Secret of the Oil: Prequel to the Donavan Chronicles (9 page)

STRIKE TEAM ONE

U.S. EMBASSY - BEIRUT, LEBANON

9:38 PM – TWELVE DAYS AFTER MAJOR LAWSON’S MURDER

The helicopters carrying Strike Team One (ST-1) into the U.S. embassy in Lebanon arrived shortly after dark. From the time the passenger helicopter crossed the shoreline to touchdown in the embassy compound took thirty-five seconds. The first helicopter stayed in the air and circled over the embassy as the second delivered the team along with other items that normally came in on these flights. When the second chopper touched down on the pad, the team disembarked and scrambled into the building to minimize exposure to prying eyes from nearby buildings. At the doorway into the building, Colonel Edward Johnston, the Defense Attaché, met and guided them to his office. It was only a matter of seconds before Ambassador Roger Thompson and the Deputy Chief of Mission Mary Sanchez arrived at Colonel Johnston's office. They had observed the helicopter landing with the unexpected people getting off.

“Colonel, explain the meaning of the presence of these people. What is the purpose of them arriving here without advance notification? I knew nothing about their arrival through State Department channels.” Pique was evident in the ambassador’s voice. He stood there with his hands in his khaki pants pockets, as it was his custom to dress casually after duty hours.

“This is highly irregular. All personnel coming to this embassy must be cleared by the ambassador’s office,” Mary Sanchez said. “We cannot afford to be seen permitting military people into this country without obtaining the host country approval,” added the DCM, moving from slightly behind the ambassador to a point only a foot or so from Colonel Johnston’s face. With a smirk on her face, she stared at the colonel and the team.

“Ambassador, may I speak with you alone for a moment?” asked Colonel Johnston, without even looking at the short, plump, pug-nosed DCM, who wore a loose tracksuit to hide her bulges. The ambassador hesitated and then gave an affirmative response; the colonel preceded the ambassador back into his private office and closed the door behind them.

The office was not large, containing a desk and a computer side table. There were two chairs in front of the main desk, and behind it the American flag, and the Army flag with all the battle streamers hanging from its crown. A framed picture of the Continental Army storming the British Redoubts 9 and 10 at Yorktown adorned one wall. All the walls were in a light cream and the window had double-thick bulletproof glass. The room had a sound suppression system intended to prevent pickup of any conversation.

The ambassador moved his slightly bulky frame to one of the chairs in front of the desk and took a seat. “Well, let’s have it.”

“Ambassador, I received a secure back channel message less than ten minutes ago, notifying me of the arrival. They’re here to conduct a counterterrorist operation against a positive target. This came from my highest command authority. I received instructions not to provide you with any information until after their arrival. It appears that they were afraid that someone in your office, at Defense, or at State, would somehow leak or delay this operation.” Johnston paused.

The ambassador sat very still and concentrated on every word. He ran his fingers through his silvery hair and Johnston could see he was trying to grasp all the things this mission could mean and all the things that could potentially go wrong.

Johnson continued. “That I'm telling you this is outside the instructions I received. I’ve never held information back from you and I’m part of your country team here in Lebanon. I’ll tell you exactly what I've been told. We know that three major terrorist leaders are going to be in Beirut in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I don’t know how we know this information. I assume, from that bit of intelligence, you can guess the purpose of this team. I ask for your cooperation in allowing them to proceed with their mission.”

“Roy, you're asking a lot,” the ambassador said as he shifted from the formal address used in front of the DCM, now that he had a clearer idea of what was going on. He was a politically appointed ambassador and not a career State Department employee. “You know the State Department. If they find out about this, they will throw a monkey wrench into this operation, mostly just to show off muscle because they didn’t clear it in the first place. Anything else you can tell me?”

“Sir, they will be out of here on the next flight to Cyprus. I have the authority to call for extraction when our mission is complete. I can take care of their entire request for equipment and assistance while they're here. I’ll not ask for anything from your office, and I'm hoping that as far as you are concerned this team is not even here. I only want to underline that this could be a major blow against these bastards.”

