The Enemy Within (55 page)

“No, sir,” Thorn said. “First, Iran’s elite divisions and Air Force units are moving away from its land border with Ira~and there are no signs of any higher alert these. Second, why would General Taleh conduct a murderous campaign of terrorism on our own soil simply to distract us from a planned attack against Baghdad?”

Silence greeted that. Although no one welcomed the thought of another war, few could doubt that Washington or its allies would strenuously object to seeing the Gulf region’s two most powerful and troublesome states again entangled in conflict. The same could not be said of Saudi Arabia. The vast oil reserves controlled by the House of Saudi were vital to the world’s developed economies and to U.S. national
security.

“What about the Saudi armed forces?” an aide asked aloud. “They’re well equipped. Can they defeat this Iranian invasion on their own if we warn them in time?”

Thorn shook his head grimly. “Not a chance! Most of the Saudi troops are deployed in the north against Iraq, around Riyadh guarding the Royal Family, or as security forces for the holy cities of Mecca and Medina. Even if they could be redeployed in time, their military value would be nil.”

The military men inside the Situation Room nodded. Saudi Arabia’s armed forces had performed reasonably well during
DESERT
STORMafter intensive retraining by American advisors. Since then, however, the Saudis had slipped back to their older, more slipshod methods of operation. Much of their high-tech weaponry was out of commission, awaiting repair. Once ashore, Iran’s revitalised divisions could slice through the weak Saudi Army practically without breaking stride.

“If this is all true, then clearly we must deploy our own forces to the Gulf… as a deterrent,” Austin Brookes, the Secretary of State, said. He looked horribly depressed. Thorn knew that the successful rapprochement with Iran had been one of his cherished projects. The public revelation that it had been nothing more than a ruse in an undeclared war would finish the elderly man’s career as the nation’s chief diplomat. It would also rob him of any hope of future reputation.

“We simply have no other choice.”

A medley of raised voices around the room contradicted door. Thorn recognised Jefferson T. Corbell, the administration’s political guru, from news photos The small Georgian snorted. “Well, I guess you and General Farrell won your point, Colonel. You mind telling me just who you think will lead this suicide mission?”

Thorn did not hesitate. “I will, Mr. Corbell.”

DECEMBER
7

Bushehr airfield.

(D
MINUS
8)

General Shahrough Akhavi looked up from his cargo manifests as another C-130 Hercules touched down on Bushchr’s short main runway. The short, stout logistician turned toward the taller Air Force colonel at his side. “There are the last of your missiles, Imad.”

“Thank you, General.” The colonel smiled and nodded toward the airport perimeter. “Now, with God’s blessing and some hard work, my men and I will have all of our batteries in position by nightfall.”

Akhavi followed the younger man’s nod, squinting into the sunlight sparkling off the blue Gulf waters. There, silhouetted against the ships crowding Bushehr’s waterfront, he could just make out the low, tracked shape of an SA-6
SAM
Brookes. There wasn’t time to deploy a sufficient force to Saudi Arabia. Even using the propositioned equipment stockpiled in Kuwait, it would take at least four days to put a lone mechanised brigade in the region. Additional forces would take far longer to arrive. U.S. aircraft could be on the ground at Saudi airfields in forty-eight hours but it would take far more time to move the munitions, ground crews, and spare parts required to conduct a prolonged campaign against the revamped Iranian Air Force. Once the Iranian invasion actually began, all U.S. troop movement bets were off. The ports and airfields needed by arriving American reinforcements were bound to be among Taleh’s first targets.

“Even if we had enough time, Mr. Secretary, it would be impossible for us to conceal the signs of a major military move into Saudi Arabia,” Thorn added flatly. “And that could easily trigger the very thing we are attempting to prevent an Iranian invasion. Taleh’s preparations are so advanced that he can launch his attack on virtually a moment’s notice.”

At Farrell’s quiet signal, he stood back from the lectern, listening as the discussion grew more and more heated, and more and more desperate. The level of rancor did not surprise him. Clearly, the President and his national security team were all too aware that they faced a political and military disaster. Command of the Saudi oil reserves would give Tehran a potential stranglehold over the global economy. Catapulted to status as the most powerful Islamic nation in the world, Iran would be free to smash its foes and reward its friends at will. Decades of diplomacy and the careful application of American military force would be erased in the blink of an eye. The West would face its ultimate nightmare: a powerful Islamic alliance dominated by one able and ambitious man, Amir Taleh.

