Secret of the Oil: Prequel to the Donavan Chronicles (4 page)

TARA LAWSON

FRIDAY – 9:47 P.M. IN BAGHDAD

Kneeling beside Mohammed’s body, Tara tried to control her rising fear. She focused her mind. Mohammed had provided some significant, but as yet not understood, intelligence. She decided to get his words to Washington as a heads-up warning, and tomorrow she would follow up with a detailed message to the Defense Intelligence Agency’s Command Center in the Pentagon. Tara Lawson knew her phone lacked secure voice capability, and this was definitely not something to transmit over unsecured airways. In order to alert Washington, she would have to send an encrypted text message on her satellite phone.

On the keypad of the instrument, she typed the exact words Mohammed had spoken to her; the green screen showed the words as she typed. From the pull-down menu, she selected flash precedence for the message. The phone made a barely audible beep. The internal conversion encryption process was complete.

It was 1:49 p.m. on Friday in Washington when the message left Baghdad. Two short beeps on Tara’s phone signaled the acceptance code for the message by the satellite. She knew the Pentagon would receive it.

When Tara pushed the send button, the phone automatically transmitted the secure text to a satellite where the flash precedence alerted an internal computer program to disregard other incoming traffic until it had attended to the highest priority first. In a few microseconds, the systems on board relayed this message to another geosynchronous satellite orbiting over the United States. Once there, it rerouted the text to a ground station at Fort Meade. On arrival at the receiver station, the computers there processed it through a decoding mechanism to convert the encryption back into readable text. Since the address in Tara’s transmission indicated the DIA Command Center, the message went by secure landline to the communication center in the bowels of the Pentagon. The Pentagon computer read that addressee and disseminated it to the desk officer on duty in the Command Center. From the time Tara had pushed the send button, her communication to Washington had taken exactly three minutes and forty-nine seconds to reach the Middle East desk officer in the Command Center.

Tara looked at her watch. Only five minutes had elapsed since she had crossed the street and entered the house. Tonight, things had not gone according to plan, and she had to take care of some final details. Tara knew that Mohammed's information about the meeting to take place in Beirut was a real break. The DIA was gaining knowledge of a terrorist leader’s activity before it happened and would have to find out more about this “dirty oil," and hopefully, one of the counterterrorist strike teams would eliminate or capture the terrorist leaders when they met in Beirut.

Right now, fighting back the tightness in her throat, she visualized all that had gone askew tonight. Tara knew she had to eradicate any evidence of her meeting with Mohammed, hoping to preclude the terrorists’ verifying that he was a traitor.

Who had killed him? It seemed most likely it was someone from his cell, someone who suspected him of being a traitor. That made sense. Had someone followed him here? She had not seen anyone. Her fears rose on these thoughts.

Now to take care of one last detail to ensure no one would soon find Mohammed. Tara slowly moved over to the one window in the rear of the building and took out her laser designator code and target identifier module, the latest advance in terminally guided ordinance. Not only did the module send the identification of the user but it also allowed the user to plant it and then to get a safe distance away before the guided ordnance impacted the designated point.

There could be no mistake in this procedure. Tara switched on the small device and heard the audible beep indicating it was active. Technology sent the message to a receiver unit high above Baghdad.

* * * *

Scorpion One – Lieutenant Colonel Jake Haneline

9:50 P.M. – F-16 over Baghdad

Jake had taken off an hour ago from an airfield over two hundred kilometers south of Baghdad. This was a routine night mission to hit a target north of the city. The briefing officer for the flight advised Jake that he was also on call to hit two additional targets if requested. These targets could become active if an electronic request interrogated his receiver unit.

After attacking and destroying the designated bunker target, Jake was circling over Baghdad at 15,000 feet and waiting until his time on station was up. He would then return to his base and head to the bar. This was Jake’s last flight in Iraq. He was going home tomorrow. One year away from the wife and kids was enough. Sure, when he got home there would be mixed emotional memories of the missions, the jokes, the losses, and the people of Iraq. However, in one more year, he would be able to retire. No more tours in this rat hole of a country.