****

“Roy, thank you for keeping me informed on the real purpose of what's going on, and now I must consider your request and I also have the DCM to contend with on the issue of not informing State Department. You know she eats and shits State Department,” said the ambassador. He shook his head and smiled.

The ambassador walked to the outer office; looking at the DCM, he gestured for her to follow him. She did. They returned to the ambassador's office on the second floor. Even before the door closed, the DCM was angrily complaining.

“Ambassador, you can’t let this happen. What they’re doing is an outrage to our diplomatic efforts. We have to get those troops out of this country before they embarrass you and the U.S. We have to send a flash back channel message to the Secretary of State to inform her that we have an uncoordinated and as far as I'm concerned, unauthorized military operation being conducted by these soldiers.”

She threw her hands up in the air. Taking a large breath, she continued, “State Department is going to perceive this deployment of troops as an invasion of Lebanon’s sovereign territory by the U.S.” She started for the door to prepare a message to the Secretary of State. She turned back to the ambassador, widening her already broadened eyes, and said, “We have had no indication of any authorization of this clandestine, military operation. Neither the CIA nor State Department has informed us that they knew about a team here to conduct some type of operation.”

“Mary, I hear what you're saying. And I think you have the right idea, but hold off a little bit on calling or sending a message to State until I have a chance to think this over,” said the ambassador. He turned and stared out of the bulletproof window.

“But, sir, we have to notify State right away. This could blow out of all proportion into an international incident. We would be sitting here with egg on our face if we don’t notify SecState,” insisted the DCM, who could obviously see her career going down the tubes if something happened and Washington blamed them.

“Okay. Go ahead and draft a message. Bring it to me for my signature. No calls, understood?” the ambassador said.

* * * *

Mary Sanchez nodded and walked out of the room with purposeful strides. Rationale had prevailed. After they notified the State Department, the people there would stop this military insanity. Mary had come up through the Foreign Service ranks, knew the system, and played by the book. The ambassador, on the other hand, was an appointee and did not understand the rules of the game.

Mary viewed the military as a bunch of cowboys. Her job, as she saw it, was to stop whatever madness they were about to inflict in her assigned country. Mary had always scrupulously complied with what the State Department wanted from its employees and diplomats serving all over the world. These soldiers were here to cause problems, and that could ruin a career. Her career. She just wanted them out of Beirut immediately. She entered her office and started to compose the message to Foggy Bottom.

* * * *

Meanwhile, Ambassador Thompson sat down behind his desk, elbows on top and put his head between his hands. He thought he knew what this job required him to do. He was, however, not a Washington ass kisser. He received his ambassadorship as a political appointee by the President for his assistance during the last election. Call it what you will, but he contributed to making sure that his state supported the President. The ubiquitous “they” supported him for this ambassadorship, and he was thoroughly enjoying the excitement of being in a very dangerous post as an ambassador for the United States.

At ten in the evening in Beirut it was midday in Washington. This message, if it were sent, would cause quite a stir at State Department, and ramifications would reach across the Potomac to the Department of Defense. Many queries, many demands for information and, as Roger Thompson knew, inevitable leaks to the press, could derail this mission.

The ambassador knew if the press heard of this and made some sort of report, the terrorists’ organizations knew how to read the newspapers, and a leak to or by the press could jeopardize the entire operation. The bad guys certainly knew how to watch for deliberate leaks by our congressmen, any appointed political position, and by our free press exercising their mantra that the public has “a right to know.”

Roger Thompson had a personal reason to forestall any attempt to notify State. Three years ago his youngest son, while serving in the 82nd Airborne Division, died in a clandestine operation in Afghanistan fighting Al Qaeda and the Taliban. This had happened before his appointment to the post of ambassador, and he had never mentioned it at any senate hearing, nor was it raised. He had kept it private.

