Rolling Thunder (2007) s-4 Page 6

  I didn't find out about this operation until four days ago, Chad said. I've been out on a ship.

  Chad, Penny said impatiently. We don't have all day.

  He stood there awkwardly, not really happy with a girl who was now an intrusion in his life. But he was a young male with a young willing female. And he was a SEAL.

  Duty of a sort had called.

  DR. Pierre Bouchier acted as the host as Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Lieutenant Junior Grade Jim Cruiser, and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins sat around the table in his large tent. Cold bottles of beer had been served, and the doctor also offered snacks of peanuts and pretzels.

  We appreciate your hospitality, Doctor, Brannigan said.

  I wish we could reciprocate, but all we have are MRE field rations.

  Bien! Our food here is plain but much better than that, Bouchier said. However, I have you here for another reason. Yesterday, three armored cars visited us. The men in them wore British-style uniforms with Arab keffiyehs.

  SCPO Dawkins took a swallow of beer. What the hell are keffiyehs? he asked, reaching for a handful of peanuts.

  Do you remember pictures of Yasser Arafat? Cruiser asked. What he had on his head was a keffiyeh.

  The device around it that holds it in place is called an akal, Bouchier said. At any rate, the leader identified himself by an Arabic first name and a last that I think was English or possibly German. And he claimed the rank of capitaine. He had a marked European appearance and spoke in an English accent. The fellow told me he was a member of an army called Jihad something-or-other.

  SCPO Dawkins showed a crooked grin. Jesus! A fucking Lawrence of Arabia, huh?

  I wouldn't say that, Brannigan remarked. This is a terrorist for sure. He shifted his gaze back to Bouchier. Did he give you any reason for his visit?

  Tres explicitement! Bouchier exclaimed. He ordered us out of this area, giving us three days to leave. That time is up day after tomorrow at noon. He sent some men into the Pashtun village and warned them not to have any contact with us. They are obeying him explicitly.

  I take it you've contacted your superiors, Brannigan said. What were their instructions?

  I have received none as of yet, but I am certain I will be ordered to go to Kandahar or perhaps Kabul within twenty-four hours, Bouchier surmised.

  I have a better idea, Brannigan said. I suggest that you and all your people load aboard some of your vehicles. I'll dispatch one of my DPVs to lead you to Shelor Field, and you can bunk in our hangar. My guy can turn around and come back here, and we'll be ready and waiting for this mysterious Brit with an Arab name.

  But what is going to happen to the tents and all our equipment?

  Leave everything here except the trucks you'll need to haul your people and necessary personal affects, Brannigan said.

  But les terroristes will destroy everything they cannot steal, Bouchier protested. And if they don't, then those wretched Pashtuns will.

  Not necessarily, Brannigan said. My detachment will be here to look after your things. And also to meet Captain Jihad and his men at noon day after tommorow.

  I will have to clear it with my superiors, Bouchier said.

  Right now this is the official operational area of a mission the United States Navy is calling Rolling Thunder, Brannigan said. I'm ordering you to evacuate to Shelor Field. My authority is that I am the commanding officer here. Besides, the UN is not known for any real sense of security.

  Bouchier shrugged. In that case, I will follow your orders, Monsieur le Lieutenant.

  CHAD Murchison and Penny Brubaker enjoyed a quick coupling, removing just enough clothing to perform the act. When the two young people rearranged themselves and stepped out of the tent, they immediately noticed near-frantic activity going on in the camp. Her three roomies were hurrying in their direction. Ach! Erika Maanchen said. We were afraid we would have to break in on you.

  What's going on? Penny asked, alarmed.

  We are leaving here right away, Josefina Vargas said. We are to pack one bag and be ready to go when they call us to get on trucks. The Americans are going to take us to their airfield to stay. Then they are coming back here. I think there will be a big battle with the bad soldiers in the armored cars.

  Penny turned to speak to Chad, but he was already running over to join the detachment. At that instant, the young woman realized there was only one way she could have him for her own.

  She had to get him out of the SEALs.

