Strike Force Charlie (5 page)

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Authors: Mack Maloney

BOOK: Strike Force Charlie
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There was a tap on the door. Li's tea was here. Fox got up to retrieve it, disappearing for a moment into the shadows.
“Well,
that
should show you how serious this is,” Ozzi told her now, his voice low. They both knew how much Fox adored his wife. “And like the major said, we
can't
tell you everything, because then you'll wind up in front of a firing squad, just like we're going to. We're doing this to
protect
you.”
He lowered his voice even further. “But
I
can tell you this: Someone in Higher Authority made the Major a real fall guy while we were away. He cleaned up a big mess for them—and then they cut him off completely. Iced him, right out in the cold. And
then
they arrested him. So before you rip his heart out, just realize that of all of us, he got screwed the most.”
Now Li studied Ozzi. He was a different person, too. He'd always looked like nothing more than a nice, slightly overage college student to her. The person sitting here now seemed old before his time. He'd seen terrible things, done terrible things. Li could tell.
Fox returned from the dark and very gently placed the warm cup of Morning Madness in Li's hands. Rain was now splattering against the bedroom windows.
“But why did you come here at all then?” she asked them. “Especially if you're so afraid of involving me in anything. I mean, once they figure out you're not dead, this will be the first place they'll look … .”
Fox and Ozzi nervously glanced at each other. “Well, we're not staying that long,” Fox told her. “And besides, you have something of ours. Something we need … .”
“Something of yours? What?”
Fox held up his other hand to reveal he was carrying Li's laptop.
“Can you get on-line up here?” he asked her. “Because we have to get into your e-mail right away.”
 
They set up her laptop on the creaky vanity near the window, running a long modem wire to a telephone port on the first floor. Li opened her e-mail as instructed, more confused than
ever. And just like every day for the last three weeks, the first entry contained two files:
“Fast Ball
” and
“Slow Curve.”
“That's what we need,” Fox told her simply.
“These
files?” she exclaimed. “I
thought
they had something to do with you two. Someone's been trying to send them to me for weeks. But I was never able to open them … at least not all the way.”
Fox and Ozzi froze. “What do you mean?” Fox asked. “‘Not all the way?'”
“I mean I was able to get in through a few cracks,” she replied. “I know one file seems to be an interrogation and the other has something to do with a sportswriter.”
Then she turned and looked directly at Ozzi. “You weren't the only hacker in the office.”
“Someone we're working with has been sending these files to your address,” Fox told her, his tired voice now betraying some aggravation. “So when this day came we'd be able to finally get to them. But you weren't supposed to see any part of them.”
Li just shrugged. “I had time on my hands. Once you two were gone …”
Outside came the rumble of two more fighter jets flying high overhead. Fox and Ozzi just looked at each other again, as if to say,
Now what?
Here Li saw her opening. Exactly who were these people hiding in her house? And what were they really here for? She had to get to the bottom of it, one way or another, because that's just the way she was.
“You see, I know a lot,” she told them boldly. “And that means you'll either have to tell me everything … or you'll have to kill me. Because if you don't, as soon as you leave I'm heading right for Pentagon CID.”
 