As he slowly banked the F-16 fighter toward the south, Jake could see all of the capital arrayed below. The approach paths for the Baghdad International Airport were just ahead, so Jake pulled a hard turn to the left to stay clear of the civilian airport arrival corridors. Civilian airliners came in high over Baghdad and then dropped in a circling descent to the runway. This minimized their low-level time exposure over built-up areas where shoulder-fired missiles could attack them.

As Jake completed his turn, the transceiver light on his display panel glowed red. His LCD display indicated a strike request designated AAR-551. Jake reacquired the sender by pushing the recycle button on the panel. The signal came back as before. This was an authenticated target identifier by someone on the ground.

“Scorpion base, Scorpion One. I have an AAR-551 hit on my system.”

“Scorpion one, wait one,” came the reply from his ground controller, who then opened his codebook for the designator corresponding to AAR-551. He searched the book at the flight center and found the code verifying that it was a covert operation authorized by Central Command. A 500-pound bomb was the requested weapon with a two-minute delay on firing, he returned to his seat in the control tower.

Since it was pre-approved, the controller said to the fighter plane, “Scorpion One, after you verify the contact, you are authorized to employ a 500-pound Joint Direct Attack Munitions. Allow two minutes from target lock on to firing. I repeat a JDAM. Over.”

“Scorpion One, acknowledge JDAM. Out.”

The F-16 was traveling at a slow 250 knots. Jake moved his right hand to the selection panel and pushed the button for the JDAM laser-guided weapon. Then he pushed his red fire button halfway down to activate the seeker inside the guided bomb. Jake heard in his helmet the shrill beep of the weapon lock on. At the same time Jake heard the beep, the unit sent a signal to the ground unit.

As directed, Jake now hit his stopwatch to count down two minutes. He figured from this altitude and speed the bomb would detonate thirty seconds after launch. He did a 360-degree turn to eat up the time and rolled back into the firing azimuth with thirty-five seconds left before the two minutes were up. He counted aloud, “Five, four, three, two, one,” and pushed down on the firing button saying, “Fox one.”

The aircraft was rock steady, and the missile’s exhaust flame lit up the sky in front of the fighter. The seeker stayed locked onto the designator on the ground. The computer on board the laser-guided ordinance provided the control surface movements to the small winglets as needed to correct for wind and atmospheric conditions. The guided bomb now followed a direct path to the ground target. Four seconds to impact.

As the missile speed away from his bird, Jake rolled his F-16 to a maximum G-force turn and streaked for home base. He knew he would make it back safely. Time to go home; Mama’s waiting. Adios, Iraq.

* * * *

TARA LAWSON

9:55 P.M. - BAGHDAD

Tara anxiously waited for acknowledgement from the aircraft. She regretted losing Mohammed; she would never understand what really motivated him to turn traitor.

The orange light on her laser designator device lit up. The plane had acquired the target and had locked on for firing.

Two minutes to be gone.

She had to get out of this house, right now. She picked up Mohammed’s cell phone and put it in her jacket pocket, then moved quickly over to the door. Hurry, hurry. At least, Glenwood would be proud of her and they could get their lives back on track now that this mission was over. She had actually completed a covert operation mission, a real feather in her own personal cap. One was enough to know that she could do it but would never have to again. Tara didn’t want to become part of any collateral damage that would surely result from the incoming precision-guided bomb. Now that she had fulfilled her mission, she had to hurry. Glenwood would be waiting for her, she knew it. Taking one final look around, she turned off the flashlight, keeping it in her hand just in case. Now, she flung open the door in her hurry to get away.

Tara never heard the second puff from the silenced 9 mm Beretta.

ABDUL al-NAGGAR

FRIDAY - 9:57 P.M.

BAGHDAD

Abdul al-Naggar fired directly into the woman’s head with two quick rounds. She was dead before the second round entered her skull. The terrorist bent down, pulled her body back into the building, and shut the door. Picking up the flashlight that Tara had dropped, he searched her crumpled body: two cell phones, a pistol, and a set of infrared goggles. He collected the pistol and the goggles, leaving the phones, and went over to the other body sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.

Evidence was what Abdul al-Naggar needed, something to take back to Tewfik al-Hanbali, something to demonstrate his continuing loyalty and dedication to the cause. The goggles and the pistol were a good start. The goggles must be U.S. military issue. That should be proof enough that the traitor Mohammed was meeting with the enemy.