The ambassador made his decision. He would not tell Washington. The back channel message would not go out. Now, he would go back down to the defense attaché's office to meet the members of this team. He would wish them Godspeed, good luck and good hunting on their mission. This might cost him his job, but what the hell. If these young soldiers were successful, it would be a small price to pay.

On entering the defense attaché's office, the ambassador looked closely at each member of the team. ST-1 stood up when he entered. The ambassador looked at Colonel Johnston and said, “What can I do to make this mission a success?”

This team could inflict a personal revenge for his son’s death.

STRIKE TEAM ONE

10:39 AM – AMERICAN EMBASSY, BEIRUT

THIRTEEN DAYS AFTER MAJOR LAWSON’S MURDER

The white van the team had requested remained sequestered in the underground parking lot of the embassy. Sergeant Gary Macnamara and Corporal Lucien Champlain went about provisioning the van with all of the communication and computer equipment they required for the operation. The specific items included a surveillance microphone system, a remote telephone monitoring system, infrared and heat imagining radar, plus digital imaging photography equipment for both still and video recording.

There was also a state-of-the-art parabolic antenna only three inches wide for eavesdropping on vocal communications. These assets would give the team the capability to intercept all known types of communications whether by landline telephone or by cellular. They would also be able to see and hear what was going on out in the open or inside buildings behind brick walls.

The radar’s infrared penetrating feature would allow ST-1 to monitor movement inside the hotel since it could detect a person through walls. Finally, each member of the team received a secure communication earpiece/microphone for voice control during the operation. This piece of equipment allowed for instantaneous communications among all members of the team.

At nine in the morning, the van was completely prepared and outfitted, and the four male members of the team set off for the Intercontinental, with Gary driving the vehicle. They expected to have twenty-four hours to set up for monitoring the meeting and planning the take down of the terrorists. Matt thought this reduced time would allow him to get all elements of his team in position.

“Hey, Captain, how did we find out about when they are going to be in?” Lucien asked.

“You dumb ass, we just called the hotel and asked,” said Gary as he hit Lucien on the head.

“Actually, when our guys in Baghdad removed Major Lawson's body from the ruins of the house, they recovered the cell phone used by this guy Mohammed to contact Tewfik al-Hanbali. The NSA now has the frequency and number of Tewfik’s cell phone,” Matt said. “The NSA was able to track the numbers found on the cell phone belonging to Mohammed and narrowed the search to the number on al-Hanbali’s phone.”

The ability to monitor the terrorist leaders’ communications by their cell phones gave Strike Team One a tremendous edge. The NSA had intercepted communications from that phone for the last few days; they had passed the information on to DIA as requested by Brigadier Bergermeyer and then it came through to the team. Consequently, ST-1 knew when Tewfik al-Hanbali and his band were going to arrive.

From the NSA intercepts they learned that a group of three men from Saudi Arabia had made a reservation on the first floor of the Intercontinental Hotel. Matt concluded it would probably be the size of the delegation of all the groups coming to Beirut for this meeting. If only security people and the leaders of each group arrived in Beirut with no one else, the number three for each group seemed about right. Nine in all, at least it was a starting point.

“Great. These bastards have no way of suspecting we know that they’ll be in Beirut today. We got’em with their pants down.” Lucien smiled. Everyone laughed.

As they drove to the hotel, Matt completed final adjustments to his plan. They circled the area and he picked the best spot to position the van.

While this was going on, Bridget was on her way to register at the hotel. Earlier the embassy had made reservations for her under the name of Quadira Abdo, ostensibly from Qatar and with a Qatari passport that was prepared in Washington before they started on this mission. At the reservation desk, she gave her name. The clerk behind the registration desk asked for a passport and gave her a form to fill out.

Once she accomplished her task Bridget said, “Here is my passport,” as she handed him the perfect forgery. The clerk prepared his paperwork and issued her the room key.

