Secret of the Oil: Prequel to the Donavan Chronicles (2 page)

Matt had been walking with Colonel Forsman as they made their way through the long corridors toward the east exit. They were two corridors away when the explosion shook the building. Matt broke into a run toward the exit where Susan planned to meet him. Forgetting the colonel, his only thought was Susan, out there by herself. He sensed that the dreadful explosion reverberating through this section of the building had come from that exit area. Reaching the end of the corridor, he turned to his right into the outer ring of the Pentagon. The horrific scene filled his vision. Taking in all the devastation, smoke, debris, and smell of jet fuel in addition to the roar of the inferno of the flames and the blistering heat, his senses numbed.

For a seemingly interminable time, but in reality only a few seconds, Matt stood dazed, unable to think or move. He needed to find Susan. Finally getting hold of himself, he ran forward searching for her, calling her name, stumbling as far into the devastation as he could. There was no sign of her. He continued his desperate search, but the needs of others were overwhelming, many requiring immediate help. He led some burn victims to the EMS station; the Pentagon medical unit had set it up in record time. Then he returned to the area to guide other injured men and women, both civilian and military, to the aid station.

He searched for Susan everywhere while continuing to help others. After two hours he felt exhausted, but some sort of compulsion forced him to continue his efforts to find her and to help as many as he could. Near collapse from the overpowering smell of aviation fuel, burnt flesh and smoke, he found himself exhausted. A man next to him led him back down the hall and told him to go home after asking Matt for his name. Whoever this man was, Matt thought, he looked familiar. The man’s face was covered in ash and dust, and Matt was no longer able to properly focus his thoughts. Later, Matt saw him on TV. He was the Secretary of Defense.

It was dark by the time Matt was able to return to his hotel room where he and Susan had spent the previous night. The realization that he would never see her again overwhelmed him as he opened the door of their room. He sat on the bed trying to control his anger. He was wound up tight. His head dropped and he lay face down. Despite the soft elevator music floating through the room from a preprogrammed station, all Matt heard was his memory of the explosive, horrific crash of the 757 as it thundered into the Pentagon. A sound which ricocheted endlessly through his entire being, decimating all feeling.

If he had not delayed, had met her a few minutes earlier, perhaps…. How was he going to tell their daughter, Laura? She was staying with her aunt so they could take a vacation alone. No answer came. The full impact of his loss finally hit him as he released some of the built up tension, and he started sobbing uncontrollably.

He swore an oath to make them pay, somehow, someway, someday for what they did.

* * * *

The airplane hit a pocket of turbulence and the sudden jolt brought Matt fully awake. The events of his quasi-dream state had happened a long time ago but were still real and vivid. Now he was a captain, a full member and commander of a Defense Intelligence Agency counterterrorist team. Unfortunately, he thought, currently delivering “automotive parts.” With that last thought, he fell asleep in the uncomfortable window seat high above the Atlantic.

On Matt’s arrival in Riyadh, the promised armed escort was present. Together, they went to the airline cargo office where they rounded up dollies for the packages. The soldiers’ presence ensured a swift passage through customs. They escorted him out of the airport to a parked two-and-a-half ton truck, where with some effort they manhandled the heavy packages onto the bed of the vehicle. One soldier stayed in the rear cargo area while Matt and the other soldier got into the cab. Matt wanted to use his Arabic, but since neither man had shown any interest in conversation, he concluded that they were under orders not to talk with him. He reasoned it was best to ride along, get this package delivered and then hurry home.

They drove from the airport toward the military headquarters located ten miles away. It was now almost midnight in Riyadh, and the streets were nearly empty. Matt thought the city looked a lot better than Baghdad, but nothing to compare with the former beauty of Beirut. He now relaxed and enjoyed the night air flowing into the military truck through the open windows. It refreshed him after the stale airplane air.

As the truck rounded a corner at a deserted intersection, he heard a sound that could have been firecrackers—except that the head of the soldier next to him seemed to explode. The truck swerved and headed towards a streetlight pole. Matt instinctively dove down below the dash. He heard more bullets hitting the vehicle and made a half successful attempt with his left foot to press the brake pedal. The truck slowed but he was slammed into the dashboard when the truck careened into the pole. His head bounced off the windshield, it almost blacked him out. The soldier in the back slammed against the front bulkhead behind where Matt rode. Somehow, the man fired a few rounds at the attackers even after the vehicle hit the pole.

Matt reached over and snatched the pistol from the holster of the dead soldier beside him. He was breathing quick and heavy. Then, reaching across to release the door, he pushed the body out with his shoulder, and jumped down to the ground on the opposite side from where the gunfire originated.

The soldier in the rear was yelling something into a microphone attached to a transceiver on his belt. He attempted to get off the back of the truck while firing his weapon at a point across the street. Then he took two rounds in the chest that knocked him to the side of the vehicle. He tumbled over the rail and lay sprawled near the rear tires. Matt watched in horror, recovered quickly when he realized the brave soldier was dead.

Matt slid along the side of the truck to where the dead soldier lay and retrieved his M-16 automatic rifle, putting the pistol in his belt. The firing from across the street had stopped; perhaps the attackers assumed that they were all dead since no fire was coming from the truck. Matt thought quickly. He decided to crawl under the vehicle. There he waited.

From his supine position, he saw two pairs of legs approaching from across the street. He used the rear tires to hide most of his body from their view. As they drew near, he rolled closer to the rear wheels. Their body positions suggested they were concentrating on the bed of the truck in case more soldiers were hiding there. In the distance, he could hear sirens, but they were too far away to help him; the attackers, Matt assumed some form of terrorists, could steal the boxes and flee in less than a minute.

