A slight smile worked at the corner of Stevens’ mouth. “I brought in some ammunition to help ‘convince’ him.” Cunningham’s eyebrows went up. His aide may have been tired but he was still cooking. “Task Force Alpha’s intelligence officer is waiting outside. I thought you might want to talk to her.” The general stared at Stevens. “I had Miss Rahimi flown in from Nellis last night,” Stevens said. “Thought she might be helpful.”
Try as he could, Cunningham honestly did not approve of women in the military, especially civilian specialists. But that bias did not stop him from using them. “Show her in. Also have the DIA send someone up. I want an independent update from them before the Battle Staff meets. Call Ben Yuriden. I’d like to talk to him.”
An hour later Cunningham was still talking to Dewa Rahimi and the brigadier general from the DIA. He was turned around in his swivel chair and they had pulled chairs up next to him. “Excuse me, general,” Stevens interrupted. “The Command and Authority Room …” He nodded toward the glass enclosed room to the right. The President was standing there with the Secretary of Defense, his National Security Advisor, Bobby Burke of CIA and Admiral Scovill. “They’re early,” Stevens said.
“I’m not surprised.” Everything that Rahimi and the general from DIA were telling Cunningham indicated that the raid had to go within hours or the well would be half-dry at Kermanshah. Obviously the President’s advisors were staying on top of the situation.
The President sat down and Scovill bent over a microphone. “General Leachmeyer …” His voice quieted the soft buzz in the command center. The tension and expectation could be felt — a physical presence in the room. “Please proceed.”
Leachmeyer took the center dais and introduced an Army colonel who reviewed their latest intelligence. It was the standard stuff that Cunningham had expected — nothing to base a decision on. While the Colonel was talking, Stevens was handed another message. He gave it to Cunningham, who scanned it and passed it on to Dewa. “Why’s it so important that the radar site at Maragheh is off the air?” he asked.
Her face tightened as she read the message. “It means the ingress corridor to Kermanshah is wide open,” she said, and knew as she did so that Stansell was now closer to the danger waiting for him in Iran.
“Charlie”—it was the President’s voice—“this doesn’t give me much to go on. I think it’s time we stop cutting bait and start fishing.”
“Sir”—Leachmeyer’s voice was calm, reasoned—“this is the latest we have.”
You son of a bitch, Cunningham thought, still stalling for time. You want Delta to take it so bad you’re pissing your drawers. It was time to shake the tree. “Our best window is tonight,” he said into the mike at his position.
“Nothing we have supports that,” Leachmeyer said. The two generals stared at each other from across the room as heads twisted back and forth.
Admiral Scovill bent over his microphone to end it. The President placed his hand over the mike and shook his head. He wanted to hear the two men out. Bureaucrats glossed over. A heated argument often got at the truth.
“I just received a message that says the radar site at Maragheh is off the air,” Cunningham said. “That opens a corridor for us.”
“If you were ready to go,” Leachmeyer came back at him. “I understand you do not have the appropriate munitions in place to breach the prison walls.” He almost added a dig about piss-poor planning by the Air Force. Round one to the Army.
How in the hell did he know that? Cunningham wondered. Stevens had the only messages. Had someone back-doored a copy to Leachmeyer? Was it Mado? “But the GBU-12s we need will be at Incirlik in less than”—he made a show of checking his watch—“two hours. No problem.” Round two to the Air Force, thanks to Stevens.
“You need northerly winds to insert your ground team,” Leachmeyer said, still pressing. “And as of twenty minutes ago they weren’t there.” Leachmeyer had done his homework.
“They will be tonight when we need them. The high-pressure system we want is building over the eastern Med as predicted.” Round three was a draw.
“Gentlemen, time out,” the President said. “I want to go over the status of Task Force Alpha and the details of the mission. Run it.”
As two Air Force colonels who worked for Mado took the dais and started a detailed briefing on the plan, Stevens handed Cunningham a note saying Yuriden was waiting for him outside. Cunningham walked out of the command center, found the Israeli colonel in a small office. “Thanks for coming over so quickly, Ben. Have you got anything new for me?”
The Israeli colonel’s face was impassive. “Trucks and tacan are at Kermanshah. Our agent is with Carroll and knows how to work the set.” He paused, trying to decide if he should reveal what else he knew. “General, there’s an airliner on the tarmac at Kermanshah’s aerodrome. It’s for moving half the POWs …” He turned and walked out of the room. Cunningham stared at the door, Yuriden had just played a card he wasn’t supposed to. Israeli intelligence was the best in the Middle East and like all intelligence organizations, the Mossad was very careful about releasing information that might in any way compromise its sources. Cunningham understood that as well as the significance of what Yuriden had done. The Israeli was trusting him not to reveal where he had learned about the airliner.
Cunningham returned quickly to the command center. The two colonels were finishing their briefing. “Miss Rahimi”—he motioned to her to move her chair closer to his—“I’ve just received news that the Iranians have an airliner at Kermanshah for moving the POWs. Can’t reveal my source. Can you back me up? The President has to order a Go for tonight if we’re going to get them out.”
Dewa froze. The danger for Stansell was even closer.
Camm paced the floor of his office, ignoring Susan Fisher as he reread the latest reports out of Iran: the airliner for transfer of POWs was in place at Kermanshah with CIA agents aboard as guards, ready to hijack the aircraft once in flight; the transfer of POWs was expected this night or next day; and Iranian soldiers were occupying the barracks behind the prison in company strength.
“Director Burke is with the President right now,” Fisher said. “I suspect that the POWs are being discussed. Should we tell him about the airliner and the soldiers? We can always claim we monitored a telephone conversation.”
“We’ve got to rescue the POWs … These reports from the prison about troops occupying the barracks … did we ever get confirmation from another source?” Fisher shook her head no. “So they might not be there … And Defense does know about the armored regiment at Shahabad …” Fisher nodded … Of course, Camm told himself, he didn’t want American lives sacrificed needlessly, and since the attacking force knew about the armored regiment, he reasoned that they were certainly prepared for immediate withdrawal in the face of determined resistance. So …
“Considering the source of our information, I think we should say nothing at this time,” Fisher said, telling him what he really wanted to hear.
Mokhtari’s rage filled the hall as he stomped his way toward the basement. His selection of POWs for transfer had been changed, and Mary Hauser was to be turned over to the IPRP. He especially hated this woman who no matter what he had done to her, somehow managed to defy him. Well, he still had Landis …
“Bring them into interrogation,” he ordered, then slammed into his chair, grabbed the phone and dialed the main cell block for Mary’s special “interrogator.” He was beginning to feel better as he planned the last “interview” of Mary Hauser.