Seal Team Seven: Hostile Fire Part 5

"Why would they do that? Can't they afford a bike of their own?"

"They can and it kills them. They would rather follow you in a car. They take turns bicycling behind you to and from work. They curse and swear at you, but they follow. You spent three years in America."

"It was four years, for my university study. I was sent by the government to learn all I could about the American army and how it works. I was commissioned a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army."

"And now you ask questions about our nuclear project."

"Yes, I'd just as soon it isn't in Baghdad. One mistake by one scientist and we're all atomic dust."

"You know where we keep them?"

"In the desert I would guess, far away from Baghdad."

"Good guess. Oh, we found your fancy radio."

"What radio?"

"The one called SATCOM. The one you sent your spy messages on to the CIA."

"I what? You must have the wrong captain."

"Oh, no, you're the right one. The radio proved that. We're sure that your wife is innocent and knows nothing of your spy work." She signaled and two men in long black coats came and walked beside them.

"We were delighted with the find of the SATCOM, anxious to learn its secrets so we could listen in on U.S. cla.s.sified messages. You know what happened. When our men opened it without the proper code on the panel, it exploded, killing our three men and totally destroying the powerful radio."

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"You will, soon. These two men have many questions to ask you. I'll have to leave you now. The big black car just ahead is for you. Have a pleasant afternoon."

Salah Rahmani knew then that they must have been watching him for months. How else would they know about the SATCOM? He hadn't checked on it for two weeks. He jolted away from the woman's side and sprinted into the gra.s.sy park, pulled the small H&K P7 semiautomatic pistol from his pocket and turned just as the two special investigators fired their weapons. He felt one round hit his leg and he went down. He fired four times, putting one of the black coats down before he rolled to get out of the line of fire. But three of the heavy rounds from the second investigator's pistol hit Rahmani in the back. One ripped through his spinal cord and another plowed through his lung and lodged in his heart. He died before he could fire again, and with him died his big dream of returning to the United States with his family.

7.

The Farm

Langley, Virginia

At oh-ten-hundred that first morning at The Farm, Murdock, Rafii, and Ching came out of the wardrobe building wearing typical Iraqi clothing. All had on cotton pants, belts, white s.h.i.+rts on the outside, and a variety of hats: a New York Yankees baseball cap, one straw hat, and the other a felt floppy. Ching and Murdock had their faces, hands, and arms colored a light brown to more closely match Rafii. He grinned as he saw the transformation.

"Hey, you two can be my homeboys. We'll do fine in Baghdad. I'll be the front man and you guys are my muscle. We'll sweep down one of those streets and take care of anybody who looks cross-eyed at us."

A man they had met early that morning studied them. Slowly he nodded. He was Rolph Sedgewick, a Brit who came to the U.S. before the Second World War and had settled into the CIA as one of its European specialists.

"Yes, you'll pa.s.s. I want you to live the parts you'll play for the next two days. You'll eat Iraqi food, hear Iraqi music, ride in an old Renault with Iraqi license plates, and speak Arabic whenever possible. He s.h.i.+fted into Arabic then and Rafii knew exactly what he said. Murdock caught the main idea, but Ching only frowned. The three moved toward the cla.s.sroom building that Sedgewick had told them about in Arabic. Ching hesitated then hurried with them.

"Will somebody tell me what he said?" he yelped.

"He told us it's cla.s.s time," Rafii said. "We start to get some basic instruction in things Iraqi so we can stay alive."

"I'm in favor of that," Ching said.

The cla.s.sroom was set up to train half a dozen students, with chalkboard, wipe board, desks, projectors, and video. Their instructor met them and introduced himself.

"I'm Taliva, George Taliva for convenience. I'll be your language instructor and hope to make you able to speak enough Arabic to complete your mission. First we have a general introduction to Iraqi society courtesy of some travel agency."

They watched a video of the current street scenes in Baghdad, some of the tourist attractions, and a display of a holiday festival. When it was over, the instructor, an Iraqi who'd spent twenty years in Iraq, let them ask questions.

"I thought Muslim women had to have their faces covered in public," Murdock said.

