“We think we’ve found a way to track down Zawahiri,” he began. “We learned from the bin Laden raid that no high-level al-Qaeda communications are transmitted electronically; no computers or phones — it’s all done on paper or verbally, distributed to and from al-Qaeda leadership by couriers. Tracey’s opinion is that Zawahiri wouldn’t have transferred sixty million dollars to Mixell without meeting him first. That means one of Zawahiri’s couriers would have brought Mixell to the meeting.
“Based on the date the funds were transferred into Mixell’s account, that meeting happened while Mixell was in Pakistan. Analysis obtained additional camera footage around the time Mixell landed in Karachi, and he was picked up outside baggage claim by a man we’ve identified as Amir Zahed.” Rolow turned to McFarland.
“After our drone strike on Zawahiri,” she said, “all al-Qaeda couriers were considered compromised and we lost our leads to al-Qaeda leadership. However, based on Zahed meeting Mixell at the airport, we believe Zahed is now a primary courier for Zawahiri. Follow Zahed, and he’ll eventually lead us to Zawahiri.”
“Great work,” Christine said. “So what’s the plan?”
Tracey replied, “We have dedicated drone assets controlled primarily from Creech Air Force Base in Nevada. Let’s put a twenty-four-seven surveillance on Zahed with an armed drone, ready to take out Zawahiri if he pops up.”
Christine provided her concurrence.
82
INDIAN SPRINGS, NEVADA
Captain Mike Berger and First Lieutenant Dee Ardis were on duty again, seated inside the dimly lit, cramped, and chilly MQ-9 Reaper Ground Control Station trailer. Berger had his right hand on the joystick and his left on the throttle as his eyes studied one of fourteen displays built into the two-person control station, while Ardis, the Reaper’s sensor operator, likewise studied her pertinent screens.
Another day, another mission.
A boring one at that.
For the last several weeks, Berger and Ardis, along with the other Reaper teams assigned to this control van, had been surveilling a guy in Karachi, Pakistan. It was clear the higher-ups were waiting for this guy to meet a designated target, because every time he met someone, the Reaper attack controller requested target verification. Thus far, it had been several weeks of negatives. It was also clear the designated target was high value; after circling their Reaper above the man’s residence in Karachi for the last few weeks, Berger realized there were also agents on the ground surveilling the man’s every move.
While it was challenging to maintain track of the guy while he traipsed about on foot in the city, tonight’s task was as easy as it got. They were following the man’s green sedan as it worked its way from the congested city into the sprawling suburbs, eventually entering an affluent development of gated residences where it stopped before a home’s black metal gate.
The attack controller’s voice came across Berger’s headphones. “Prepare for visual target confirmation.”
Berger acknowledged, then tilted his joystick, sending the Reaper down from its standard ten-thousand-foot surveillance altitude toward a better angle for facial recognition. As the drone descended, the gate pulled slowly aside and the sedan pulled to the end of the driveway.
The Reaper leveled off as the man stepped from the vehicle, where he was greeted by a man wearing a white dishdasha who emerged from the residence. Ardis zoomed in, taking a picture of the new man’s face.
The photo appeared on one of Ardis’s displays as they waited for the facial recognition program to finish its evaluation. Eventually, Target Not Confirmed appeared in red letters beneath his picture.
Another dead end.
After both men disappeared into the home, the attack controller agreed to let Berger return the Reaper to its standard surveillance altitude. A half-hour later, a black SUV arrived, stopping at the closed gate.
Berger and Ardis repeated the procedure, dropping the Reaper down for a better look as the SUV pulled forward and stopped behind the green sedan, then Ardis took pictures of four men who stepped from the vehicle. This time, a green Target Confirmed appeared beneath one of the photographs.
“We have confirmed jackpot,” the attack controller declared. “Request weapon release.”
The attack controller’s request confused Berger. Why was he asking him for weapon release authority? It worked the other way around — attack controllers provided weapon release authority to Reaper control teams.
“What do you mean?” Berger asked. “You’re supposed to provide that authority to me.”
“I don’t have the authority for this mission,” the attack controller said. “Someone should be on-line momentarily.”
As Berger pondered the unusual protocol, one of his displays reconfigured into a split screen, with a four-star Air Force general on one side and an attractive woman in her forties on the other. He had no idea who the woman was, but he recognized the four-star general as the man in charge of Air Combat Command, about as high up in the Air Force food chain as it got.
The woman seemed to be studying something off-screen, as her eyes were focused off to the side. Then she looked at the camera and said, “You are authorized for weapon release.”
Berger hesitated. The last time he checked, the only civilian in his chain of command was the guy at the top, called the president. He shifted his gaze to the four-star general.
“Do as she says, Captain.”
The woman added, “Two Paveways in the center of the house.”
Wow, Berger thought. Talk about overkill.
It wasn’t his call, however. He selected the first of the Reaper’s two Paveway five-hundred-pound bombs, then waited as Ardis slewed the laser designator onto the center of the building.
Release solution valid appeared on the center console.
Berger armed the Paveway, its new status appearing on the display—Master arm on.
Finally, Ready for release appeared.
After verifying the laser designator was locked on to the center of the residence, Berger pressed the red button on his joystick, releasing the first Paveway.
As it fell toward its target, Berger repeated the process for the second five-hundred-pound bomb, and it soon followed.
Berger watched as the Paveways completed their journeys, first one, then the second, hitting the building dead center. An orange fireball erupted, followed by another, billowing upward above a trail of black smoke as debris rained down on nearby rooftops and yards.
Ardis waited for the dust to clear, then zoomed in on the area, searching for survivors. There was no movement. From his vantage point in the Reaper pilot seat, studying Ardis’s display, he spotted a few charred bodies.
Post-mission analysis would be required to assess the results of today’s mission, but Berger was confident the target’s status on his display would be updated from Target Confirmed to Kill Confirmed.
The attack controller’s voice came across Berger’s headphones again. “You are released for further duties.”
After Berger acknowledged, the woman on the video display spoke again.
“Well done.”
83
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
It was a small ceremony in the seventh-floor conference room. The table had been pushed to the side and covered with a white tablecloth, then laden with drinks, pastries, and fruit. The empty space in the middle of the room had instead been filled with two rows of chairs, with Harrison sitting in front between Khalila and DDO PJ Rolow, along with the DDA, Tracey McFarland. Seated behind them were the other CIA deputy directors, while Christine O’Connor and Deputy Director Monroe Bryant stood at the front of the conference room.