Black Site (9 page)

“Fine.”

“How’s your back?”

“It hurts.”

Webber reached into the front pocket of his denim shirt, pulled out a few folded sheets, and opened them up. Kolt got the impression that this was all just for show, that Webber knew what was printed on them. “Your doctor says, ‘Mr. Raynor’s post-op radiography is consistent with a complete recovery, but patient complains of persistent midline LBP.’” Webber looked up at Kolt. “Low back pain, I suppose.” Then he continued: “‘His refusal to comply with physical therapy seems to be the basis of his continued discomfort.’” He looked up at Raynor again. “You don’t do your PT?”

Kolt shrugged, slowly. “I get the feeling the VA didn’t send you to check on my back.”

“No, they did not.” Webber put the papers back in his pocket. Sat down on the bed across from Raynor, so close that their knees almost touched. Grauer and the two Delta operators remained standing. “Son, how would you like to go back to Pakistan?”

Kolt chuckled, shook his head. “No, thanks.” But after a hesitation, he asked, “Why?”

The colonel leaned closer still. “Racer, you and I have had our disagreements in the past. That may be putting it mildly. I think you screwed the pooch in Waziristan, and I did what I had to do to get you out of my outfit. But whatever your faults and past mistakes, I have always considered you to be a man of principle and character.”

Raynor just stared back at him.

“I say all that to say this: What I am about to tell you does not leave this room. You never came here today, and you sure as hell did not meet with me today. I want your word that you will keep this to yourself, no matter what.”

“Yes, sir.”

Webber nodded, sighed. “Here is the situation. Langley, the Pentagon, and the White House have known for the past eighteen months that most, if not all, the members of Eagle 01, Lieutenant Colonel Timble’s element that went missing on the SAR mission for you … are alive and being held in captivity in Pakistan.”

Kolt sat on the bed. His eyes flicked from Webber, to Grauer, and then to Monk and Benji.

“T.J.?”

“Was alive as of three months ago, and is thought to remain so at present.”

“Mother of God.”

ELEVEN

Raynor began to stand, stopped, sat back down. “How do you know?”

“About a year after your ill-fated operation, our Predator attacks on Taliban and al Qaeda leadership started picking up. We … well, the Agency mostly, was making significant progress on killing their tier-one guys, leadership and military-wing operatives. The drones were hitting them pretty hard, and pretty successfully, for a good six months. Then a package arrived in the mail at our consulate in Lahore. Inside, we found pictures of all four of our missing operators and one of the Agency pilots who disappeared with them. Proof-of-life photos. Holding newspapers, guns to their head, Taliban standing behind them. All that nonsense.”

Raynor looked down to the ground, balled his fists. “You are saying this intelligence came to us a year and a half ago and we haven’t gotten them back yet?”

Webber held a hand out. “Settle down and listen up. The message that came along with the photos was clear. They were going to drag our men along in chains wherever AQ or senior Taliban leadership was. A Predator strike just might kill them.”

“Human shields,” Kolt muttered.

“Exactly. And to tell you the truth, it worked. The Agency kept up the rate of Predator hits, but the target matrix changed. Instead of hitting leadership we started taking out Toyota vans full of AQ foot soldiers and second- and third-tier Taliban, local commanders, political-wing guys. Logistical convoys were targeted, small-potatoes stuff that we calculated would not jeopardize the captured operators. We backed off on targeting the big fish, and consequently the Taliban and AQ in Pakistan have grown in both power and quality over the past eighteen months.

“When the SEALs got bin Laden in Abbottabad, we were afraid that our boys would be killed by AQ in retaliation. But it didn’t happen. We suspect they were in the hands of the Taliban at the time, or else, and this is still a concern, the AQ leadership has some other plan for Eagle 01.

“Of course, we were prepared to go in after the boys if we spotted them. And we did. A Reaper drone got a positive ID of Eagle 01 eleven months ago. They were being held by the Taliban commander of Swat Agency in a compound near the city of Mingora. We put together a ground operation, Langley put assets in place to help out locally, and we were ready to go. Our objective was to keep Pakistani intelligence out of the operation, but the White House wouldn’t hear of it. We were forced to work with the ISI, and by the time we hit the compound, the Taliban had melted into the city with our men.”

