Hostile Fire (5 page)

“Mr. Fouad. I’ve been battling with this decision for the past two weeks. I’ve talked to about half of our generals, our defense minister, all of the top people in my government. The consensus is that we go ahead with the plan. The generals, to a man, recommended that we do not give you a bomb. They counseled that we keep them for use to forward our own goals. Just the threat of the use of a nuclear bomb can have a great effect on a small country nearby. That was their suggestion.”

“The military leaders make a good point, Mr. President. But you said your other advisors, the civilians, were in favor of the plan?”

“Yes. The final decision is mine. No one else’s. No one to blame but me if it goes wrong.” He stood and walked with slow steps to one wall where there hung a bright painting, carefully lighted, that showed a luxurious green garden brimming with a rainbow of blooming flowers, and trees, and a small waterfall in a shallow stream. He studied the painting for what seemed to Fouad for five minutes. When he turned he smiled.

“Yes, you shall have your bomb. Our facility is in the desert, out where a mistake would not be so tragic. I’ll have it crated and concealed as best as we can. Where will you fly it from?”

“Assuming the bomb is in the desert west of here, we will transport it by truck to Jordan. We should have no trouble crossing the border. We will proceed to the northern city of Irbid. From there we will charter an airfreight craft and fly it away toward the Atlantic Ocean. That’s all I should tell you right now. You’ll have no trouble pleading that you
don’t know how this happened, because you really won’t know. The plan I sent you is a practical one, but not the exact one that we’ll use. Our final plan is much better, slicker and with more chances to succeed. Mr. President. It’s an honor and a pleasure doing business with you.”

The ex-general smiled and held out his hand. “I hope it will bring pleasure to all of Islam. Now, I realize that your group is usually short on cash. Would you accept a gift from Iraq of fifty thousand U.S. dollars, to help along the project?”

“Mr. President, I’m overwhelmed. Yes, the U.S. dollars will come in handy as we move across the globe. Now, the timetable. We’ll need a tractor and an enclosed trailer, to get the package into Jordan and then north. We have contacts there that will cooperate with us with no questions asked. We already have made tentative arrangements with the airfreight company in Irbid.”

“I’ve given orders to provide you with a truck and trailer sufficient to make the trip and to conceal the bomb with bales of raw cotton. It should work well all the way into Jordan. Good luck.”

The two men stood, shook hands again.

“Mr. President, just to satisfy my curiosity, how far underground are we?”

“It’s a common question. We are a hundred and fifty feet deep into the bedrock of Iraq. No bomb of any type can come anywhere near touching this room.”

Fouad smiled. “I’m glad I’m not claustrophobic.” He turned and a guard appeared to lead him out of the room and back to the surface. An eager smile showed on his face. Now that it had been decided, he couldn’t wait to get the plan into motion. Watch out, America. Al-Qaida is coming for a quick visit.

NAVSPECWARGRUP-ONE
Coronado, California

Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock looked at one of his longtime SEALs who sat across from him in his office. He’d just heard Fernandez say he didn’t know if he could remain in SEALs.

“Fernandez, I know something of how you’re feeling right now. I think nine out of ten men in the military who are in the front lines and have to pull the triggers on rifles, or bomb release buttons or machine guns, have had the same feelings you’re having. I had a bout with doubts in my second year. You didn’t know anything about it. The only one I told was the master chief and Masciareli. Boy, that was a mistake going to the commander. I had been on something like fifteen missions by then and the body count was starting to get to me. What the hell was I doing going around the world gunning down these other human beings? So my government said they were bad guys and deserved to die. Why was I their executioner? I pounded it around in my brain for almost two months. Worked through two missions in the process, and came out with one main conclusion for me. My take on it wouldn’t mean a thing to you. It’s something that every SEAL has to work out for himself. Now, with that as an introduction—tell me how you feel.”

Fernandez looked up, the frown still staining his long face.

