from beginning to end. It is a great song.

Tarwanah took it in for a few moments. “Now that changes everything. I see now it is about working, caring for others, dreaming of a better life but realizing the better life cannot be found with the one you love. It is a song of loss. Very sad.”

“Yes. But what is really sad is the number of people who live life just like that. Never getting out, never giving your children a better life. Letting the cycle perpetuate itself.”

“Man, you’re getting me down.” Tarwanah said this in English with a very good Brooklyn accent. Lance cracked up.

“That’s just life my man. Can’t put all your hopes in a fast car.” He turned to Tarwanah. “Or all your fears in one bomb.”

“How about three bombs?” Tarwanah asked.

“Now that’s scary. Three bombs in the wrong hands is a reality I don’t like.” They let that be it for a while. Ten minutes later they were on a stretch of highway and across the bridge into southeast Baghdad. Still about 15 minutes ahead of schedule.

They had traveled in radio silence for the duration as planned. As they crossed into the city, Lance took out the small radio in his pant pocket under his thawb. In Arabic he relayed instructions to all three vehicles. “Honey agenda. No sales.” The short staccato words confirmed no changes in plans. Since the satellite phone in his other pocket had not rung, Lance had to assume no changes in plan had been proffered by Seibel.

Tarwanah hummed and sang the song from a few minutes ago. Lance liked how it sounded when sung with a pleasant Jordanian accent.

He closed his eyes as they crossed the Tigris River and exited the highway. As the vehicle crossed under a highway overpass and Tarwanah negotiated the path that would bring them to the transaction spot, Lance kept his eyes closed and saw the three moving vehicles on a satellite map below from 5,000 feet. He had memorized Baghdad roadways and made a couple of suggestions to Seibel on routes.

He went ahead of the trucks on his mind map to the location they were heading toward. The warehouse district where the meeting was to take place was ideal. Few people, lighter traffic and multiple entrance and egress options. Eyes closed, he went from map to timeline to plan of attack to nuclear warhead disarming.

He opened his eyes and looked at his watch. The mission was still ahead of schedule and no news over the satellite phone meant the transport truck carrying the nukes traveling up Highway 6 was moving on schedule. He didn’t like it. Too easy, too clean. There had to be something Seibel had missed.

“You feeling good about this?” He turned to Tarwanah.

“Not at all. Haven’t liked this one from day one. Iraqis, Russians, KGB, Mukhabarat, Delta Forces, nuclear weapons. Too many moving pieces.” Tarwanah replied.

“You trust Seibel though.” Lance asked.

“No one is better.” He smiled again as he kept his eyes on the road. “I fully expect you to be as good one day. But that is many years and many missions away.”

“You trust me?”

Tarwanah smiled. “I am here aren’t I? I could have taken any of the other vehicles, but I know where you are will be the most likely opportunity for action and therefore the opportunity to try to control an uncontrollable situation.”

The satellite phone rang. Lance clicked it on and put it to his ear. The message was brief.

“
Time and time again. Affirm
.”

He heard the words and became a different person.

A switch flipped; a door opened. His melancholy vanished. His eyes lazy and languid from a two-hour drive on bumpy dirt roads tightened and squinted.

He brought the radio to his mouth and spoke in flawless Arabic. “The morning calls us to prayer in the light of day. The smoke spirals.” The spotters and team leads in the other two trucks heard the words and sat up, tightened belts, secured firearms in holsters and said a prayer if inclined. They were here to do a job. A job, which likely entailed killing others, many others. And maybe saving the world along the way.

Lance surveyed the warehouses up and down the street in Baghdad’s Al Wahdah district. The transaction was to take place three hours from now less than a half mile from their current location. Lance had asked Seibel just once a little more than three weeks ago why they couldn’t just take the merchandise out on the highway in the middle of nowhere. Swoop in, take out all players, snag the warheads and hightail it back over the border. Seibel’s answer was direct and to the point, much more so than normal.