“Shit.”

“The next day the four Agency assets were shot to death in their car in Mingora.”

Kolt remained stone-faced as he shook his head slowly in frustration.

Webber said, “Pakistani intelligence says it was a random act of street crime.”

“Bullshit.”

Webber shrugged. “Five months ago Eagle 01 was identified by human intelligence up in Chitral. This time we weren’t allowed in. Instead the Pakistani army went after them.”

“And?”

“And they walked into an ambush. Thirty-one Pakistani forces killed versus no more than five Taliban. Our boys weren’t there. Probably never were.”

“Sounds like a setup.”

Webber nodded. “From the get-go. They are not only using our men as human shields, they are also using them as bait. Drawing us, or in that case the Pakistani army, into fights they know they can win.

“We’ve had close to a dozen sightings or indications of the hostages’ whereabouts over the past five months, but nothing actionable by the standards of the White House.”

“But we think they are still alive?”

“We’re just about sure of it.”

“Go on,” said Kolt. There was a reason he was here.

Webber turned to Grauer, and Grauer spoke. “As you probably know, my company, your ex-employer, Radiance Security and Surveillance Systems, has a large operation in Afghanistan.”

“Sure. At Jalalabad.”

“Right. We also have some assets over the border in Pakistan, working under cover.”

“Private spies?”

“After a fashion, yes. Just a few men. Ex this and ex that. They report to me and my analysts and provide us with information that helps us fulfill our contracts with the Afghani government. One of these operatives is based in Peshawar. Recently he received some intelligence indicating that T.J. and his men are being kept at a warlord’s compound nearby.”

Raynor nodded. That sounded pretty thin.

“We have a couple of Predator drones in our fleet. Two nights ago I sent one over the border, thirty miles into Pakistan, to check out this compound.”

“And?”

“The UAV pilot found the place, found it crawling with possible Taliban, but we were unable to get eyes on the prisoners.”

“Then go back. Try again.”

“We’ve been back. We can’t be sure this is the place from overhead images. The human intelligence that says the prisoners are being kept there also indicates that the men will be there through the coming winter, so we do have a little time to keep an eye on it.”

Raynor was confused. “So why didn’t the Agency send their own Predators over?”

Grauer answered. “They’ve burned the agent in Peshawar who works for me. Deemed him unreliable, so they aren’t putting stock in what he says. Moreover, the Agency and the DOD are letting Radiance work on this. Nothing in writing, of course, but they are allowing us to use our resources to fish around western Pakistan.”

“So you need more intelligence on this warlord and his compound. What do you know about him?”

Webber said, “His name is Zar. He’s an Afridi Pashtun tribal leader. He runs a militia. Three hundred or so strong, not huge, but one of the biggest in the Khyber region. They aren’t Taliban, per se, but Zar has aligned himself and his force with the Taliban when it suits his needs.”

“Who cares whether or not he’s Taliban? If he’s holding Americans—”

Webber shook his head. “It’s too big an if for the White House. In order to get authorization for a Delta hit on Zar’s fortress we’re going to have to produce more evidence than secondhand info from some Agency washout and an illegal overflight by a private security drone.”

Kolt leaned back slowly. Looked at Colonel Webber. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

Webber stared at Raynor for a long time. Softly he said, “Eyes on that compound. Proof of life of our men.”

“But Delta can’t do it, because you guys can’t go over the border.”

Webber nodded.

“Radiance?”

Grauer started to speak up but Colonel Jeremy Webber shook his head. “They don’t have an asset with experience in that type of covert recon work.”

It all came together completely for Kolt in a heartbeat. Like on the last page of a confounding mystery novel, the pieces fell into place and he knew why he was there, what his role would be in all of this. He said, “
I
am going over the border. Aren’t I?”

Webber shrugged. “That was my original thinking. We need someone who can jump in from altitude, get into the valley, meet up with Pete’s contact, get eyes on the compound, and remain there for several days. Looking at you now … I’m not sure how feasible that would be.”

