Costanzo said, “No one could have ever figured it would turn out like this. It is not your fault this happened.”
“Somehow Mahdi knew we were coming,” surmised Deshano. “This was timed perfectly. We may have a plant inside the Pentagon or the Cabinet.”
“Or anywhere in the Fifth Fleet — this was a big operation and anyone in the Fifth Fleet could have leaked it,” said Bumgardner. He rubbed his eyes and peered at the screens with images from the submarines and helicopters. “Anyone could have leaked it.” He chastised Deshano, “There will be no more talk of sabotage from the Pentagon or the Cabinet. It is possible we will never know how this happened.”
Landenberger was numbed with shock. How could this possibly have gone down like this? He wanted to leave and go home and tell himself that this was all a nightmare and that he would wake up and live this day again as he envisioned. Men were dead and others were dying, drowning beneath the fiery oil. Hostages were dead. Crewmen were dead.
He should have paid the ransom and been done with it. He felt it the first day and every day since — today more than ever. Had he paid, it would have been over and done with. None of this would have happened. And it all fell on his shoulders now. There was nothing left to do but pick up the pieces and salvage what was left. From here it would be a mop-up operation — cleaning up the mess he had made. It would go on for months perhaps years before there would be any sort of recovery from this disaster.
Was this the beginning of the end? The US had been at the top of the world order for two centuries. The Iranians were threatening the Western World as never before with its nuke program. The Russians were gaining ground fast with its oil wealth. The North Koreans were testing nukes and missiles and threatening Japan. The Chinese were exploding exponentially in population and wealth with its abundant cheap labor.
Iraq thought of itself as a major Middle East threat to the world and ended up nearly a non-entity now under the wing of the US struggling to hold its head above water. Could the same happen to the US? If the present situation continued and more blunders of this magnitude were in the future, it could very well be the beginning of the end. Better decisions must be made.
I cannot trust myself to make those decisions. I should resign and be done with it. I am not suitable to be the president. I have made many correct decisions, but this overcomes any good that I may have done. Yes, tomorrow I will announce my resignation. The US needs a better leader — someone who can make the important decisions and get America back on its feet.
“Mr. President.” Prottenger tapped him on the shoulder. “I think we can handle it from here. There will be many decisions to make tomorrow. You must be exhausted as you have had no real rest for two days. Go home to your wife and daughter and rest.” Others were nodding in agreement.
I will rest and tomorrow will be a better day. There will be much to do. I may feel differently about resigning.
He stood, brushed off his pants, straightened his tie and left the Pentagon surrounded by DSS agents.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Robinson sat with two dozen soldiers in the Mi-24 helicopter that wound its way tortuously up the Shebelle River valley toward Beledwyne. Below he could see a Battalion of T-90 Russian tanks all headed westerly along the road strung out like a chain. Refugee encampments became ghost towns as a million citizens clogged the roads headed easterly back to their homes in Mogadishu. Eventually, the Russian encampment appeared below sitting along the edge of the Shebelle, extending about a mile in each direction. Below he could see thousands of tents, helicopters, trucks and tanks stretched along the road and into the lush green valley.
The Mi-24 settled into the center of the mix. Robinson was escorted along the nets of camouflage and half-covered stacks of oil and gasoline barrels that were strewn across the grassy compound. Soldiers sat about in open tents listening to Russian music blaring from CD players while others polished and cleaned Russian AK-47 U machine-guns and AO-62 assault rifles.
He was escorted to a camouflaged tent, about the size of a football field, and inside nearly every imaginable high tech piece of military hardware could be found. Deep within he found the OC with huge plasma screens displaying live geosynchronous spy satellite displays of the Somalia terrain. The battle for Beledweyne was apparently well under way as soldiers, tanks and choppers were already battling in the streets with the gangs that were reluctant to give up their turf.
“Bluebird III — four hostiles in building on right dead ahead with semi-automatic weapons.”
“Copy that. Consider their butts history.”
“Black Snake — hostiles approaching your position with RPG — back off… we are sending Hawkeye to sweep’m out.”
“Backing off….”
“Green Swan VI — suspected Gisèle Teil-Dautrey clan hiding in warehouse loading into a bakery truck.”
“We’ll give them one good thrashing.”
Robinson was led to a reception area where portable partitions were strewn about. He figured this was where the upper brass hung out. A secretary welcomed him with a smile and offered him a steaming cup of coffee. Photos of Stalin, Trotsky, and Russian royalty lined one wall while oil paintings of the Red Square and the Kremlin sat on another. A minute later an intercom signal flashed. “The general will see you now.”
Dimochka gave him a Russian bear hug and a big smile. “Welcome comrade! If there is anything at all you need simply ask. Sit — sit and we will get our mission underway to get Carol back safely.”
“I am anxious to get started and thank you for this fine welcome.”
“It is nothing. I have looked forward to it from the moment you called. My first thought was that the two us could hop in a truck and storm our way into the nest of kidnappers and have a hell of a time shooting them all. It would be such great fun for the both us. Unfortunately we must clean up this mess as quickly as we can and we will chopper in for the mission. Follow me. With your CIA background you will appreciate what I show you.”
He led the way into the OC and had a technician put up a digital image on screen six. “You were correct on the time. You can see here the Red Cross convoy stopping a kilometer out from Beledwyne at 8:03. Move it to 8:08 please. That is it. Back it up. There she is being pulled out of the truck by some Tswana scum.”
“Bring it in close on her if you can. I haven’t seen her for twenty-three years.”
“Of course you wonder what she looks like. She is a beautiful woman you will see. Freeze it there.”
There stood the woman he had traveled halfway across the world to save. She was stunningly beautiful even though the nurse’s uniform did little to flatter her figure. Her chin still receded as he remembered and her face appeared unchanged. Her cheek bones were as perky as ever and glistened in the sun. Except for several silky strands that escaped and ran across her cheek, her auburn hair was tucked neatly under the red and white hat. There was no smile, her brow was furrowed, but what would one expect when you were being abducted? He would have recognized her in an instant if she had been walking down Pennsylvania Avenue.
“She is one-eighth Russian,” explained Dimochka. “She came in one night on some pretext and said she wanted to meet me.” He studied the screen and straightened his hat as he continued. “I could have sworn my beloved daughter was standing before me. The resemblance is uncanny. I could not bear to see her go and now she blesses me with her company whenever she can.”