Fox and Ozzi put Li in another bedroom, this one at the other end of the second-floor hallway. They would just have to deal with her later. A member of the shadow group had retreated to this room in hopes of getting some sleep. Failing that, he agreed to keep an eye on her.
The two DSA officers then hurried back to the master suite, calling the remainder of the team in with them. On cue, the storm outside doubled in intensity. Lightning flashes could be seen coming from every direction, with thunder booming off in the distance. Or was that the fighter jets circling over D.C. again?
The group gathered anxiously around Li's laptop. They were, in fact, the infamous “ghosts,” the people who had pulled off the miracle at Hormuz and the rescue at Singapore. Or a handful of them, anyway. The actual rogue team numbered more than 50. Marines, Delta guys, SEALs, Navy sailors, Air Force pilots, State Department bodyguards—the rest of them were still back in Gitmo, still behind bars. The individuals here had been handpicked to escape, selected because each had a skill requisite for the very nasty business they knew lay ahead. Fox and Ozzi, for instance, were plugged into the military's internal security apparatus; that's where their talents lay. Two Delta Force guys, Dave Hunn and Sal Puglisi, were also at hand. At six-three, 240 pounds, Hunn provided the muscle. Nearly as big, Puglisi was the bomb maker. It was these two who'd taken out Palm Tree and then swum across the Potomac Reservoir to evade any pursuit. That's why both were still soaking wet.
Ron Gallant, a USAF pilot and dead ringer for Clark Kent, right down to the goofy eyewear, was here as well. He'd flown one of the team's Blackhawk helicopters back before the Hormuz Incident when the ghosts were prowling around the Persian Gulf using an undercover containership as their floating base. Though he cut his teeth on helos, Gallant could fly just about anything these days. That's why he was here.
The youngest of the small group was Gil Bates. Tall, thin, goateed, with punked hair, and barely 22 years old, Bates had been an employee of the super-secret National Security Agency for almost four years before getting involved with the rogue team. A graduate of MIT at 17—in Advanced Military C(3) Theory, no less—he was a superhacker, someone who could break into just about any computer and any
computer file, no matter how many security barriers had been placed around it. When he was on, it was almost magical what he could do.
He was sitting in front of Li's laptop now. He'd downloaded her most recent e-mails, they being the mysterious
“Fast Ball”
and
“Slow Curve”
files. Both were important to every man here, in more ways than one. They believed one contained information that would prove there had been no legitimate reason for locking them up in Gitmo. More important, though, the other might hold evidence of a very grave threat against the United States—one that nobody seemed to be doing anything about.
But how did they know this? How did the team have any more than a guess as to what might be on the two files? And who was sending them in the first place? In all cases, the answer was: “Top-secret … .”
Bates opened the file called
“Fast Ball”
first. Breaking into it was child's play for him, quickly solving the security code that had prevented Li or anyone else from reading all of it. And, just as she'd suspected, it was a transcript of an interrogation, one carried out by “senior U.S. military officials,” aboard an unnamed U.S. warship in the South Pacific just a few weeks before. Its entire contents were marked: AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY.
The men gathered around the computer laughed at seeing this. Why? Because
they
were the people being grilled in the interrogation, they and their still-incarcerated ghostly colleagues down in Gitmo. Their grand inquisition had been conducted a few weeks after the Singapore Incident, and after the team had been rounded up by the U.S. military in the Philippines and whisked aboard the aircraft carrier
Abraham Lincoln,
ironically the same warship they'd saved weeks before at Hormuz. This would be the first time the team members would see the official document produced as a result of that interrogation. They all read it silently now, looking over Bates's shoulder.
In an odd, roundabout way, the transcript chronicled just about everything the rogue team had been doing in the last six
months. Their heroics, their secret battles, their over-the-top derring-do. Within the endless pages of Q&As was the true story of Hormuz, how the original team, assembled nearly a year before to track down those responsible for 9/11, had stalked the Al Qaeda hijackers the morning of the planned attack, finally breaking their code and alerting the Navy that trouble was coming. So, too, the rescue at Singapore, where on prime-time TV the team saved thousands of innocent people before disappearing just as quickly as they came.
The document read like the stuff of movies and best sellers, but far from
braggadocio,
the team members' tales were told in terms of bravery and sacrifice, especially by their comrades who'd died during the Hormuz operation.
And while it might have seemed to the world's eye that the rogue team had vanished after the incident in Singapore, the interrogation document showed, in their own words, that just the opposite was true. They'd never stopped their secret war against Al Qaeda. In fact, shortly after the Tonka Tower rescue the ghosts began not one but two operations against the terrorist organization. One involved a handful of ghosts hunting down and brutally assassinating Abdul Kazeel, the man who'd helped mastermind both 9/11 and the Hormuz attack. The second mission had other team members looking for a wayward shipment of American-made Stinger missiles, surface-to-air weapons highly prized by the Islamic terrorists. The ghosts eventually tracked the missiles to an Al Qaeda
linked cell in Manila, but that's when the U.S. military finally caught up with them, arresting the team
en masse
just minutes before they could seize the weapons cache. After that, the transcript clearly showed all of the team members insisting not only that the missiles, 36 in all, had been paid for and delivered to Al Qaeda by none other than the DGSE agent Palm Tree but also that the weapons were heading to America, to be used by other terrorists to shoot down U.S. airliners.
And therein lay the first problem. Certainly three dozen Stinger missiles on the loose inside the United States could wreck havoc in the skies above the homeland. But instead of
pursuing crucial leads given to them by the team members, their inquisitors went in the other direction: they tried mightily to get the ghosts to
change
their stories, to turn on one another, and, most important, to tell the military authorities just who put the team together in the first place.
This was someone's ploy to dissolve the team once and for all. But it didn't work. None of the ghosts fell for it. While those questioned gave explicit answers, no one spilled his guts. No one gave details about
who
organized them or
who
managed to get them a containership filled with the latest in combat gear and snooping systems or
who
had the guts to gather together such an elite group of war fighters in the first place, all of whom had lost loved ones to Islamic terrorism in the recent past. In other words, the team members had no problem telling their inquisitors what they had done at Hormuz and Singapore. They just didn't tell them how.
So, too, did every man stay true to the group. Their interrogators even went so far as to suggest that the team was actually involved in moving illegal drugs when they were caught in Manila and
not
trying to find the Stinger missiles. It was total bullshit, of course, but if just one team member agreed to change his story and follow this script, then, it was promised, he would be set free and given a million dollars in cold cash, not a bad payoff for about an hour's work.
But again, not one of them took the bait.
Not one
of them even remotely flipped on his friends. These guys weren't just patriots. They were
loyal,
too.
By the end of it, their inquisitors were stumped as to what to do.
So they threw them
all
in jail.
 
Where were the Stinger missiles now? No one knew. But there were some clues. And they were contained in the second cryptic e-mail, the one called
“Slow Curve.”

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