Abdul found nothing more of interest after his quick search of both bodies. Then he looked down at the corpse of Mohammed. Twice in the past few days, he had observed him working on the computer when no one else was around. It was unusual for anyone other than al-Hanbali to use it—not only that, but Mohammed seemed to be doing so without al-Hanbali’s knowledge, the only one of their cell who had a computer in Baghdad. The first time Abdul had spied Mohammed using the laptop was shortly after their arrival in Iraq. That was over a month ago, when Tewfik had told them that their overall control organization had sent them to observe different operations in Iraq. Just yesterday, al-Hanbali had told them they were going back to Saudi Arabia in a few days to start a new mission against the infidels.

Earlier tonight, while the others were out on a reconnaissance, Mohammed must have thought he was alone. After using the computer for a few minutes, he had closed it and gone out to relieve himself. Abdul had secretly observed this while lying on a couch, the back of which hid him from Mohammed’s view. When Mohammed stepped out, he got up quickly, and checked the computer. He found what he searched for. He had him. Going back to the couch, he waited. Mohammed returned to the room, sat down by a small table with a full pot of tea, and poured himself a cup.

Abdul jumped up from the couch and raced toward Mohammed shouting, “You are a traitor. I saw you on the computer a few minutes ago when you thought we were all out. I have seen what you are doing. You are giving information to the Americans.”

“No. Not at all. You are wrong. I only e-mail my friends in Saudi,” protested Mohammed.

“You lie. I checked the computer right after you went out, but you only cleared the “message sent” file; you forgot to clear the “trash” file. There was one in there to an American. I have you now and Tewfik will kill you himself.”

Abdul reached for Mohammed, but he rocketed up from his chair, deliberately dropping the teacup to the floor. As Mohammed started to race for the door, Abdul pulled a knife, lunged for him and stabbed him in the stomach. Reaching down to the small table, Mohammed managed to grab a glass water bottle and swung it with all his strength. It caught Abdul behind his ear, collapsing him like a rag doll. He didn’t move.

Mohammed snatched a cloth from the table and tried to stop the gush of blood from his stomach. Now that Abdul had found him out, there was nothing to do but run. If he stayed here, they would kill him as a traitor. He staggered out of the door, checked his watch, and limped, pain shooting through him, toward his rendezvous with the American agent.

A few moments after Mohammed departed, Abdul slowly opened his eyes. He was blind with pain. He held his head until his vision cleared. “Must tell Tewfik al-Hanbali,” he thought and as he groped his way to the phone. When al-Hanbali answered, Abdul talked fast.

“We have a traitor in our midst. Mohammed has been in contact with the Americans and gave them information.”

“What, what are you saying?” Tewfik asked.

“Listen, look on your computer’s trash file and you will see his message to the American. He has run off and I’m going to follow him. I have to go. I’ll call later.” Abdul was breathing heavily and had started to shout.

“Mohammed, is he…” were the final words he heard as he hung up the phone. Then he flung the front door open to follow the traitor.

Outside the cell’s safe house, in the dim streetlight, he picked up the trail of blood and followed it to the nearby corner. At this location, they usually turned to go to the mosque. He thought he saw Mohammed in the distance, at least two corners away, moving slowly and using the walls to support himself. He hadn’t gone to the mosque. Abdul followed and was still well back from the man when he saw him disappear into a house. He stopped and looked around.

Abdul was cautiously moving closer to where Mohammed had entered when he saw what he thought was a woman, dressed in Western clothes, rush across the street and use the same entrance. Abdul’s eyes opened wide, his pulse quickened and he smiled. He crept up to the door of the house and listened. He could hear an exchange between the woman and Mohammed going on beneath muffled noises from inside the house. Then a long silence followed and he heard movement inside but no more voices. He waited, hoping to hear the next bit of conversation. He decided to get out his Beretta just in case. At that exact moment, the woman opened the door. Taken by surprise, he fired as soon as he saw her.

Now he was standing in the house where Mohammed and the woman both lay dead. Abdul surveyed the room with the flashlight one more time, and then turned it off. It was time to think exactly what he was going to tell al-Hanbali. He continued thinking. Walking in a small circle in the dark.

****

Four seconds,

Three seconds,

Two seconds,

One second—the laser-guided 500-pound bomb struck three feet from where Abdul stood.