“It’s like you said. I kill people for a living. My little girl this morning asked me what I did. The kids at school told what their dads did for a living, and Linda didn’t know. I told her I was in the navy and I went around the world
protecting the United States. Then it hit me. What do I do? I shoot people dead.”

“Where did that line of thought take you?”

“Down a deep, dark trail. I remembered the dozens, maybe fifty times I’ve ‘made certain’ on some of the bodies. Then the hundreds of men I’ve dispatched with my rifle and sub gun. Just who the hell said I was qualified to decide who lives and who dies in this big fat world?”

Murdock watched Fernandez. It had taken six years to hit him this hard. He was in it right up to his mouth and it was rising. He had to do something or Fernandez would drown in his own self-applied misery.

“You don’t decide who lives or dies, sailor. That’s my job. I tell you what to do and you goddamn well better do it. That’s why you’re a SEAL. That’s why I’m a SEAL. Somebody upstairs tells me what to do, and I tell you and the whole fucking platoon and we do it or we die trying. You know how many men have died in this platoon on my watch?”

“Yes, sir. Fourteen.”

“Right, fourteen. Almost a whole damn platoon planted in the deep dark earth or buried at sea. Fourteen good men.”

“I knew every one of them.”

“You did. You and I are not among the departed.”

Fernandez took a deep breath. “I guess that’s something to be thankful for. But still…” He stopped and looked away. Tears brimmed his eyes, then ran down his cheeks. He slashed at them with his hand. “There ain’t no fucking crying in SEALs, Commander.” He shouted the line and they both laughed.

“Every SEAL I’ve ever known has cried at one time or another. Maybe crying can help. Have you talked to your priest?”

“I’m Catholic, but not a good one. I seldom go to mass. Almost never go to confession. What do I say? Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned: last week I put my submachine gun to the heads of twelve men and blew their brains out?”

“Easy, Fernandez. Just try to relax. Nobody is judging you. You’re one of the best SEALs in the platoon. Not just the shooting, but the other things. You’ve held your squad
together when it could have shattered and come up with six dead. You’ve had some ideas and plans that dug the whole platoon out of deep shit more than once. You’re a team player, you cover the man’s back in front of you, and you expect the man behind you to take care of your ass. You’re a SEAL, which is a fucking lot more than just taking out a few terrs now and then.

“Yes, we shoot a lot. We also rescue people. What is it, three or four embassies we’ve gone in and pulled over a hundred people out of the fire. Remember that senator in China where he shouldn’t have been and we went up the river in a rubber duck and brought him and his wife and daughter out to safety? Remember all those times, sailor?”

“Yes sir. Some high points. But how many Chinese men did we kill on that mission? Two at the front door, one at the back door, and two inside as I remember. Were that senator and his family worth the lives of five human beings?”

“What about the EAR, Fernandez? You’ve used it several times to put down the enemy without a casualty. We almost never harm civilians. If somebody’s army is shooting at us, we have a right to shoot back. If we shoot better than they do, we win.”

“Right. In a fair firefight, I have no big problem. If we have better weapons and take them out, that I can live with. But to go up to a wounded enemy and kill him…that’s what’s bugging me the most. I know, I know. These are situations where we simply can’t leave a wounded enemy behind or it would compromise the whole mission and could mean that half or more of our platoon would wind up in graves registration. I know that. And still it bugs me that we have to make certain on the wounded.”

“I can solve that one in the future.”

“Not always. There could come a time when I’m the logical one to do it.”

“So I take the second most logical person to make sure and we keep moving. Okay, you’re off the list for making sure. That should help. You’re one of the best men I have, Fernandez. You’ll be taking care of the new man in your squad the way you always do. Teaching him what he didn’t learn in the six-month training cycle. Who is your new man?”

