Battleline (2007) (19 page)

"See?" Allawi said. "I was a patriot and wanted to serve my country."

"Bullshit," Mike said. "I remember your hate-America talks and all that death-to-the-infidels crap you preached."

"I'm not talking to you two fucking guys anymore," Allawi said.

Leighton walked over and banged on the door. When it opened he motioned Mike to follow him out into the hall. Mike walked over to the exit, then turned and looked back at Allawi.

Dude, you are
so
compromised.

.

OVAL OFFICE WHITE HOUSE

28 JULY 1430 HOURS

WHEN Liam Bentley walked into the Oval Office he was surprised to see not only the President standing at the front of the desk, but also the woman and two men sitting in nearby chairs, like it was a casual visit among neighbors. The Chief Executive stepped toward the visitor with his hand extended. "Welcome to the Oval Office, Mr. Bentley."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Bentley said, holding on to his briefcase as he shook hands.

"This is somewhat of a historical moment," the President said. "The newly created post of FBI White House Liaison Officer goes into effect at this time and date. This is something entirely fresh and innovative."

"Yes, sir," Bentley said. "I'm honored to be the first."

"Let me introduce you to my White House chief of staff, Ms. Arlene Entienne; the press secretary, Owen Peckham; and Colonel John Turnbull of the Special Operations Liaison Staff." He chuckled. "We seem to have our full share of liaison today."

Bentley took an empty chair as directed, putting his briefcase in his lap. "I'm most happy to join this group, and I'm looking forward to all the coordinating and information-sharing aspects of the arrangement. I'm sure we'll be able to accomplish many meaningful tasks that will increase the effectiveness of the homeland security program."

Colonel Turnbull decided the guy was probably a damn good agent, but he had way too much urbanity to be a soldier. Probably too much to be a field operative for the bureau either, but well suited for a supervisory or administrative position.

The President took another chair with the group, looking directly at Bentley. "I have been told you can bring us up to date on this matter in which a member of the press made inquiries involving the shooting death of a wounded enemy prisoner of war."

"Yes, sir," Bentley said. "And speaking of briefings and the like, the CIA brought me up to date, since their representative to the White House is in the Middle East."

"Yes," Arlene said. "That would be Edgar Watson. He's another member of our group, as is Dr. Carl Joplin, who is also in the war area."

"Well, to get started," Bentley said, retrieving a report from his briefcase, "the journalist in question--Dirk Wallenger of Global News Broadcasting--didn't seem to have all the facts straight, or he changed them to suit his own purposes. The prisoner was not wounded. As a matter of fact, he had been bitten by a deadly, poisonous snake. It was a cobra."

"Whew!" Owen Peckham said. "That doesn't make it much better. He was incapacitated, at any rate."

"He received the bite during an escape attempt," Bentley explained. "But, sadly, he was indeed shot afterward as he lay helpless on the ground."

"Oh, shit!" Colonel Turnbull exclaimed.

"It was a mercy killing," Bentley said. "The SEALs who had captured the man had no means of treating him, and one took it upon himself to keep the poor fellow from suffering an agonizing death. Several witnesses have been questioned about this since those facts were revealed to Brigadier General Leroux at his headquarters aboard the USS
Combs."
He gave the report a further perusal. "The man who fired the shot was evidently punished for taking the action without his commanding officer's permission."

"Mmf!" Turnbull snorted. "And that's as it should be."

"But what worries me," the President said, "is how the hell did this guy Wallenger hear about it?"

"That's being worked from two angles, Mr. President," Bentley said. "The first is from Barri Prison in Bahrain, and the second from right here in Washington. As we build the facts from both ends, everything will eventually meet in the middle and we'll all know the exact truth of the matter."

"Then tell us what you know now, Liam,"

the President said, putting himself on a first-name basis with the FBI agent.

"I'll start in Barri Prison," Bentley said. "There were two other prisoners with the one who was bitten by the cobra. They are both confined in that facility, where there is a guard by the name of Arjumand Allawi. He is an American citizen and a sergeant in an Army Reserves military police battalion assigned as custodians. He has been observed in countless friendly conversations with various prisoners, including the pair who were captured by the SEALs. Both the inmates, when questioned, stated they had told Allawi about the incident. He was the only one they informed of the snake bite, and we are now convinced he passed on the story to somebody else outside the prison."

"Fine," the President said. "That's one end. What's the other?"

"There is a cabdriver here in Washington named Daleel Guellah, who is known by the code name of 'Ali.' He has been under surveillance for close to a year now. One of his regular customers is Dirk Wallenger. Wallenger most likely learned of the incident of the dead prisoner from him. And 'Ali' had the information from someone in their net between him and Allawi at Barri Prison. Either 'Ali' or Wallenger himself changed the story to make it come out as the murder of a wounded prisoner of war."

Owen Peckham chuckled with delight. "Oh, how I would love to see that pudgy son of a bitch go to jail!"

Arlene Entienne smiled too. "I'll go along with you on that, Owen. I know he's been a bane to you during press conferences."

"I appreciate your support, Arlene," Peckham said. He looked over at Bentley. "Have you questioned Wallenger yet?"

"No," Bentley answered. "But there are plans to not only interview Mr. Wallenger, but also Don Allen, the president of GNB."

Turnbull leaned forward with a grin. "Do you think that whole GNB group might be working for the terrorists?"

Bentley shrugged. "All we are certain of at this moment is what everybody already knows, Colonel. Their newscasts go in a leftist direction as a matter of practice. There have been times when they've put an extra-strong slant on certain types of reports to support their agenda. The GNB has this reputation even among other journalists."

The President leaned back in his chair. "I want the FBI to go to the very heart of this matter, Liam. Consider that an executive order."