  Chapter 6

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  STATE DEPARTMENT

  9 APRIL

  0830 HOURS

  CARL Joplin, PhD, impatiently checked his watch, noting he had a half hour minimum to wait. The window to appear for the appointment that morning was 0900 to 0910 hours. Although much of his work was done in the rambling, ambiguous world of diplomatic dealings, he still liked at least a bit of punctuality and predictability. Having a window of even just ten minutes irritated him. Joplin preferred a set time for every bit of business. Now the diplomat sat in the leather office chair behind his desk, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited.

  This brilliant African-American Undersecretary's specialty in the State Department was to participate in informal negotiations and agreements between the United States and foreign nations. These unique sessions were clandestine, sensitive, and extremely consequential. They mostly dealt with issues that both sides wished to keep secret from their populations. For example, America might wish to inquire into information another country had gleaned from a person of interest through torture. Or perhaps a foreign head of government who had been taking a very loud and public stand against a particular American policy might want to cut a deal with the U.S. regarding another issue. In order to gain on the one, he would have to make concessions on the other. Therefore, he was willing to give in on certain points that would enrage his citizenry if they found out. An example would be guaranteeing no demand on trade imbalances or tariffs in exchange for the release of frozen assets in U.S. banks. Such goings-on required great diplomatic skill. And Dr. Joplin was the best at this game of two-faced diplomacy. All of his polite encounters ended to the USA's advantage, yet also pleased his foreign counterparts on the other side of the table.

  One of his most recent assignments had to do with arranging secret military aid to three South American countries because they did not trust their own armed forces to handle a politically hypersensitive mission. The takeover of their entire continent by fascists was the very undesirable alternative. Joplin thought that would be the superlative assignment of his career, but a new state of affairs promised to top this earlier case. While giving only a brief hint of the situation, Joplin's boss, Secretary of State Benjamin Bellingham who didn't know a hell of a lot himself warned Joplin that he was about to be tossed into the deep end of a diplomatic pool filled with boiling controversy and peril.

  .

  0901 HOURS

  JOPLIN stepped from his office, carrying his briefcase, and went down to the end of a hall where a Capitol Police guard stood by the single elevator situated there. The young officer was giving the diplomat's ID badge a studious gaze when another man approached. Joplin turned to see Colonel John Turn-bull, U.S. Army, the chief of the Special Operations Liaison Staff. The colonel, also toting the usual briefcase that seemed a fashion accessory in Washington, produced his own ID. As the policeman perused the card, the colonel nodded to Joplin. I wouldn't be surprised if we were going to the same place.

  Nor would I, Joplin said. How're you doing, John?

  Frankly, I'm much too busy to be called away from my office for unstated reasons, Carl.

  The policeman approved the IDs, then turned and slid a scanner card into a slot in the wall next to the elevator. The doors buzzed open and the diplomat and officer stepped inside. Turnbull pressed a button that would take them down to the third basement.

  When the elevator arrived, there was another armed law enforcement officer present. After yet one more
inspection of the ID badges, the two men proceeded a short distance to an unmarked door. Joplin followed as Turnbull stepped into the room. They both came to an abrupt halt, surprised to see Arlene Entienne, the president's Chief of Staff, seated at the head of a large mahogany conference table. A man unknown to them was seated to one side.

  Joplin greeted Entienne, saying. How have you been, Arlene?

  Fine, thank you, Carl, she answered. Hello, John. This Cajun-African-American was a beautiful green-eyed woman with dark brown hair. The two ethnicities blended well, giving her an exotic beauty that made her the darling of the media. Have you had the operation on that ankle yet?

  I'm putting it off for as long as possible, Turnbull replied. The ex'Green Beret had seriously fractured his ankle on a parachute jump, and the joint was deteriorating to the point that it would have to be fused. He could have gotten a physical disability release from the service, but opted to take a staff job instead. Thus, he ended up as chief of SOLS.

  Sit down, gentlemen, Entienne invited. I would like to introduce you to Edgar Watson. He's CIA on the Iranian desk.