“He’s Second Class Electrician’s Mate Dexter M. Tate. Looks to be about twenty-two or -three, an inch under six feet and maybe a hundred and eighty-five pounds. He’s a nut about free diving on old ships in the ocean and he rides a motorcycle to work. Oh, yeah, he’s a computer nut and loves his Bull Pup.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, we’ve only talked a few times. Seems like a nice guy. Oh, he isn’t married.”

“Fernandez, see what I mean? Is there another man in Bravo who knows as much about Tate as you do? Not a chance. You’re his sponsor; you’ll be there if he needs you. You do one hell of a lot more in Bravo than just pull a trigger.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Well, maybe so. I never thought much about the other things. Kind of routine.”

“Routine, like saving somebody’s life. Where was that when you dragged one of your squad out of the line of fire? You took a bullet, but your buddy didn’t get killed, and you lived to fight another day, as we say.”

“Well, yeah. Somebody had to do it.”

“Somebody? There were three others closer to that man than you were. None of them jumped out there to save his ass. You did. Fernandez saw a job that needed doing and he risked his hide to do the job and took an enemy bullet in the process. That’s one hell of a lot more than just routine.” He paused. “You talked with your wife yet about how you’re feeling?”

“Not much. I just barely touched on it last night.”

“That is a job you have to do.”

“I know. She’s never said a word about my quitting, but I know she curls up and almost dies every time we go on a mission. It’s tough on her. She’d be ecstatic if I quit the SEALs.”

“But would you?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Your wife and your priest, in any order—that’s your assignment. You want to take tomorrow off and do it?”

“We’re going to the desert tomorrow for some live firing.”

“Right.”

“I should be there to take a hand with Tate if he needs it. He hasn’t done much live firing lately. You know, give him some pointers, some shortcuts.”

“You playing papa bear, right?”

Fernandez grinned. “Hell, I guess so. Just kind of built in. Like the old fire horses would get all revved up when they heard the fire bell.”

“Okay. I guarantee you won’t have to make sure on anybody tomorrow. It’s a one-day trip. Get back late tomorrow night. Be sure to tell Maria that.”

“Maybe the wives could have a night out. I’ll see what Maria can set up. There’s three of them—Ardith, Maria, and Wanda Gardner. I’ll talk to Maria about it. A movie, maybe.”

“Fernandez, this will clear up, this will pass. When it does, then you’ll have decided if you want to remain a SEAL or go back to the black shoe.”

“I’d die of boredom back there. Which might be a good thing for a family man. Damn few of us married guys in the SEALs. We’ll see. Right now I don’t know what in hell I’m going to do.”

“We need to get this cleared up before we have another mission. You know that could come at any time.”

“Tell me about it. Usually it’s on Maria’s birthday or one of the big holidays.” He snorted. “Damnedest thing. I still love it. The rush of getting a mission nobody else knows about but the president and two or three other big shots, and then we go jetting halfway around the world to do something that nobody else on this old earth can do. Now, that is one hell of a rush.”

“Stay hard, SEAL. Now get out of here and talk it out with Maria. Let her have her say.”

Fernandez came to attention, snapped a salute, did an about face perfectly, and marched out the door. “Hey, maybe I’m getting in some practice in for the black shoe navy.”

Murdock waved and looked back at his desk. The damn paperwork. It was nearly 1700. He’d look at it in two days. Up early for tomorrow.

Ten minutes later he headed for the new condo in the edge of La Jolla. The traffic wasn’t all that bad. He came off the
San Diego Bay Bridge on Interstate 5 and headed north. Then through San Diego and out the same interstate to the Grand Street off-ramp, and soon he was in the south end, the lower income part, of La Jolla, just blocks from Pacific Beach. He parked on the street, leaving the assigned underground parking slot for Ardith’s car. She usually pulled in about twenty minutes of six.

Upstairs in their condo he checked the phone answering machine. Two messages: “Honey, I’m sorry.” It was Ardith’s voice. “I’ll be a little late getting home tonight. Small emergency I have to fix. I’d think I’ll be in about seven. Love you.”