"Yes, Mr. President."

CHAPTER
13

OA IRAN-AFGHANISTAN BORDER

1 AUGUST 0455 HOURS

NUMEROUS dark shapes slipping over the Zaheya defenses and heading down into no-man's-land were suddenly discerned by the SEALs standing-to on their MLR. Lieutenant JG Jim Cruiser was the officer of the watch, and he responded immediately to the excited whisperings coming over his LASH headset.

"All hands!" he said in a businesslike tone of voice. "Turn out! We've got 'em coming over here at us big time."

The SEALs off duty responded quickly, rushing from their bunkers to fighting positions, having grabbed weapons and ammo kept next to their bedrolls. Chief Matt Gunnarson's trio of machine-gun crews were up and ready within sixty seconds. In spite of the frantic activity in the American lines, no careless noise was made that would alert the attackers that preparations had been made to meet the assault. Bill Brannigan joined Cruiser, studying the scene through his NVBs. "I don't see anything."

"They've already dropped out of sight into the cover down in the valley," Cruiser explained. "I counted thirty, but there was more than that."

Bruno Puglisi's voice came over the net. "Skipper, d'you want me and Joe to go topside with our AS-fifties?"

"Negative," Brannigan replied. "Get on line. We're going to need all the firepower we can muster up here."

"Aye, sir," Puglisi replied. "We'll grab a couple of the ex-try M-sixteens."

Over in One Section, Tex Benson, the SAW gunner, caught sight of an individual diving into the cover of a thicket. He aimed the automatic weapon into the vegetation and sent in a short burst of fire. An explosion immediately followed that sent rocks and other natural debris hurtling through the air.

"What the fuck was that?" somebody remarked.

"Maybe one of them assholes stepped on a mine," another somebody replied.

"Keep the chatter down!" SCPO Buford Dawkins said. "Nobody yaks over the LASHes except to give orders or warnings. Anyhow, nobody's laid any mines out there that I know of."

Some additional single shots from the American side of the valley sounded as the SEALs did some search by fire, and after half a dozen rounds were fired, there was another explosion. Chad Murchison's voice could be heard right after the fusillades. "The raghead I shot exploded!"

Suddenly some enfilading fire from the SEAL machine guns swept a portion of no-man's-land where some more ragheads were spotted as they dashed from one thicket to another. The results were two more explosions.

"What the fuck is blowing up down there?" came the senior chief 's voice as he ignored his own orders to can the excessive chatter.

.

ZAHEYA BATTLELINE

LESS than half an hour had passed since Brigadier Shahruz Khohollah gave the attack order via his communications system, sending the suicide bombers over the barricades and down into the valley. Five minutes later, Sikes Pasha and the Arab Storm Troopers, along with Captain Naser Khadid and the Iranian Imperial Lions, scrambled from their fighting positions and rushed downward to the valley floor to trail after the human bombs. The young Arab zealots followed previous instructions by taking advantage of the cover and concealment in no-man's-land. They scampered awkwardly forward to get nearer to the American MLR. The mandates given them were simple: Get as close as possible to the infidels, then blow themselves up.

The Arab and Iranian rifle units behind the martyrs were spread out in skirmish formations, firing upward at the enemy. This tactic would most certainly attract attention and bullets their way, but it also would give the bombers a better chance to get close enough to detonate their explosives and take out a greater number of Americans.

Sikes Pasha saw yet another explosion erupt, spreading a brilliant millisecond of light over the scene. "Poor bluddy sod," he muttered to himself, then he spoke into his LASH.
"Amkammal rimaya--keep
firing!"

As the Storm Troopers continued to send up their fusillades, the Imperial Lions followed suit. The suicide bombers, now at the base of the slope leading to the SEAL positions, were just about in position to begin the ascent under the cover of the sweeping gunfire from their Islamic brethren behind them.

.

THE BATTLE

THE sun was nearing the apex of the eastern mountains, and the light of day was increasing measurably. Along the line in Three Section, SCPO Dawkins and his SAW gunner, James Duncan, kept busy going after targets of opportunity, sometimes making guesstimates as to where some individuals might come back into view after rolling or diving into the covering vegetation.

Dawkins spotted one guy emerging from between a stand of boulders and fired quickly at him, scoring a direct hit. He watched in amazement as the guy exploded, a small, dark object flying straight into the air from the center of the detonation. Both Dawkins and Duncan watched the thing, worried it might be a large grenade or a mortar shell. It arced toward their position, then began a downward plummet. The two SEALs dived for cover as it hit the ground near them, rolling along the ground until coming to a halt. They looked at it, then each other, then back at the gruesome object.

The head of a young Arab, his eyes open wide and his mouth grinning eerily, lay against a sandbag a couple of yards away.

Dawkins rose to a crouch and went to it, grabbing the severed cranium by the hair. He heaved it over the side of the fighting position toward the ground below. Duncan shuddered. "That's the damndest thing I've ever seen! I'll be having nightmares about that son of a bitch for the rest of my life."

"Well," Dawkins allowed, "it was kind of weird, alright."

ONE of the bombers, a sixteen-year-old who had left school to martyr himself for Islam, had done a good job of getting close to the American positions. He was a skinny little Saudi Arabian, and he used his slight physique to remain out of sight in the scrub brush as he scrambled across the valley of no-man's-land. His mind-set was such that he scarcely noticed all the firing, with bullets clipping the air around him and zinging off rocks. The kid's entire concentration was on staying alive long enough to get up the slopes right under the infidels and yank the firing cord of his explosive vest. When he reached the far edge of the natural growth of thorn bushes, the determined boy stopped and flung himself to the ground.