“If things go right I won’t be needed. We’ve done this six times. Also General Cunningham wanted General Mado to participate this time. “There are trucks moving into position now.” The President watched Rangers running out through the wall carrying dummies. “We train under the assumption that we’ll have to carry many of the POWs.” In the distance they could see the last C-130 landing, and the trucks starting to move out down the road.
“The single F-15E you see orbiting above the AC-130 is Captain Jack Locke. The E model has the fuel to orbit and the ordnance to discourage unwelcome guests like tanks, armored cars, bandits … He’s our ace in the hole, a Jack of all trades, you might say.”
The President generously let that one go and watched the small convoy move down the road. “I suppose the road pattern you’ve marked out matches the actual route they’ll follow.”
“Yes, sir,” Pullman answered, “and alternate routes if they have to make any detours.”
“Now I suppose it’s just a matter of calling in the jeep teams, loading the C-130s, and taking off?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Can you delay the takeoff and get all the Rangers back here? I want to meet the men who will have to do it, and take a close look at the mock-up.” Both Stansell and Pullman could hear the reservation, at least concern, in the President’s voice. Pullman was quickly on the radio relaying the President’s request.
“Mr. President,” Leachmeyer said, “this is Lieutenant Colonel Gregory, who commands the Rangers.”
The President shook Gregory’s big hand and talked to some of the Rangers as they piled out of the trucks and formed up by platoons. “Colonel, I’d like to walk through the mock-up with some of Romeo Team.” Gregory called out for Trimler, Jamison, Kamigami and the four squad leaders to join them.
The President led the way through the breach in the wall. A target dummy lay crumpled on the ground. Trimler examined it. “Two holes in the head. We reposition the targets every time we practice, and some of them are marked to look like POWs. We train to knock the guards down with the first burst, then to shoot them in the head.”
The President took in the small group surrounding him. They were not the normal staff officers he was used to seeing. They were dirty, lean, streaked with sweat, camouflage paint on their faces. But it was their attitude that made the real difference … These were warriors, not the uniformed, polished bureaucrats who lined the halls of the Pentagon. A half-formed image of the stir Command Sergeant Major Kamigami would leave in his wake if he walked through E Ring in the Pentagon looking as he did now chased through his mind. He liked it.
The group walked into the main cell block, and the President looked into the guard’s office on the first floor. Three dummies lay riddled on the floor, two were standing untouched. “Who cleared this room?” he asked.
“I did, sir.” It was Kamigami.
“These two dummies — how do you tell they’re POWs?”
“We check hands first,” Kamigami answered. “They hold anything, we shoot. Then we look for uniforms and shoes. POWS don’t wear shoes.” The sergeant major wasn’t used to talking so much.
On the next floor the President examined six cell doors that had been blown open. He walked back down the makeshift stairs, back out into the quadrangle and looked around. “Colonel Gregory,” he said, “what I’ve seen is impressive, but I’ve some questions. Your people ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain Trimler, any misgivings about the mission?”
“None, sir.”
“Sergeant Major Kamigami, are the men up for it?” Kamigami jerked his head yes. The President waited, wanting to hear what the sergeant had to say. When the big man said nothing, he asked, “What makes you so sure?”
A flustered look crossed the sergeant’s face as he tried to find the words. “Sir, it’s like sitting on two hundred Doberman pinschers in your backyard with their pricks all tied to the same tree.”
CHAPTER 33
“I appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedules to do this every day,” the President told the men in the Oval Office. Admiral Scovill and Michael Cagliari relaxed some. “Mr. Camm, good to see you again,” he said, puzzled why Director Burke had brought his Deputy for Intelligence to the meeting. “Charlie, we’ve got to get _together for a game of poker.” Leachmeyer returned his brief smile and sat down.
“Well, gentlemen, what’s the status of the POWs?”
Burke started first. “We’re getting some disturbing intelligence out of Iran. Indications are that the POWs are going to be split up soon. There’re other developments Mr. Camm and his people have discovered …”
Camm stepped in smoothly. “Mr. President, we are convinced the POWs will be split up this week. We don’t have the day exact. Also, we are getting reports that dissident elements in the Islamic Republican Party object to giving half the POWs to the IPRP and are causing trouble. Bottom line … The POWs are at risk.”
“Your sources?”
“Contacts and operatives in Algiers supporting the dissidents inside the Islamic Republican Party,” Camm answered. It was going better than he had hoped. He had now established “an Algerian connection.” If his Deep Furrow operatives, as planned, got the hijacked airliner to Algiers with half the POWs, all the credit would go to the CIA, and especially his operatives, for surgically exploiting a situation only they — not the military — could analyze and swiftly move to resolve.
The President’s fingers drummed on his desk. For reasons he couldn’t pinpoint, Camm bothered him. Too smooth? Too ready with his answers? Or was it just the contrast between the facade of east coast establishment that Camm presented and the rough asseson-the-line men he had met yesterday? He thought of Stansell’s quiet confidence, found it reassuring. “Yesterday when I was watching Task Force Alpha, Colonel Stansell made reference to that armored regiment forty miles away. Is that going to be a problem? Is that the only threat? Is there something hiding in the bushes here?”
It was Leachmeyer’s turn. “Delta Force has taken that into consideration, sir. There’s a bridge at the halfway point. We position a blocking force there and blow the bridge. Should that armored regiment move, we will only need to delay them long enough to extract the POWs. Then we fall back and get the hell out of there.”
“We have no indications of other threats,” Camm said. Not the whole truth, but he rationalized that the reports of activity in the barracks behind the prison were not, after all, substantiated by a second source.
“We’ve seen photography that indicates the old barracks behind the prison are occupied,” Cagliari said.
“My people have looked into that,” Burke replied. “They’re Kurds — squatters looking for a place to spend the winter.”
Carom almost did interrupt to tell about the one report he had to the contrary, that soldiers had been seen occupying the barracks. But he hesitated … he did not want to risk American lives unnecessarily, he told himself, but nevertheless he decided not to mention it. After all, it would add confusion; the report was unsubstantiated, wasn’t it? Camm found strength, and self-justification, in believing that what he was doing was right, and that in the long run the best interests of the U.S. would be served if covert operations like his Deep Furrow were restored to a place of preeminence. For the sake of everything else …
“Is Delta Force ready?” the President asked.
“Yes, sir,” Leachmeyer replied. “As soon as we can position them free of surveillance.”