The man inside began firing methodically through the cloth just before the Assassins. When another Assassin fell the squad fired back with a fury. Inside the cover bullets ripped through the man’s body, throwing him backward. His M-16 clattered against the rock floor of the hideout. Farouk raised his hand to tell his men to cease firing; they waited in silence.
After a few minutes, he approached the decimated shell. He and another man finally tore it from the ground and looked inside. The dead man lay on the ground surrounded by food, electronic gear, weapons, and other items that the squad did not recognize.
They moved closer carefully, their rifles on him, making sure he was dead. Once certain, they looked around to see if there was anyone else, examining a few nearby boulders for another camouflage cover. Farouk was proud of their success in killing the spy, but at the same time he was worried. Someone knew about Alamut. There could be others. The Assassins searched the man’s gear but nothing had any identification marks. The man on the ground was a mystery. No rank, no uniform, no identification of any kind. He could have been be from anywhere.
He had sandy hair and a fair complexion. Probably American, they thought. Special warfare, dropped by the Americans in preparation for an attack on Alamut. The Sheikh would be pleased that they had found him but concerned by the implications.
They opened a bag and put the man’s gear in it. A nightscope, an infrared scope. Farouk examined one particular device carefully. He had no idea what it was and like everything else its identification marks had been removed. He placed it in the bag with the rest of the dead man’s things.
Farouk studied the hideout and wondered how the man had gotten there. No parachute, nothing to show how he had arrived, or how he hoped to leave, or when. He ordered one of his men to carry the dead man.
The Assassin threw the heavier man over his shoulder effortlessly. The man’s blood ran down onto him and he tried not to show his disgust. The other squad members picked up their own dead and they began their long hike back to Alamut.
37
Everyone on the carrier knew about the coming mission. They knew about the bomb, who was going to deliver it, and how. The men and women involved in that evening’s other strikes understood that theirs were secondary, or even diversionary. They didn’t care — in fact they were excited about it.
In VF-103 it was different. The squadron realized that Woods and Big with Wink and Sedge were the tip of the spear that would pierce the ground and the heart of Sheikh al-Jabal. Tonight victory meant the death of one person.
The early strikes had already gone and had reported heavy SAM fire with new AAA sites near the targets. It had been the hairiest night so far, which was discouraging since so much effort had been put into SEAD, the Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses.
Although the rhetoric had picked up, the Syrian Air Force had stayed on the ground.
Woods’s event was set to brief at midnight. Bark had decided to address all the aircrew fifteen minutes before the scheduled brief, and had called all the officers together. They were tired but enthusiastic.
“I won’t take much of your time, but I wanted us to gather together for a minute before this squadron launches a mission never before flown by a Navy plane.” He glanced at his watch. “Their brief will begin in about fifteen minutes. We are finally going to strike what we hope will be a fatal blow against the terrorism of Sheikh al-Jabal. He has killed our squadron mate and other innocent Americans, including a State Department official who was locking his car when he was murdered, a Naval attaché in Paris, out for a peaceful morning jog, and the Commanding Officer of an F-18 squadron and one of his Lieutenants. The Shiekh is a cold-blooded murderer. If I had the chance to cut his throat, I would do it in a second.
“Seriously. I don’t want to sound bloodthirsty, but I see no reason for this man to continue living. If it were up to me, he wouldn’t. And, amazingly, it is up to us. Actually up to Trey, and Big. And the LANTIRN gods, Wink and Sedge.”
Wink smiled, fighting his apprehension.
“I wanted each of us to tell them how much we are behind them. We will do our very best to make it happen tonight, whether we are on a strike mission, on decoys, doing maintenance support, or just praying. Whatever we’re going to do, we will do it. The Jolly Rogers will make it happen. So Trey, Big, Wink, Sedge, we’re with you. Do us proud.” His listeners fell silent and not sure what more to say, Bark ended it. “Dismissed,” he said abruptly, and walked out of the ready room.
The sudden end of Bark’s talk caught the squadron off guard. They weren’t certain whether to stay and slap Woods on the back, or go about their business. The opinion quickly formed that work was in order, not celebration or conversation.
Odd little speech, Woods thought. Bark puzzled him. Most of the time he was a straight-ahead, no-nonsense, you-always-know-what-he-wants kind of guy. But every once in a while he would do or say something that made the whole squadron wonder if they understood him at all. But most Squadron Commanders were on the verge of losing it at one point or another — there seemed to be something inherent in the job that made them nearly come apart. Woods wondered if Bark’s difficulties were his fault. From the moment he had allowed Vialli to go to Israel without telling Bark, he had dropped in his Commanding Officer’s regard. He knew it. He could feel it on an almost daily basis. What had started as a trusting relationship, with Bark as his mentor, grooming his protégé, someone in whom he saw himself, had become a cool senior/subordinate relationship. And Bark seemed to be taking it hard. He couldn’t identify with Woods anymore. Some invisible line had been crossed that couldn’t even be discussed. To bring it up would be to acknowledge too much. It had come to the point now where Bark didn’t trust him. But Bark also knew Woods was the right one to go. He was best suited for the job — he had the most training, and perhaps the very thing that had finally driven Bark away, reckless abandon. During his big speech about showing support for our guys going in harm’s way, Bark hadn’t looked at him once.
Woods and Big walked to the back of the ready room. They were alone. “You still up for this?” Big asked.
Woods looked around. “We’ve got a couple of minutes before the brief. Let’s go out on the catwalk.”
Big followed Woods directly outboard on the starboard side through the darken-ship black vinyl curtains onto the catwalk. They walked up to the steel grating and stood leaning on the railing. They could see the white foam of the water through the grating beneath them as the Washington steamed north through the Mediterranean. Seeing water race under their feet was unsettling to those who weren’t accustomed to it. Woods glanced out toward the dark sea and thought about their mission.
“So,” Big said.
Woods waited. They could hear the sailors preparing the flight deck for the launch behind them. “You ever thought of Bark as stupid?”
“No.”
“Ever known him to leave anything unfinished?”
“Never,” Big said, surveying the stars over the black water.
“He knows what happened in Lebanon.”
“He didn’t seem too sure.”
“Big,” Woods said, “he saw the missile exhaust on our airplanes. He saw the PLAT tapes.”
Big shrugged. “He didn’t seem too convinced.”
“He knows it wasn’t from Roosevelt Roads.”
“What are you saying?”
“He could send us to Leavenworth with one phone call.”
Big thought about it. “So why hasn’t he?”
“A lot of people in his squadron would go down. He doesn’t know who. But he knows there had to be somebody in ordnance. And doesn’t know who else.”