"That's a general misconception about Iraq," the instructor said. "For decades now Iraqi women have enjoyed greater equality and opportunity than have the women of neighboring Arab countries such as Iran and Syria. Iraqi women have struggled for equal rights for nearly a hundred years. Women in Iraq began taking positions in the mainstream job market as early as the 1920s.

"Under Saddam Hussein's regime, these rights continued. Men and women receive the same salary when doing the same job, and many pursue professions usually thought to be for men. Iraqi women are not required to cover themselves from head to toe the way women are in Iran and Saudi Arabia. Women also receive five years' maternity leave from their employers.

"At the same time, United Nations sanctions against Iraq have created enormous suffering among women and children. Traditionally women had only one job, but now many must hold down two or even three to feed their families. Women-headed families are not uncommon in Iraq, which lost many soldiers in the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s and again in the Gulf War in 1991. A schoolteacher who once could live relatively well on her salary must now take in sewing and bake goods to sell for extra money. The government makes rations available for the needy, but these last only about ten days a month.

"In Iraq women may hold down jobs outside the home, may drive cars, girls go to school, and they can move about outside the home without a male relative. All of these rights are not granted to women in fundamentalist Muslim countries such as Iran and Saudi Arabia.

"So, when you go into Baghdad, expect to see many women on the streets, and in jobs and doing ordinary things that they couldn't do in other Arab nations.

"However, this is not Hillsboro, Michigan. Iraq is still a military dictators.h.i.+p. Voting is done for one party and one candidate. The men run the military and the military runs the country. Many laws are strict and the punishment harsh and not fair by Western standards. Soldiers from the army and from the elite Republican Guard are frequently seen on the streets enforcing laws, arresting people, and maintaining the rule of the military.

"After lunch, we'll start our language units, and we will speak nothing but Arabic. Next this morning we have two more films on Iraq. One is from the Iraqi Ministry of Information, so take it all with a large dose of disbelief. It does show Baghdad today in some of its best sides. So watch it closely. The signs won't mean much to you, but relate them to what is going on in the named store or shop. Pay close attention to the restaurant where a jazz combo is playing Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong songs. That may sound weird, but it is happening in Baghdad. Listen up."

The two films turned out to be videos and not the slickest production, but good enough to get across the points the makers wanted to show, and to give the three SEALs a lot more information about Iraq.

At noon they went to the visiting chow line and found the rest of the platoon.

"Hey look, ladies," Jaybird shouted. "We've got visitors from outer s.p.a.ce."

Murdock bellowed a sharp command at him in Arabic and Jaybird jolted back a step, then the platoon laughed at him. Murdock saw one new member of the platoon. The person was smaller than the rest, dressed the same in desert cammies, but he could see short brown hair sticking out below her floppy hat.

"Hey, Garnet," Murdock called.

Katherine, "Kat" Garnet turned and grinned. "About time you showed up, Commander. We've been holding the chow line until you got here. My, you've developed quite a tan since I saw you last." He said h.e.l.lo to her in Arabic and held out his hand. She smiled and gave him a hug instead.

She was the same Kat. About five-eight with brown eyes, a tempered athlete's body under the cammies. She did iron woman triathlons just for the fun of it. She had won the cla.s.sic Hawaiian women's race twice.

"I hear you're going to be going on the picnic with us," Murdock said.

"I'll go, but I get to play with the toys only if you guys can find them. Any idea where they could be?"

"Our only hint so far is that they are in the desert. But that involves hundreds of square miles. We have a man in Baghdad who is supposed to give us the coordinates."

"You and Ching and this man I don't know will be going into Baghdad to help him. Be careful."

Murdock pulled up Rafii. "Kat, this is Omar Rafii, one of our SEALs. Rafii, this is the little lady who makes the atomic weapons go poof instead of bang. At least she did before, twice, and we all survived. We hope she can do it again." The two shook hands. "Kat, are you just as good with a sub gun as you used to be?"

They moved up in the cafeteria line, picked out what they wanted, and soon were seated at tables with real chairs.