“Is it possible to get a room on the first floor? I’m afraid of heights and would prefer to be down low,” she asked as she signed the register.

“Unfortunately, Mademoiselle, all the rooms on the first floor have been taken,” the clerk responded. This confirmed what they suspected. The terrorists would want to be on the same floor to watch out for outside surveillance and also to watch one another.

“Would it be possible for me to have the room on the next floor up?” Bridget asked in a fake British accent.

“Of course. Would you like it toward the city or toward the sea?”

Based on the diagram she had seen of the entire hotel, she guessed the terrorists’ would have the city-facing rooms. She knew the team’s equipment would be using the road in front of the hotel.

“Towards the sea, please,” she responded. At least, she could watch the back of the hotel if necessary. He handed her a key and she headed for her room.

In the room, she took out a small portable electronic detection device, an EMF Detection Meter used to seek out disruptions in the natural magnetic fields at a specific location, which she had in her suitcase. She passed it around the room, specifically targeting the light fixtures and the telephone, for any possible eavesdropping devices. She now felt safe and contacted the team in the van using her secure communication device. Bridget gave them a situation report. She also took a moment to think.

She was engaged in the work she wanted to do in the army. This operation would vindicate all the training, sweat, long periods of boredom, and all the rest of the things that make up the life in a special operations unit. She loved this life, but from time to time she had wondered what else she might do after getting out of the army. She wanted to go back to school and her interest was archeology, but that might be in the future. The army would pay for it. However, there was one thing she was certain of—no matter what, no man would ever again use her without her consent. Never. This life made sure she could enforce that desire. She now possessed the skills of a trained killer.

****

Down in the truck, the team listened to what Bridget reported. Now they began the waiting game. They had successfully set up and checked the operation of the monitoring devices. Lucien had installed a small antenna on top of the van that he controlled from his computer. He could adjust the antenna to give the best reception possible from a sixty-degree arc. That should encompass the entire front of the hotel.

“Lucien, will we be able to listen to these guys?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. And see them at least up to half a mile,” Lucien replied. “I’ve got it linked to the video so we can see the faces of the people talking if they are at a window or out on the street, and it will all be recorded on my computer. If we have to, we can uplink it in a matter of seconds to the Center.”

Matt decided to venture outside the van to look around and to check on the installation of the external antennas, not to check on Lucien’s work, as he knew the installation would be flawless, but to see the appearance of the van and to view their location from the perspective of a passerby.

On returning to the van, he told Lucien, “Those two devices look like small packs of cigarettes on top of the van. No one would give them a second look or suspect they are antennas.”

“Yeah. Ain’t this tech stuff just great?” Lucien commented.

Gary and Lucien exchanged a few one-liners before Matt told Peter to get them under control. He did so with a barely discernible smile.

Now it was only a question of waiting until the terrorists arrived in their rooms on the first floor. Then they could ascertain the exact location of al-Hanbali and his group of people. The meeting that Major Lawson’s message foretold was supposedly for sometime tomorrow. It was now 12:35 p.m., time to wait and watch.

They didn’t have to wait long.

* * * *

3:05 P.M. – INSIDE THE INTERCONTINENTAL HOTEL, BEIRUT

ROOM 105 – TEWFIK AL-HANBALI’S ROOM

Tewfik al-Hanbali sat with his bodyguards from his organization. They were having tea and some baklava. They had arrived at the hotel from the Beirut International Airport only a few minutes before.

“Tewfik, how do you know that we can trust these others?” asked one.

“I cannot be absolutely sure, but I believe with the blessing of Fatimah, they will cooperate and perform the tasks they were assigned.”

Al-Hanbali got up from the table and walked over to look out of the window. He could not see much of downtown Beirut, but there was a panoramic view of the beachfront off to his left. He turned around, looked at the guards and said, “Have we heard anything about the delivery to my house?”

