“Well, sir, you said that you don’t want Camp to know while he’s serving in Afghanistan. You may be right; it may distract him from his mission. But he’ll be upset that he wasn’t told,” Raines said as she took her fancy plate to the sink.
“Don’t you worry about those, Leslie, you two get to work,” Ruth added as she gathered up the coffee mugs.
“Leslie, do you think Junior tells us everything he’s doing over there in the war? Or do you think he holds things back so his mom and dad won’t be upset?”
Raines couldn’t look Seabury in the eyes. She knew he was correct, but she knew Camp would want to know, and she knew he would be upset. It seemed like the best thing to do.
“Dr. Blauw said that since you were older when the Alzheimer’s was detected, it may progress fairly rapidly… you may get worse, faster. Now’s the best chance, Seabury, to tell your son what you’re feeling… what you’re going through.”
“Let’s get going while I’m still sharp. Things get a bit fuzzier as the day gets older.”
Seabury grabbed his red jacket off the hook behind the kitchen door and his John Deere cap.
“Honey, where are you going? Leslie has the camera in the house,” Ruth said not sure if Seabury’s mind was fading already.
“I want to film this in the barn. It’s where my boy and I spent most of our time together.”
Seabury walked out the door and headed to the barn. Leslie grabbed the camera and tripod and followed out the door.
Seabury pulled a milking stool over in front of the stalls. The barn was empty now that all of the cows were out in the pasture grazing. Leslie put the camera on the tripod.
“Ready?”
Seabury nodded.
Raines pushed the record button and verified the framing. She backed up, waved, and walked out of the barn. As she was closing the barn door she heard Seabury start to speak.
“Hello, son… this is your daddy… Seabury Campbell, Senior… that makes you Junior… well, I’m not sure how to start this so, here goes… I’ve got some bad news.”
ISAF Headquarters
Kabul, Afghanistan
General Ferguson returned to his office at 2330 hours with his two coffee-pouring majors waiting for the telephone call. It was 1400 hours back at Langley, an odd nine-and-a-half hours behind. Ferguson knew that Langley had no intention of being inconvenienced with an off-hours call, so it was his job to suit up and go back to the office before retiring for the evening. Whatever the issue was, it was worthy of a late night call.
The call finally rang in on Ferguson’s desk. The telephone was right next to him, but he motioned for one of the majors to answer it.
“General Ferguson’s desk. Major Spann speaking… yes, sir… please hold, sir.”
Spann put the call on hold and handed the phone to Ferguson. He shuffled through some papers he hadn’t been looking at before the phone rang, then finally took the call off hold and answered with his ‘busy’ voice.
“Ferguson.”
“General Ferguson, this is Special Agent Daniels, and I have Agent Fallon Jessup with me. My apologies, sir, for the lateness of the call.”
“What can I do for you this evening?”
“Sir, you’ve already received our classified briefing regarding the shipment on Russian rails heading toward Ashgabat, Turkmenistan. There’s another component that may or may not be related, but I wanted to bring it to your attention. Actually, we met with Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines at Fort Detrick, and she asked if you had been informed.”
“I’m listening.”
“Sir, Agent Fallon Jessup here. Two commercial mosquito misters were sold by an Illinois company to the city of Hamburg, Germany. The sprayers were stolen out of the warehouse in Hamburg, and the serial numbers showed up at a port in Jakarta, Indonesia. The police in Jakarta tracked the sprayers down to a black market importer who sold them to an unknown party in Islamabad, Pakistan.”
“That’s a very nice story, Agent Jessup; thank you for sharing it,” Ferguson said with no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice.
“Sir, if someone was trying to cook a special recipe of a biological agent, then a commercial sprayer, a misting device like this, might be the ticket to creating an aerosolized bio-weapon,” Daniels added.
Ferguson grew silent.
“Sir, I know you have your finger on the pulse with Special Ops missions going in and out of Pakistan. Perhaps you could include this information in your ops planning and briefings. We sure would like to see these two SkitoMisters immobilized. Has Captain Campbell’s mission launched?”
Ferguson and his two majors looked uncomfortable.
“Special Agent Daniels… when did you acquire this intelligence?” Ferguson asked.
“Sir, we’ve been following this paper trail for several weeks now. With the stockpiles on a Russian train headed for the Iranian border, we’ve been connecting some dots.”
“Well, perhaps you should have connected a bit sooner. You’re well aware of the fact that Campbell’s operational detachment is moving into North Waziristan as we speak. Unfortunately, they only have unit comms with contingency plans to use their SAT phones if the situation on the ground warrants. We’ve got a drone watching from above and tracking all 17 beacons. We intend to see 18 beacons on egress. But there’s no way to initiate communications while they’re navigating the mountain passes. It would have been nice to get this information a bit earlier. Anything else?”
“No, sir, just the SkitoMisters.”
“Well, glad to know the Agency is spending our time and money trying to protect the Taliban from a mosquito infestation. Sounds like an important mission. Goodnight.”
Ferguson rubbed his eyes and pulled a cigar out of his top drawer. He was irritated and tired but mostly tired of separate US government agencies and their reluctance to share intelligence with each other in a timely manner.
“Major Spann, get Creech Air Force Base on the line. I want a status report on Alpha Team.”
“Roger.”
Ferguson lit up and paced back and forth in front of the classified maps that filled two walls in his rectangular office. He paused to review Alpha Team’s mission plan and time markers which were laid over the Khost — Miran Shah map with great detail. Checking his watch, Ferguson ran his finger from the northwest starting point and stopped where the time marker said the team ought to be as Spann talked with the Tactical Operations Center at the stateside Nevada base.
“Sir, all 17 beacons gathered in Toledo according to plan. Final leg of the ingress, six dials from Sherwood Forest.”
Ferguson traced the mission plan from the cave complex called Toledo, through the riverbed complex of caves, over Bannu Road and into Datta Khel Village. They were only six hours away.
16
Miran Shah District
North Waziristan, Pakistan
At 0930 the two squads of Alpha Team mustered in the largest cave. The weather was cooperating perfectly for the final six hour push into Datta Khel Village. Weather conditions were miserable. Heavy snow was falling, the wind had picked up and was whipping around the rock walls of the Hindu Kush. The daylight traverse to the village would require as much cloaked transparency as both snow camo and blowing snow could afford. Once out of the Hindu Kush, the Alpha Team would have limited cover. Omid would lead them directly to the house he had surveyed a few days before, so the team wouldn’t have to remain exposed for very long.
“Listen up,” Manson said as he placed the map in front of Alpha Team. “We’re two clicks out, but at point-six kilometers per hour we could be there in two-and-half hours. We’ve allowed six hours in case of hostiles. We stay spread out along the river bed so snipers have a more difficult kill zone. Once on Bannu Road, we stay smart. Any vehicles, military or other, we go down and hold until they pass. Do not engage. Clear? If we have to engage before Datta Khel, then kiss Major Banks goodbye as we scurry back over the Hindu Kush.”