Raynor spoke without an instant’s hesitation. “I can do it.”

“He can’t.
I
can, sir. Send me,” Monk barked from behind in the dark.

Webber didn’t even turn to look back. “We’ve talked about this, David. You are active. No active operator is going over the border without White House sanction.”

“I’ll resign from Delta.”

“The hell you will.” Webber addressed Raynor now. “We’ve got a bit of a time constraint. Weather will begin to deteriorate in Khyber in about a month. Plus key Radiance personnel are due to rotate home for Christmas. It’s the slow time of year in the Afghani poppy-eradication industry, I guess. We could keep a couple of guys in place, but if everyone changed their holiday travel plans at the last minute, then that would raise eyebrows that we don’t want to raise, both on our side and on theirs.”

“So when am I going?” Kolt asked.

“
If
you go … you’ll need to be over the border in three to four weeks.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow. You
know
I will. Let’s get on with it.”

“Calm down, Racer,” Webber admonished. “If we decide that you are our man, then we have time to give you, say, three weeks of training: PT and firearms, altitude acclimation, language, time to get you reacquainted with the mission-specific gear you’d be using. Then another couple of days to get you in theater and briefed on the specifics of your operation.”

“Plenty of time.”

“No,” interrupted Monk. “For Raynor, three weeks is not enough time to train for this job. Doubt we can even have him sobered up in three weeks.”

Kolt was tired of Monk’s constant barbs. His friend was out there in the badlands of Pakistan, and no one was going to stop him from going to help bring him back. He stood up and stepped forward. Monk moved to meet him, and Kolt stood face-to-face with the master sergeant. Raynor spoke in his long forgotten officer’s voice, channeling his Ranger career more than his Delta career.

“What is your problem with me, Kraus? If the colonel says I can do the job, then I can do the job!”

Monk balled his thick fists, did not shrink from the voice or the gaze of the former major.

“Settle down, both of you!” Webber shouted. Kolt sat back down slowly; Kraus relaxed his fingers, but did not back up. The colonel continued, his voice having regained its previous tenor. He turned to Grauer, the former Ranger colonel. “Pete. It’s your mission. It’s your call.”

“Kolt certainly isn’t my first choice, but he
is
my first choice among the available operators.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Raynor, still staring angrily at Monk.

Webber nodded gravely. “All right. Kolt, if you are in, you are in all the way. I will give you one more chance, right now, to back out. If you tell me that you want to go ahead, then you are with us—your free will will be on hold until the reconnaissance on Zar’s village is complete. Monk and Benji will train you, push you to your very limits, much further than you would be able to go
without
their boots on your ass. You can just consider yourself back in Assessment and Selection. We need to see if you have what it takes.”

Raynor took a long breath, let it out slowly, and nodded again. “That’s the only way this can work, Colonel. I will do my best.”

Monk said, “Your best isn’t going to get it, Raynor. I’ll get more out of you than that.”

Webber admonished his operator. “That’s enough, Monk. Racer is going to give you everything he’s got, which means the ultimate success is
your
responsibility.”

“I will not let you down, sir,” said Kolt, and then he looked at Grauer. “Either of you.”

“Then it’s settled,” Colonel Webber said.

Raynor nodded, said, “Not that I really care, but is this a one-way trip, or is there a way out of Pakistan for me after I do the recon?”

Grauer thought about his response for a few seconds. He replied, “That all depends on you. We can get you in, and we can get you out if you don’t get compromised while you’re there.”

“Delta is going to come in and get me?”

Webber said, “Absolutely not. This recon operation has nothing to do with the Unit. I need you to be one hundred percent clear on that, son.”

Kolt nodded, but said, “You can forgive my confusion, sir, seeing how there are three Delta men in front of me laying this all out, and one of them is the current commander.”

“I am not here. I have not spoken to you since your court-martial hearing. Benji and Monk are on personal time, and will be for the length of your training.”

Pete Grauer said, “When you are in Pakistan you will be handled by Bob Kopelman, a Radiance employee.”

Kolt nodded. “The guy in Peshawar?”

Webber nodded. “The ex–CIA case officer that I mentioned.”