“Not yet. I called just after we landed, and nothing had arrived. The two engineers that you have working there have a lot of the hardware prepared and Yuri said as soon as he gets the material it should not take long to complete the task. You know, he and your brother seem to be getting along well.”

“Yes, and that is good since Basam can keep an eye on the whole process of assembling the device and we can concentrate on the delivery,” al-Hanbali said.

One of the guards took out his automatic pistol and began to strip it apart to clean it. He had no problem bringing it on the airplane since some of his family members were ticket agents at the gates in Riyadh. Each member of the terrorist team had also brought a weapon.

“I want you two to be especially vigilant. I don’t think that anyone knows about this meeting, other than the ones coming, but I want to make sure that we are safe and not double-crossed. We have never worked with these other leaders. At least, we can make sure we’re prepared for anything,” al-Hanbali said as he returned to the table and sat down. “Now we just sit and wait. Mustafa, I think it is time for you to go out into the hall and make sure no one approaches this room without us knowing about it.” Mustafa left the room and al-Hanbali took out his tri-band cell phone and called his home. His brother answered.

“Basam, it’s me. We are in the hotel. Has the material arrived?”

“No. We have as much of the work done as we can without the material. Yuri has checked all the equipment, says we are ready. The tech guys did a good job putting together the carrying cases for the item, also the casings for the final assembly phase. Might take two weeks to complete the assembly, if all goes well.”

“Okay, I’ll see the man later today to find out about the delivery. Will call you then.” Al-Hanbali closed the phone and strolled over to the window to stare out.

* * * *

4:15 P.M. – INSIDE THE INTERCONTINENTAL HOTEL, BEIRUT

ROOM 106 – KEMAL HASSAN’S ROOM

The three Iranians entered the hotel room, dropped their small bags onto the bed, and proceeded to search the room. They looked behind the pictures on the wall, checked the television set for any hidden cameras and scanned the area of the street they could observe. Kemal opened the door to the small balcony. Stepping out, he could hear the sound of the Mediterranean Sea splashing on the shore and smell the salt in the air. Quite different from downtown Tehran, he mused.

His bodyguard picked up the telephone and ordered tea. They sat down and waited for it to arrive.

"It was a long drive. We are here now, and we must prepare ourselves for the meeting with the other two. I know Faisal, but not Tewfik al-Hanbali. Fatimah ordered us to assist in this operation, and we have completed our part," Kemal said.

"Then why are we here?" asked Rasjani, his second-in-command.

"I think it is strictly because Fatimah wanted us to attend this meeting, and to keep an eye on Faisal. You know that I don’t trust him, being Hezbollah and all."

A knock at the door caused the bodyguard to draw his weapon. Kemal went over, looked out of the peephole, and held up his hand, gesturing for him to put the weapon away. "It's only the tea."

"I’ll be glad to get out of here and get back to Tehran," said the guard. "These Hezbollah live too rich a lifestyle and have too many weapons to play with.”

“As you know, even our president does not totally trust them. As soon as we confirm to al-Hanbali that his material will be delivered and the time, we have completed our part of this operation, and we'll immediately return home," Kemal said.

"Why couldn't we have just told them this over the telephone?" Rasjani asked.

"Because this is supposed to be a joint effort, and our presence is required. Now we'll just have to wait. I’ll make contact with the others in a little while. Let’s have our tea and then, Rafi, you go on guard outside the door. Just as a precaution,” Kemal said with a smile.

* * * *

7:45 P.M. – INSIDE THE INTERCONTINENTAL HOTEL, BEIRUT

ROOM 107 –FAISAL MALLAH’S ROOM

“Why do we have to stay in this hotel? We live in Beirut,” said Abdel, Faisal’s number two.

“This is part of our participation in this endeavor ordered by Fatimah. We had no choice. Besides, we might get more out of this than we are going to put into it,” Faisal said.

“I noticed they had a guard outside in the hall. Should I get on duty?” Akman said.