Jackie looked straight into Scott’s eyes. “We may think it sounds wacky, but they truly believe it.”
“I have no doubt. An assassination, combined with the airlines going bankrupt, would certainly put us in a bind.”
“If Shakhar isn’t bluffing,” Prost went on, “we’re a little late on the draw. We’re going to have to take some major risks, and we’re going to have to do it quickly.” He glanced at a moose ambling toward the river. “That’s why I’m here.”
As he saw the deep concern written on Prost’s face, Scott’s entire body suddenly tensed. His glance sliced to Jackie, then back to Prost. “Okay. What’s the plan?”
“We’ve penetrated a few of the terrorist groups,” Prost confided triumphantly. “During the past sixteen months, our undercover agents — including a number of Islamic recruits — have infiltrated the Hezbollah of Hejaz, al-Gamaat, al-Islamiyah, Hamas, and the Organization of Islamic Revolution at the Imam Ali Camp in east Tehran. It’s like playing the lottery: you have to dump a lot of money in, but every now and then someone hits the big prize.”
“And we hit the jackpot,” Jackie announced with pride in her voice. “One of my colleagues — also a civilian agent — successfully infiltrated one of the main training camps for the central faction of Islamic Jihad.”
Scott merely nodded.
“About eight months ago,” Jackie continued, her voice filled with exuberance, “Bassam Shakhar began spending three to four hours a week at the training camp. He’s surrounded by heavy security and comes and goes at random times, but he is the kingpin behind the anti-U.S. military operation.”
Scott felt a tingle of excitement. “The agent — is he still there?”
“She,” Jackie informed him in a pleasant voice. “Her name is Maritza Gunzelman. She’s still at the camp, but she recently came under suspicion, and they’re closely watching every move she makes.”
“Why do you think they’re suspicious of her?” Scott asked.
“I really don’t know for certain.” Jackie paused, eyeing Scott briefly. “She sent us a short message about three weeks ago. She’s gleaned a lot of important information about Shakhar, his plans, and his team leaders. Unfortunately, since they’ve become suspicious of her, we aren’t able to communicate with Maritza like we did before. She’s trapped there and we’re going to have to mount a covert operation to rescue her.”
Although he was intrigued by what she had divulged, Scott’s curiosity about Sullivan’s role was quickly getting the best of him. There was a bold and adventurous spirit about her — an air of courage that was both sensuous and reckless. About five and a half feet in height, she had dark brown hair swept back in a wedge, and seductive gray-green eyes that didn’t miss anything.
“No offense,” Scott said, aware that Prost had a tendency to be absentminded around attractive women, “but I’m a little confused about Ms. Sullivan’s role.”
“I apologize,” Prost hurriedly replied. “It’s been a long night for us. We left straight from the White House and went to Andrews to catch a flight to Elmendorf. Jackie and Maritza are former clandestine intelligence officers with the Defense HUMINT Service, and, like you, she and Maritza have become civilian consultants.”
Suddenly the synapse hit Scott like a two-by-four. I invited her to go sailing with me. His face flushed as it all came rushing back from the previous year. Her hair had been longer and she had been wearing a stunning black cocktail dress, but it was definitely the same woman he had met at an elegant restaurant in Georgetown.
Jackie and three of her girlfriends had been enjoying a lively birthday bash at 1789. Scott and another former Marine pilot had introduced themselves to the quartet, then hosted after-dinner cordials for the group. Later, when Scott managed to get Jackie alone, he’d invited her to go sailing. She accepted the invitation, but Scott left the following day for Buenos Aires, and during his quest to capture an international terrorist, he misplaced Jackie’s name and phone number.
Scott tilted his head down. I hope she doesn’t remember who I am.
“Besides speaking six languages,” Prost continued, “and being an excellent marks woman, Jackie’s an expert in counterterrorism and international weapons proliferation.”
Scott cast a quick look at her and noticed the guarded, aloof poise she maintained. He assumed a guise of nonchalance while she eyed him with close curiosity. If she remembers, she’s hiding it well.
“She’s a former Air Force F-16 pilot who also flies helicopters, and she teaches a course in high-speed evasive driving.”
Scott gave her a casual glance, then cleared his throat. “Okay”—he paused—“where do I fit in?”
Prost’s eyes hardened and a forced smile highlighted his cheeks. “President Macklin and I would like you — working in conjunction with Jackie — to extract Maritza Gunzelman from the terrorist compound.” The words came out as a challenge. “We have to know what Shakhar is really up to, find out if he’s bluffing.”
Scott’s response was stony silence for a few seconds, followed by a slow grin. “That’s a mighty tall order.”
“That’s why the president sent me to talk to you in person,” Prost confided. “This is extremely important. Our intel — CIA, the Brits, and Mossad — indicates a flurry of activity in the Shakhar camps, but Maritza is the only operative who has firsthand knowledge of his intentions.”
“It’s critical,” Jackie asserted. “We have to find out what Maritza has learned about Shakhar’s specific plans.”
Scott arched an eyebrow, but remained silent while he contemplated the scope of the operation.
“President Macklin,” Prost went on, “asked me to tell you that you have carte blanche to carry out the mission.”
Prost placed his hands on his knees. “Scott, we have every reason to believe that Ms. Gunzelman has critical information that is vital to our national interest. We have to know what their plans are.”
Scott’s eyes shifted from Prost to Sullivan.
Jackie’s expression was intense. “Maritza had originally planned to disappear from the Bekaa Valley during one of her weekly trips to the marketplace. Now she isn’t allowed to leave the compound.”
Scott slowly shook his head. “I can’t perform miracles.”
“She’s in real jeopardy.” Jackie’s voice took on a sense of urgency. “We can’t storm the place, and there are too many obstacles in and around the camp to risk a simple helicopter extraction.”
“It sounds like a suicide mission,” Scott said. “The terrorists are well armed and ruthless, but that’s only part of the problem. That entire valley is a center of international drug production. The druggies and their security teams are also well armed, and they shoot at anything — and I mean anything—that threatens their billion-dollar business.”
Scott paused, then smiled ruefully. “Another minor problem is the thousands of Syrian troops in the valley. Target practice is their favorite pastime, night or day.”
“I’m fully aware of everything you’ve just mentioned,” Jackie retorted with a flash of anger. “I don’t know what else to say, except that I’m going after her — with or without you.”
Scott experienced a faint twinge of guilt.
“We really need your special skills and experience,” she implored.
Scott gave her a brief nod, then turned his attention to the man responsible for coordinating the activities of the National Security Council. “I’ll give it a try — on one condition.”