"A sub gun. You had to remind me. I'm afraid I'm out of practice. But then I haven't had to kill anybody in the office where I work. You would have to remind me of that."

"Hey, you saved my skin out there in the boonies. I'm not about to let you forget that. I still owe you big time."

She grinned. "You still all tied up with that tall blonde from Was.h.i.+ngton, DC?"

"No. Ardith lives in San Diego now. We just bought a condo."

Kat scowled for a moment then lifted her brows. "You really know how to spoil a girl's day. Well, I guess it's just business then."

"Right, just business."

After lunch, the three SEALs reported back to the cla.s.sroom. Sedgewick, their trainer for the day, nodded as they came in. "Before we get started on our language unit, I have some news. Our man in Baghdad who had been feeding us most of our information is no longer communicating with us. He was supposed to give us a general area where the Iraqi bombs were being stored. On his last report he said he had a contact who should be able to get the general area for us. He had a scaled-down version of the SATCOM to use to contact us. It had a built-in safety device. The operator had to punch in a special code to deactivate the self-destruct charges. If it is turned on, or opened in any way without that code, there is a ten-second delay. During that delay the set automatically broadcasts a distress call on all frequencies notifying us that it is in the delay mode and will soon self-destruct. We received the distress call just after twelve-twenty P.M. in Was.h.i.+ngton and here. If the set is dead, we can be sure that our agent there is either dead, compromised, or being interrogated."

"So we have no help in Baghdad?"

"There's one chance. Twelve years ago we had a top man in Baghdad. He married an Iraqi woman, has a family. When it was time for him to come out, he declined. Said he was retiring and we should send his check to an address in Baghdad. We did. We found out later that he's been on the bottle religiously, that he's never been compromised as an agent, and that he's evidently happy enough living in Baghdad. He does some writing for a Baghdad newspaper as an expatriate who knows America and can tell the Iraqi readers a slant on life they don't know about."

"We still go into the capital and try to find out where the bombs are located?" Rafii asked.

"That's your job. It just got about ten times harder. You can contact this man. His name is John Jones. We have his address. He won't be easy. Lately he's been on the wagon. His wife is helping him. The last time we heard he had a hundred and thirty-eight days clean and sober. The probability is he'll flat out refuse to help you, not wanting to jeopardize his setup there."

"Great, a burned out ex-spy who's now a drunk," Ching said. "Will he be any help at all?"

"We're not sure. For all I know he's a sleeper, still an agent, but posing as a real-life drunk and waiting until we need him. I've talked with the deputy director, but can't get any confirmation. Even if he is a sleeper, the only one who would know is the director and he wouldn't tell us. You'll have to contact Jones and see if he'll help. If he won't, you'll have to rely on three other sources who might be able to a.s.sist you, and might not. You'll memorize their names and contact points before you leave The Farm.

"All this time we're supposed to stay undercover in a land where every man, woman, and child have been indoctrinated to hate Americans?" Rafii asked. "Isn't that a huge problem for us?"

"It's larger than huge. This is also a volunteer mission. Any of you SEALs can opt out at any time right up to boarding the VC-11 day after tomorrow morning."

"We've had tougher operations," Murdock said. "We'll want a complete description of Mr. Jones, and any identifying marks so we can be sure it's him before we spill our guts to him. We don't want to find out he's been replaced by an Iraqi superspy just waiting for somebody to contact him."

"No worry there, Commander. Jones is talking to us through e-mail out of one of the popular Internet cafes that have opened. It's all in the clear and in a kind of doubletalk we used twenty years ago, but d.a.m.ned effective."

"Then can you contact him by e-mail?"

"No chance. We don't want to alert watchers he's getting anything in return from his e-mail talk."

He let that soak in a moment, then went back to business talking in Arabic. He made sure all of them, especially Ching, knew the words he used and what they meant. It would be a long, slow process.

Two hours later, Ching grinned. "Hey, I'm getting some of this chatter. It's a lot like Spanish. Not the same, but there are similar sounds."

"Now say that in Arabic," the leader told him in Arabic. Ching snorted and tried, but he didn't have all the right words. The lessons continued.

