Operation Sheba (28 page)

Chapter Forty-Two

He replayed the audio they’d just received from Julia’s microphone. “For God’s sake, what the hell does she think she’s doing, volunteering to take the SEAL team in?”

Smitty sat beside him in another captain’s chair. “She wants to help.”

“She better get the hell out of there.”

“I think she’s right. Tim and Lt. Diamond should use her.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” Smitty answered sincerely.

Conrad tapped his fingers on the counter. “How did she figure out the kennel trick?”

“Uh.” Ace cleared his throat from the floor of the van where he was seated. “I told her.”

Conrad sent him a look of frustration. “You couldn’t keep a damn secret if I cut out your tongue and tied your lips shut.” He turned to Smitty. “We can’t protect her from Susan if she’s at the hostage site, and we have a confession. She has to clear out of there before she ends up dead.”

“You should have gone with her,” Cari said from the front seat of the van.

“Too risky. Susan would have had me arrested the minute I stepped inside the barricades.”

“What about you, Ry Guy?” Ace said. “Why didn’t you go?”

“Same reason, Ace.” Smitty adjusted a wire. “We’re both AWOL from the CIA. Susan was waiting for us to come in with Julia so she could nab us. We couldn’t take the chance she’d arrest all of us.”

Conrad ran a hand over the two-day growth of beard on his face. “I don’t like this. Julia has to get out of there,” he repeated. “Now.”

Smitty shook his head. “She won’t leave until this is over.”

Cari’s eyes were wide. “How will she kill her?”

Conrad and Smitty exchanged a look. Con breathed impatience. “Kill who?”

“Julia said she was going to take Susan out when this is over,” Ace answered. “Will she shoot her?”

“She’s bullshitting. There’s nothing she can do to help Stone anymore and she can’t take Susan out.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that, bro.” Ace shuddered visibly. “I saw what she did last night. She seems completely capable of taking just about anybody out.”

“Of course, she’s
capable
of doing it,” Conrad said. “But she doesn’t have the balls for it, Ace, trust me. Besides, I’m not done with Susan Richmond yet. I want her alive.” He spoke to Smitty. “Call Julia and tell her to get out.”

“I did. She didn’t answer.”

“Call her again.”

“I’ve called her twice already, Conman. She’s not answering.”

“Dammit,” Conrad huffed. “What am I going to do with that girl?”

Julia watched Tim Buchanan glance at the young woman in the van controlling the recording equipment and, after receiving her okay sign, pushed the speakerphone button. “Special Agent Tim Buchanan here.”

Julia’s knuckles were white as she gripped the back of a chair. People were still flooding into the tent, but all were quiet as they listened for what they hoped might be the voice of a terrorist ready to make a deal.

What they got instead was almost as good. “Agent Buchanan, it’s good to hear your voice. This is Director of CIA Operations, Michael Stone.”

Quiet cheers erupted from the group as renewed hope soared through them. Julia didn’t cheer, but relaxed her grip and sent up a silent thank you to the heavens. Michael was alive.

It was a good indication the other hostages were alive as well.

“Director, it’s good to hear your voice too,” Buchanan answered. “Can you tell us what the situation is inside your house? We assume you are unable to leave on your own, that you and the others are being held against your will.”

“That’s correct, sir. I’ve been instructed by my captors to tell you a few things. First, as you probably have already deduced, there are four of us: Daniel King, Titus Allen, Brad Kinnick—my security officer—and myself, being held hostage. Secondly, none of us has been injured, yet, except for me, but I’m all right. However, any attempt to free us will result in the deaths of all of us. Do you understand, Agent Buchanan?”

“I understand, Director. Please go on.”

“The men holding us are from the group Takfi-wal-Hijra, but they say they speak for all Islamic fundamentalists. The leader, who says his name is Frank, has but one demand…”

At the pause, Tim Buchanan said calmly, even as the makeshift room erupted with hopeful murmurings, “Go ahead, Director. We’re listening and will do everything in our power to meet that demand.”

“Frank requests that news reporter Thomas Heller from CNN visit him inside the house in order that he may appeal to the American people to change the United States’ political stand in the Middle East. When Mr. Heller arrives on the porch, Frank will release one hostage.”

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds. “Let me make sure I understand Frank’s request.” Buchanan motioned toward another of his agents to get on the phone to the news agency. “He wants an interview on national television with a news reporter from CNN in exchange for one hostage?”

“Not any news reporter. It has to be Thomas Heller. One cameraman will be allowed in with Mr. Heller, but that’s it. No one else. Do not try and trick him or”—they heard Stone let out a deep breath—“I’ll be the first to die.”

Julia’s hands gripped the chair again and she locked her knees to keep from swaying. Complete silence filled the space in the tent, the earlier elation gone.

Michael’s voice broke the silence. “Agent Buchanan?”

“I’m here, Director. One of my agents is working on Frank’s request as we speak. I don’t know if Mr. Heller is even in the country, but we’ll do our best to locate him and get him here as quickly as possible. Please advise Frank it may take several hours to meet his request.”

“Frank has instructed me to tell you you have one hour.”

Julia saw Tim Buchanan set the timer on his watch. She did the same to hers.