  Greetings, Watson said. Ms. Entienne has already told me who you two are.

  You've been called down to this deep inner sanctum for a very special briefing, Entienne said. As you have surmised, I'm sure, this is a most sensitive situation.

  Watson swung his briefcase up from the floor onto the tabletop. He opened it and pulled some papers out, shoving a separate packet to both Joplin and Turnbull. Okay. Now hear this. Certain elements of the Iranian Army have initiated a mujahideen movement independent of all others. They have begun operations against the foreign military, i.e., Westerners, in the Middle East. They are calling themselves the Jihad Abadi.

  Wait a minute, Joplin said. That is Arabic. The Iranians speak Farsi.

  This is because they are using only Arabs in their operations, Watson said. Unfortunately, this resulted in throwing off our initial intelligence probes. Fact of the matter, we wasted a lot of time before we finally figured out they were operating out of Iran. However, they also have various cells in Iraq, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. Most of their agents are citizens of those countries who have lost faith in the current group of Arab Islamics, suicide bombers in particular.

  I'll be damned, Turnbull said. They finally figured out that getting their young people to blow themselves up and destroying a generation was not a particularly intelligent thing to do, hey?

  Evidently, Watson commented. They want to adopt the more civilized tactic of launching well-planned attacks on their enemy to inflict the most casualties possible while keeping their own losses to a minimum.

  Joplin glanced at Entienne. Are we to assume the President is deeply concerned about this?

  That would be a correct assumption, Carl, she replied.

  I suppose he's worried about the Israelis getting extra antsy about these latest events, Joplin said. They are just about a quick breath away from military action against Iran as it is.

  That's been quite apparent, Entienne said. They think we're soft on Tehran. However, as of now, the Mossad knows nothing of this new development. At least, we don't think they do.

  Colonel Turnbull was becoming impatient with the rambling conversation when something important obviously needed to be discussed. He glanced at Watson. How about giving us one concise but informative statement to describe this situation before we drown ourselves in details.

  Sure, Watson said. The Iranian military or certain elements of same have launched a holy war using foreign, that is, non-Iranian, Muslims to do the fighting. These, of course, would be Shiites, the prevalent branch of Islam in Iran. He paused before speaking again. Now, with the colonel's permission, I will be a bit wordier. Please permit me to say that we know a force of Arab mujahideen has been built up by Iranian Army officers. This outfit is now beyond the cadre stage. There are fully equipped and manned units. However, we don't know the types, number, personnel strength, or equipment. That goes for their training and garrison centers. All that must be found out.

  Mmm, Joplin mused. There seems to be no doubt of the existence of this Jihad organization. So what's the CIA's take on this thing?

  That it's a very real threat and we've got to stay up to date on what's going on, Watson said.

  Colonel Turnbull scowled. Being kept up to date won't get us shit. We got to get one step ahead of the game. If not, we're going to be playing in the dark.

  Arlene Entienne spoke up. Carl, who is your Iranian connection?

  Saviz Kahnani, Joplin replied. But don't you think it's a little too early for me to make any contact with him?

  Agreed, Entienne said. But the President wants you to drop everything and sit tight until you need to have a tete-a-tete with your Iranian friend.

  Turnbull snorted at the French expression as sissified. What is this? Bareback Mountain?

  It was Brokeback Mountain, Entienne said. And the President has a job for you and your staff, John.

  Please tell me in pure unadulterated English, Arlene.

  You are to instruct all SPECOPS units in the Middle East to keep their eyes and ears open to glean intelligence on the Iranian connection. The President wants every operation out there to have a secondary mission of scoping out the latest on this developing situation.

  Then that's what's going to happen, Turnbull promised. The word will go out to Station Bravo in Bahrain tonight.

  Also, Shelor Field in Afghanistan and the USS Combs wherever she might be.

  She's in the Arabian Sea, as a matter of fact, Watson said. At any rate, while Colonel Turnbull gets things rolling through SPECOPS, we in the CIA will be using our own organization and various personnel, i.e., agents, moles, and informants, to see what we can dig up.