In another building the rest of the platoon, under the watchful eyes of the J.G., worked over the weapons choices. They would keep a number of H&K MP-5D4s. A man in blue coveralls and wearing a blue hat that had "CIA Weapons" embroidered on it shook his head when J.G. Gardner said they would be taking seven Bull Pups with them.

"That weapon has ties to the U.S.," the CIA man said. "I can't approve your taking it."

"H and K makes the body of the weapon, and three other firms are involved in all the components," Gardner said. "The gun isn't even in production yet, so there can be no tie-in with any country. It's got to be with us. It turns any infantryman into an artillery piece."

Gardner handed his Bull Pup to the man. "Take a look at it. The CIA doesn't have them yet. These are prototypes made especially for our platoon. n.o.body else in the world has this weapon. Besides that, almost n.o.body else knows that it is operational by us. We're taking them in."

That decided, Gardner selected other weapons that they would take. Each man picked out a hideout weapon for his ankle. They at last agreed on the German Sauer M1914. It held a six-round magazine of .32 ACP and weighed in at 570 grams, or a pound and four ounces. They would all have the same weapon so they could share ammo if they needed to. They would keep the H&K PSG1 sniper rifle, and the EAR, the Enhanced Acoustic Rifle, that shot out a blast of compressed air for over four hundred yards and put any troops down and unconscious for four hours but left no aftereffects on the victims.

The CIA weapons man was fascinated with the EAR, but Gardner didn't let him look at it too closely. "Hey, we get to have a few secrets, too," he told the gunman. The J.G. asked the man about shotguns.

"Figure we should have one scattergun for close work," Gardner said. The man showed him one made in Spain. It was semiautomatic and the magazine held five rounds. Pump and shoot, pump and shoot.

The SEALs checked their weapons and ammo supply and ordered what they needed. They had brought their own double ammo on the Bull Pups and the sniper rifle. They would need the .32 ammo and magazines, and ammo and weapons and magazines for five of the sub guns. When he was satisfied with the weapons and supply of ammo, J.G. took the platoon out for a ten-mile hike. He talked to one of the guards who gave him a route all on the Farm property.

"Come on, ladies, it's time to sweat," Gardner told them. "We go out at an eight-minute-to-the-mile jog, and after we get warmed up, we get serious. We'll go with full combat vests and weapons. Let's get cracking. We need to be back before lunch."

Kat talked her way out of the march. "I need some retraining on the firing range," she told Gardner. "I want to fire the sub gun, and my Sauer pistol and the Bull Pup. Gardner agreed and had an arms instructor from The Farm take her to the range with the weapons and five rounds for the 20mm and fifty for the other weapons. The CIA weapons instructor was as anxious as Kat to test fire the 20mm.

"Only thing I thought fired the twenty was a fighter jet aircraft," the instructor said. His name was Monroe and he came from Michigan.

At the range Kat went p.r.o.ne, propped the short Bull Pup barrel on a sandbag, and fired off her first shot.

"Not nearly the recoil I expected," she said. "How do they do that?" She fired the next round with the laser sight on an old snag of a tree just off the rifle range. The airburst was spectacular. She let the instructor fire the last three rounds. One was a WP that he used as an airburst on the snag with a brilliant flash of white phosphorous and then a pall of smoke.

"You're right," Monroe said. "This Bull Pup makes every infantryman his own artilleryman. That thing can fire in back of buildings and over the reverse slope of a hill. All you need is a friendly tree."

Kat fired the MP-5 then. The sound and the rise of the muzzle soon came back to her and she could keep the weapon on the target. The Sauer was easy after that.

"This is not a long-range weapon," the instructor said. "It's for defense only and good for ten to twelve feet at the most. If you need it in a sudden confrontation to save your life, just keep pulling the trigger."

Kat went back to the main compound with a slightly sore shoulder and a big grin.

That evening after chow the troops were shown a war film in the recreation center. But Murdock, Ching, and Rafii weren't there. They had night cla.s.ses in Arabic, Iraqi customs and dress, and the Muslim religion.