Chapter Forty-Three

CNN had been notified and Thomas Heller was on his way. He had already boarded a helicopter with a special CIA consultant who was briefing the extremely nervous news reporter on proper procedures for interviewing a terrorist on live TV. From what Julia was gathering from the SEALs, Heller didn’t need to worry. Thermal-imaging cameras were already providing data to the HRT and SEALs. Odds were, there would be no interview.

“The laser trip sensors are set up here.” Lt. Diamond pointed to a spot on the blueprints. “And here. Trees and undergrowth along the property line will conceal our approach, and we’ll avoid the sensors as we cross the property line. The dog kennel is attached to the back of the house here.”

“There’s a Plexiglas door between two rubber curtains,” Julia volunteered, “where the dog door attaches to the mudroom. The Plexiglas door opens and closes from the inside. Michael usually leaves it open during the day, but if he wants to keep Pongo out, he closes it. Since Pongo is outside, Raissi must have closed it. The second rubber curtain hangs inside the mudroom.”

There was discussion between the SEALs. The rubber curtains would be simple to cut away, but they debated the most efficient and quietest way to deal with the Plexiglas.

“The dog door is not large,” Julia continued. “As I told Agent Buchanan, Pongo weighs about one hundred and twenty-five pounds, which by dog standards is a decent size.” She looked at the extremely fit, extremely muscled SEALs at the table. “However, any of you with more than a T-shirt on are going to struggle getting through it.”

Several of the SEALs exchanged looks, but no one commented.

“Another option,” Diamond continued, “is a chimney. The house has a large gas log fireplace”—he tapped his finger on the paper—“here in the living room. The chimney is big enough for a small human being to shimmy down.”

“Just like Santa Claus, huh?” Buck Harris, the youngest of the group said, grinning.

“A skinny Santa Claus, but yeah.” Diamond looked at Tony Belcini, his team’s sniper and smallest man at five feet, six inches and one hundred forty pounds. “What do you think, Belly? Can you squeeze down the chimney and put coal in Raissi’s stocking?”

“Would be my pleasure, sir, but I wonder if we could, y’know, get some actual dimensions of the chimney before I stick myself into it.”

The Senior Chief patted Belcini on the back. “I’ll get somebody on it.” He walked out of the tent.

Julia jumped slightly when her cell phone vibrated again on her hip. She didn’t need to read the caller ID to know what it said.
No way, guys. I’m not done here.

Diamond addressed her from the table. “Raissi has booby-trapped the fireplace and kennel entrance?”

She considered his question for a moment before answering. “Tripwires maybe by the fireplace, but I doubt he’d put anything by the kennel door. Raissi wants his explosion to be big and set off by him at just the right moment, not a partial explosion set off accidentally by a dog scratching to come in. He might set up a wire to trip an alarm though just for security purposes.”

“Seems like he would have killed the dog by now,” Elaina murmured as the SEALs spoke again to each other.

“Raissi understands that a dog is a better security measure than any expensive system,” Julia said. “Michael will be devastated when he finds out they killed Pongo.”

“That will be my job.” Elaina met Julia’s gaze. “Sorry.”

Diamond motioned to his men. “Harris and Worley cami up for insertion into the house through the kennel. Your job will be to gather intel and disable as many bombs as possible prior to the assault. Belcini, you prepare for a drop into the house via the chimney. The helicopter on the front lawn will provide the noise and distraction we need to drop you, Milford and Saville on the roof via a second helo. Milford and Saville will go in through the second story windows.” He glanced at Agent Koburn. “We know Director Stone’s surveillance and security network is contained in this room on the second floor.” He pointed at the blueprints.

“That’s wrong.” Julia jumped up from her chair. “His video monitors are in his office on the first floor.” She pointed to the exact location on the blueprints. “The main security panel is here in the mudroom just off the garage on the west wall.”

Diamond thanked her. “That makes sense. Thermal imaging shows Raissi and the hostages are all in the office with single guards stationed at the front and back doors of the house.”

“What about the balcony’s French doors upstairs?” Julia asked.

“One man,” Diamond answered. “Agent Koburn, you will be responsible for taking that man out from a position on the northwest side, here. Station yourself outside the tripwire perimeters on the elevated hillside and wait for my signal. We’ll use Mr. Heller’s entrance into the house as takedown time.”

Elaina nodded once.

Thunder rolled above their heads. “The weather is our ally for the time being, but that may change again at any moment. Any questions?”

There were a few last minute details to iron out before the SEALs filed out to cami up. Diamond acknowledged Julia’s worried look. “Your ex-partner was a SEAL, huh?”

She stood and nodded. “Conrad Flynn.”

“Flynn. I’ve heard of him. His group did a lot of work in the Gulf region, didn’t they? What made him defect to the CIA?”

That made her smile. If Conrad was listening, he was probably cussing the younger SEAL out. “He’s not the best team player.”

Diamond chuckled. “Is that why you’re not partners anymore?”

Julia gave him a wink. “That, I’m afraid, is classified information.”