He now heard noises just above the truck’s wheels that told him the two attackers had opened the rear gate of the truck, jumped up on top of the bed, and had moved one of the boxes down to the ground. Sure that their concentration would be on the box, Matt took a deep breath, held it, and rolled out from underneath the truck. He raised the M-16 and fired three rounds into each of the attackers. He saw the bullets rip into them and fired two extra rounds into each. When their bodies hit the ground, he dove toward his previous hiding place as automatic weapon fire again pinged against the truck. There were obviously more than the two who had approached the truck. He hid behind the slim protection offered by the rear wheels for a few seconds more until he heard a pause in the gunfire.

Checking that the pistol he had earlier retrieved was secure in his belt, he took rapid short breaths as he balanced the M-16 in his left hand and scurried toward the nearby street corner. His training was now kicking in at full throttle. Automatic weapons fire followed him, missing his head by inches and chipping bits of asphalt near his feet; he felt one piece go through his trouser near his knee. Damn, something hurt. Must be hit. Can’t stop now. As he reached the corner, he flattened himself against the wall, taking deep gulps of air.

“Shit. What the hell’s going on?” he said aloud.

They had to be terrorists or outright idiots to attack a military vehicle. He tried to focus. He took another deep breath and released it slowly to calm himself and then risked a quick look around the corner. As he did, the stone wall next to his head exploded and concrete shards cut a small gash on the right side of his face. He felt blood flowing down his cheek.

“That’s twice, you bastards!”

Matt waited until the weapon across the street fired again, glanced around the corner of the building, and this time he saw a flash. Only one shooter. Taking careful aim, he fired. Fired again and then emptied the magazine at the target. He dropped the rifle and whipped out the pistol.

He could not tell if he had hit the terrorist from this distance, but no more bullets were coming towards him. He ran, zigzagging across the street to reach the safety of a doorway. Still he heard no weapons fire. He stayed close to the wall and inched toward the corner where he had seen the muzzle flash. When he turned the corner, he saw a body lying on the ground only three feet away.

He took a step toward the prone man, ready to fire. Right then he knew it was a mistake. His training had taught him better than to approach this close. First time in a real situation and he was not using the skills he had acquired in training. He raised the pistol to fire into the prone terrorist.

Suddenly, the “body” jumped up and knocked the gun away with one hand, at the same time slashing at Matt with a knife in the other. Only his quick reaction saved Matt from having his stomach slit open. As the man's arm went past, Matt grabbed it, twisted, turned it down, and pulled it up behind the assailant. He heard the crack as the shoulder gave way. The man screamed in pain. Matt used the pistol and smashed the butt down on the man’s skull. He fell limp. Matt released his grip, not caring if the terrorist’s head slammed into the asphalt. The bastard had just tried to kill him.

The approaching sirens were now close, and then two military police jeeps, lights rotating and sirens blaring skidded to a stop beside the truck. A blinding searchlight dazzled him. He dropped his weapon, raised his hand and waited for them to approach.

It had been over an hour since it all had happened. Now he sat and waited for the general. The door opened and General al-Hassam walked over to Matt and held out his hand. Matt came to his feet, stood at attention, and shook hands with the general. He saw a tall man of about sixty displaying a friendly smile. Matt thought there was something of Omar Sharif, the actor, about him, even the streak of white hair above each ear.

“Captain, the incident you experienced on the way here was regrettable and I’ll advise Admiral Kidd of your deeds. I commend you for your bravery tonight. How are your wounds?”

“Okay, sir. No problem. Only small. I’ll be fine.”

“The admiral chose wisely in picking you for this mission. I would prefer that you do not ask any questions about this event; just erase it from your memory. I’ll find out all I’ll need to know from the terrorist you captured. I’ll tell you that his cousin was one of the terrorists that flew the plane into the Pentagon in 2001. He works with a group headed by a terrorist called Tewfik al-Hanbali. The man you captured got the information on your delivery by bribing one of the guards on the truck. Unfortunately, they both paid for the breach of security. We also are at war with these extremists. I hope I can return the favor to you sometime in the future.”

Matt nodded. Inside he felt good. He had nabbed a real terrorist who could have contributed to the planning that led to Susan’s death. He suspected that the means of extracting the information from the captive would be extremely unpleasant, but then again the attacker had tried to kill him.

General al-Hassam spoke again. “I know that you have a receipt for me to sign for the admiral and then you can be on your way back to the States. May I have it?” He signed the receipt and returned it to Matt. “Thank you for your efforts in getting this to me. I’ll have you escorted back to the airport, and I’ll convey your exploits to the admiral. I wish you a safe return to America.”

Matt saluted the general and left. He wanted to ask the general not to tell the admiral but felt it would be disrespectful to try to get a general to not do something. He hoped he would be away from the admiral’s office before he learned about the incident.

The trip back to the airport passed uneventfully compared to the ride out. As Matt and his escort passed the site of the ambush, now illuminated by multiple spotlights, Matt could plainly see the bullet holes in the truck and wondered how he had escaped. Luck was on his side this night.

Exhausted and bruised, he managed to sleep most of the way on the flight back to Washington. People at the airport looked at his disheveled clothing and some even noticed the blood on his suit, but Matt didn’t care. He just wanted to get home.

The following afternoon, Washington time, he delivered the signed receipt to the NSA director’s office, coming directly from the airport. Afterwards he reported to the Center at the Defense Intelligence Agency. He reviewed the events of the previous days in his mind as he sat at his desk. The general was not present and left word for him to come in tomorrow and brief her on his trip. The whole trip was not exactly the anticipated milk run, he thought wryly. Most milkmen aren’t ambushed by automatic fire in a foreign country. They don’t kill two attackers and capture one terrorist while delivering bottles, or, in this case, “automotive parts.” The package must be a hell of a sight more important than he had imagined. What had he been carrying? It was certainly not car parts.