“I’m new.”
“Ah.”
“This will be my first major story.”
“Ah.”
“For the Post. Before that, I worked as a feature writer for the L.A. Times.”
“Ah.” Buchanan swallowed part of a sandwich. The roast beef wasn’t bad-a little dry, but the mayonnaise and lettuce compensated. He sipped more of his beer. “I thought you were hungry. You’re not eating.” As she made herself nibble at some chicken salad, he continued. “Now what’s this about an interview? And these names I’m supposed to have. . I told you, I’m Peter Lang.”
Buchanan regretted that. It had been a mistake. When the woman had confronted him in the dining car, he’d responded with the name of the role on which he was concentrating at the moment. His identities had become confused. He had no ID for Peter Lang. He had to correct the problem.
“I have a confession to make,” he said. “I lied. You told me you’d leave me alone if you couldn’t guess my name. So when you called me by my right name, I decided to pretend I was somebody else and hoped you’d go away.”
“I didn’t,” she said.
“Then I might as well be honest.” He set down his bottle of beer and reached in his back pocket, bringing out his wallet showing her his driver’s license. “My name is Buchanan. Brendan. Nickname: Bren. Although no one’s called me Bren in quite a while. How did you know?”
“You’re in the military.”
“Right again. And I repeat, how did you know? Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m a captain with Special Forces. My home base is Fort Bragg. I’m on furlough, heading to New Orleans. Never been there before. So what? You have a thing about soldiers? Is that it?”
She tilted her head, a motion that emphasized her elegant neck. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Well, as long as you’re speaking, why don’t you speak plainly?” Buchanan said. “Enough is enough. You still haven’t told me how you know my name. I’ve been a good sport. What’s this about?”
“Humor me. I’d like to mention some code words to you,” she said.
“Code words? Of all the. .” Buchanan gestured with exasperation.
“Tell me if they mean anything to you. Task Force One Hundred and Sixty. Seaspray. The Intelligence Support Activity. Yellow Fruit.”
Jesus Christ, Buchanan thought, not showing how startled he was. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Look, lady-”
“Relax. Enjoy the sandwiches,” she said. “I’ll tell you a story.”
6
Operation Eagle Claw. On April 24, 1980, a U.S. military counterterrorist unit known as Delta was sent into Iran to rescue fifty-two Americans who’d been held hostage in Teheran since November of 1979. Eight helicopters, three MC-130 troop planes, and three EC-130 fuel planes were scheduled to set down at a remote area, code-named Desert One. After refueling, the helicopters would then proceed to a landing site outside Teheran. The 118-man assault team, concealed by night, would enter the city and converge on the target zone.
From the outset, however, problems afflicted the mission. En route from the U.S. aircraft carrier Nimitz in the Persian Gulf, one of the helicopters had to turn back because of difficulties with its rotor blades. Soon, another had to return because of a failed navigational system. At Desert One, yet another helicopter malfunctioned, this time the victim of a hydraulic leak. Because no fewer than six helicopters were required for the mission, Operation Eagle Claw had to be aborted. But as the team pulled out, one of the remaining helicopters struck one of its companion EC-130 fuel planes. The resulting explosion killed eight U.S. soldiers and critically burned five others. Flames prevented the bodies of the victims from being recovered. Secret papers and classified equipment had to be abandoned.
Humiliated and outraged, the Pentagon determined to find out what had gone wrong. Clearly, more than just mechanical failures were at fault. An exhaustive investigation concluded that various branches of the U.S. military had so competed with one another to be a part of the rescue that their efforts were dangerously counterproductive. Inefficiency, lack of preparedness, insufficient training, inadequate transportation, incomplete and unreliable information-the list of problems went on and on. It quickly became evident that if the United States was going to have an effective military antiterrorist group, that group would have to be capable of operating on its own, without needing help from outside sources, either military or civilian. Delta, the team of commandos who would have performed the hostage rescue, was assigned a permanent training base in a restricted section of Fort Bragg in North Carolina. A similar group, SEAL Team 6, was stationed at the Little Creek Naval Base in Virginia. The Joint Special Operations Command was created to supervise unconventional units in all branches of the U.S. military. A separate group, the Special Operations Division, was created to coordinate special operations exclusively within the Army.
7
As the woman talked, Buchanan finished one beer and opened another. He bunched up his sandwich wrappers, putting them in a paper bag. He stifled a yawn. “This sounds more like a history lecture than a story. Remember, I’m assigned to Fort Bragg. I know all about the specifics of the failed hostage rescue and the establishment of Delta Force.”
“I’m sure you know much more than that,” Holly McCoy said. “But let’s take this one step at a time.”
Buchanan shrugged. As he listened to the clack-clack-clack of the swaying train, he gestured for her to continue.
“One of the first problems the Special Operations Division decided to deal with was transportation,” Holly said. “It had taken Delta too long to get into Iran. The aircraft hadn’t been adequate to the task. Too many channels in the military had needed to be informed about where and when Delta was going. Obviously some streamlining was in order. Delta needed to get to its targets as quickly and secretly as possible and with the best means. That’s why Task Force One Hundred and Sixty and Seaspray were formed.”
Again Buchanan needed all his discipline not to show how startled he was by the mention of those code names. While his stomach muscles hardened, he pretended another yawn. “Sorry. I don’t want you to think you’re boring me. Go ahead and finish your beer.”
Holly brushed back another strand of red hair, gave him an irritated look, and continued. “Task Force One Hundred and Sixty was a classified Army unit that provided aviation for Delta as well as Special Forces and the Rangers. It had the big Chinook cargo helicopters, as well as various utility choppers and gunships. Seaspray, though, was a totally off-the-books, covert Army aviation unit that bought aircraft through civilian intermediaries, secretly modified the planes with state-of-the-art equipment-motor silencers, infrared radar, rocket launchers, that sort of thing-and used the planes for small-scale secret missions. The civilian intermediaries who Seaspray used were provided by the CIA, and some of the work that Seaspray did was for another civilian agency, the Drug Enforcement Administration. That’s where the trouble started, I think. Civilians and the military working together but hiding that cooperation from the Pentagon and from Congress.”
Buchanan sipped more of his second beer and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. If there’s a point to this, I suggest you get to it-before I fall asleep.”
“I doubt there’s much risk of that,” Holly said. “In fact, I think you’re a lot more interested than you’re pretending.”
“Interested in you. Except I prefer my dates to be less talkative.”
“Pay attention,” Holly said. “The next problem for the Special Operations Division was obtaining intelligence. When the Shah fell from power in Iran in 1979, the CIA lost most of its assets there. During the Iran hostage crisis, the Agency wasn’t able to furnish much reliable information about where the hostages were being held and how they were being guarded. Obviously, Delta Force needed details about the situations it would have to face. But the intelligence it received had to have a military perspective to it. So the ISA was formed. The Intelligence Support Activity.”