“Right.” His smile faded and he turned serious. “Ms. Quinn, one of my men is in the local news channel’s van right now decking out a news camera to hold his weapon so he can enter the house disguised as a cameraman with Heller and assist in the takedown. We’ll be coming in through the front, back and upstairs, and if the counterassault goes as planned, my men will locate the hostages and eliminate the tangos before Raissi can clear his throat for his speech. If he or any of his men try to flee, the FBI snipers will take them out as they exit the house. Have confidence.”

Julia couldn’t hide her lack of it. “Lt. Diamond, Raissi’s too clever to fall for the cameraman angle. He’ll demand Heller bring in the camera and he’ll have one of his own men videotape the interview.”

“We’ll be ready for that too,” Diamond said.

Agent Buchanan stormed into the tent, assaulting the door flap so hard the lights hanging above their heads swung back and forth. “Sorry, Ms. Quinn. Jurgen Damgaard has extreme confidence in your abilities, but even he and Susan Richmond couldn’t get the okay from my boss to let you interfere in this rescue. Are you satisfied now?”

Julia bit the inside of her cheek and looked at Lt. Diamond. “If I were a man, a former SEAL, like my ex-partner, would you let me participate?”

Buchanan answered, “Absolutely not.”

But Diamond smiled at her.

Buchanan looked at his watch. “Our deadline’s approaching and I need to be spending my time preparing for the counterassault. If you have valid information to share with me or Lt. Diamond, please feel free to do so. Otherwise, consider yourself done here, Ms. Quinn.”

Julia watched him head for the flap. “Can you tranquilize the dog instead of killing him?” she begged. “Please? For Director Stone?”

Buchanan stopped, looked up at the swinging lights and blew out a long breath. He shook his head, but reached into his back pants pocket and handed Julia one of his business cards. “I like your tenacity. Give me a call if you ever decide you need a career change.”

Julia’s hopes fell, but she took the card. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do that.”

As Buchanan exited the tent, she heard him start calling out orders to the gearheads in the blue vans.

“We’ve got tranquilizer guns,” Diamond said to her as he too made his way to the flap. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Julia felt a spurt of hope again. “Thank you.”

After Diamond and Agent Koburn left the tent, Julia examined the plan her brain had been building since midnight. It was dangerous. It was foolhardy. And it was something she had to do.

Glancing at Buchanan’s card, she folded it and tucked it into her bra.

No one saw Julia slip the black FBI windbreaker off the back of a chair or a matching baseball cap and the headset from the front seat of one of the blue vans. No one took notice of her snagging two jumbo cinnamon rolls from the coffee table and folding them in separate napkins before sticking them in the windbreaker’s pockets. The helicopter bearing Thomas Heller was thirty minutes away and everyone inside the FBI operations camp, including Susan Richmond, was too busy preparing for his arrival.

So no one paid any attention as she ducked under the security tape and walked by the police barrier securing the area south of the front gate. She wound her way quickly through the reporters and onlookers and headed down the gravel road toward the line of trees.

Ignoring the white “Forever Flowers” van parked in the midst of news vans fifty yards away, she entered the woods she had run through the previous afternoon, and once out of view of the road, exchanged her own jacket for the black one, put the headset on and shoved her hair under the cap. She took the tiny night-vision binoculars she’d swiped from Smitty out of her jacket pocket and hung them around her neck. Then she went to find her tote bag still buried by the oak tree.

“Still no answer?” Conrad asked. Smitty shook his head.

Conrad drummed his fingers on the table. “She’s always bitching at me about trying to save the world. Now she’s doing it.”

“She wants to save Director Stone. Not the whole world.”

Dropping his head into his hands, Conrad made no comment. He had to get Julia out of there, but he didn’t know how.

Smitty spoke up. “We could go in after her. Susan’s not expecting us now.”

Conrad considered the suggestion, rubbed his forehead. “Getting past security will be about as easy as making the Empire State Building disappear.”

Smith held up a finger, stood and moved to a shelf on the other side of the van. Digging through a stack of files, he pulled one out and handed it to Conrad. “I started working on these last week. All that’s left is to laminate them.”

Conrad opened the file and looked at the fake CIA IDs. He grimaced at the picture of himself, one Smitty had made for the passport he’d used the week before, complete with disguise. He could duplicate it. “You never cease to amaze me, Smith,” he said, reaching over to lightly punch Smitty’s arm.

“Occasionally, I even amaze myself.” He grinned, stretching his arms out and cracking his knuckles.

“What about me?” Ace asked, jumping up. “What do I get to do?”

Smith and Flynn turned to him. “Drive,” they said in unison.

Still in the front seat, Cari stared out the window. “I do not think that will be necessary. I see her coming this way.”

Conrad leaned back in the chair to see out the windshield and felt himself relax a micron as he, too, saw the slim figure of Julia walking on the side of the road near the tree line. “Finally.” He sat back up and pushed the fake CIA badge away.

“Uh-oh,” Cari said.

Ace jumped up from the floor. “Uh-oh? What uh-oh?”

Both Con and Smitty were on their feet and pushing Ace out of the way as they scrambled to see what Cari saw.

“I don’t believe it,” Conrad seethed through gritted teeth.

Julia had just disappeared into the woods.