  Who is the central contact for all of us? Joplin asked.

  Me, Entienne said. She glanced at Turnbull. Li'l ol' me!

  Well, boil me in gumbo and call me Bubba, Turnbull said, grinning.

  .

  CHEHAAR GARRISON

  EASTERN IRAN

  1830 HOURS

  THE armored cars were aligned for inspection in the proper company formation with the platoons on line. Each vehicle had been carefully and thoroughly washed and scrubbed with the insides vacuumed free of dust and dirt. The machine guns atop the turrets had also been given a complete cleaning after being field-stripped. Light coats of oil were applied to each part as the weapons were reassembled.

  The uniforms of the crews were also washed and pressed, and now all stood at parade rest in front of their EE-3s waiting to be inspected. Warrant Officer Shafaqat Hashiri, the company sergeant major, stood to the front. When he saw Captain Sikes step from his Quonset hut, the warrant officer snapped-to, made an about-turn, and called the company to attention. Boot heels clicked together and hands slapped the sides of trousers as the men assumed the proper parade-ground position. Hashiri made another about-turn. When Sikes marched up to him, he saluted sharply. The company is ready for inspection, sir! he barked in English.

  Carry on, Mr. Hashiri, Sikes said.

  Once more, the warrant officer about-turned, then ordered the men to parade rest. Then he and Sikes marched down to the far right of the platoons. The commander of the armored car in that position called his men to attention. Sikes checked the crew's appearance, then made a walk around the vehicle, carefully noting the condition of the steel exterior. He wasn't so concerned about dust since the wind kicked it up constantly, but he wanted to make sure there was no rust. The nearby salt marshes made erosion a constant threat to vehicles, weapons, and equipment.

  When he finished with the first vehicle, he marched over to the second. That commander called his men to attention while the first put his crew at parade rest.

  Very precise. Very military. Very much bashing on the square, as the Brits say.

  WHEN Arsalaan Sikes, nee Archibald Sikes, arrived at Chehaar Garrison, he was put into an intense training program. It was at this time he learned that al-Zaim was actuall
y Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah of the Iranian Army.

  After only a few days of the military instruction, it became apparent to Khohollah that this newly converted English Muslim not only knew more than the Iranian cadre, but was better schooled than they in military science. He was promoted to sergeant and turned loose on the mujahideen. Within a couple of weeks, the mob of Arab farm and city boys was disciplined, drilled, and sharp. Brigadier Khohollah was pleased to report to his superiors that the group would be ready for combat two months ahead of schedule.

  Sikes's old pal Khalil Farouk, who had enticed him to desert from the British Army, had come along from Saudi Arabia with his protege. Farouk was not in the military branch of the Jihad Abadi; he was a political officer who conducted propaganda and religious classes to inspire the new soldiers to want to fight for the cause. He emphasized they could serve Islam best by becoming skilled, disciplined soldiers. Allah had blessed the Jihad Abadi, and wanted a logical, pragmatic fighting force able to carry on a prolonged, effective struggle until the final day of holy victory.

  Sikes and Farouk roomed together in one end of a hut, and spent most evenings in talk. Sikes sorely missed his British ale and stout, but enjoyed sipping thick, black khawe coffee from tiny cups. That, and smoking an argili water pipe during long quiet hours, brought him new comforts and relaxation. Farouk wanted to use those quiet times to impart further encouragement to his English friend, and he decided to tell him about the Arab Legion. Sikes listened with rapt attention as the Arab's narrative enthralled him, feeding his imagination with new fantasies of glory.

  The Arab Legion was a large unit of Arab soldiers commanded by British officers. The Legion was first formed in October 1920 by Captain Frederick Peake in Transjordan from the local gendarmerie. At first, they were undisciplined and uncaring after many months without pay. Most did not bother to wear their uniforms. But Peake went to work, shaped them up, and got the right administrative and supply wheels turning to raise morale. When they were ready for active duty, he dubbed this newly reactivated unit the Arab Legion.