He kept his eye on Sam Farrell. The head of the
JSOC
had a fine sense of timing and the ability to navigate smoothly through troubled political waters. Both men had agreed on the only possible course of action before the meeting began.

And both men knew the first hurdle would come in persuading their superiors to take the high-stakes gamble needed to stop Taleh’s invasion before it got off the ground.

After the futile wrangling had lasted for several minutes, he caught a tiny nod of Farrell’s head. Thorn mentally crossed his fingers. It was time to pitch his plan.

“We have only one viable option, Mr. President,” he broke in suddenly.

“We must launch a special forces operation aimed at destroying the Iranian high command before Taleh and his generals can strike. Taleh is the focus of political and military power inside Iran. He is also the mind controlling the terror offensive in our own nation. Kill him and the Iranians will be disorganised even vulnerable.”

Heads swung his way. Most of the men and women around the table were clearly astonished by his abrupt suggestion. A few, those with a better understanding of Iranian politics, looked thoughtful.

“If we’re lucky,” Thorn continued forcefully, “eliminating Iran’s top military leaders will force them to abandon their invasion plans. Even at worst, it should sow enough confusion to buy us the time we need to strengthen Saudi Arabia’s defences.”

Austin Brookes stared at him, clearly appalled by his proposal. “You cannot be serious, Colonel!” The Secretary of State turned to the President. “Surely, sir, no responsible government can support a plan to assassinate its foreign rivals? Our own laws clearly prohibit killing rival heads of state. Such conduct would be infamous!”

Infamous conduct! Thorn thought angrily. What the hell did Brookes consider the murder of American women and children? Still on the rising crest of his anger, he rode roughshod over the older man’s objections.

“Taleh is not Iran’s official head of state. He’s a military leader and a legitimate target in time of war. And that, Mr. Secretary, is exactly what we’re facing here a war.”

Brookes sat back, pale and clearly flustered at being contradicted so abruptly by someone so much his junior.

No one around the table jumped to the Secretary of State’s defence. Thorn realised suddenly that most of the senior people in this administration were old hands at reading the prevailing winds. They could sense the growing sentiment in favor of eliminating Amir Taleh. It was the only course of action that offered any hope of avoiding the catastrophe he had so vividly conjured.

The Chief of Naval Operations spoke up strongly. “The colonel is dead right, Mr. President. We have to wipe out this General Taleh and his top aides.”

Then he shook his head. “But he’s wrong about the means, Mr. President. Putting Delta Force troops on the ground inside Tehran is far too dangerous. Too many things could go wrong. Too many American lives would be at risk.” The admiral leaned forward so that the room lights gleamed off his balding pate. “We hold a decisive technological superiority over Iran. I suggest we play to our strengths, not to our weaknesses. I say we leave the job of crippling their high command to a massive, time-on-target, Tomahawk attack, followed by air strikes using precision-guided munitions.”

The Air Force’s Chief of Staff nodded his agreement with the admiral’s proposal. “We can put together a strike package that should blow the hell out of this Taleh’s headquarters within seventy-two hours, Mr. President.”

To Thorn’s relief, Sam Farrell intervened. In a clash of brass on brass, the
JSOC
chief’s general’s stars carried more weight than the eagles on his own shoulders.

“Blowing apart a building is not the same thing as killing a man, sir,” Farrell said. He turned to the others grouped around the table.

“During
DESERT
STORM
, we used hundreds of Tomahawks and laser-guided bombs in an effort to kill Saddam Hussein. We failed.”

They nodded their understanding. America’s air war and lightning land campaign against Iraq’s dictator had driven his forces out of Kuwait. But it had not killed him or driven him from power.

“No, sir.” The head of the
JSOC
shook his head grimly.

“The only way we can be sure we’ve eliminated Taleh and his top aides is to root them out on the ground up close and personal. Anything short of certainty means risking the loss of the Saudi oil fields to invasion.”

Farrell turned his gaze on the President. “My troops have trained hard for just this kind of mission, sir. They know the risks. They can do the job. Just say the word, and we’ll start moving!”

The President nodded slowly, looking far older than his years. While his top aides sat fidgeting, he studied the blinking symbols on the electronic map in silence, apparently hunting for other, less risky options. That was understandable. If the Delta Force failed, the repercussions and resulting casualties would tear his administration apart. But the risks of inaction were even more appalling.

Finally, he shook his head. Something about the set of his shoulders told Thorn that he had made up his mind.

The President turned to Thorn and Farrell. “All right, gentlemen,” he said hoarsely. “Draw up your plan for a Delta Force raid on Tehran! But I want to see it before I make a final decision.”

Before Thorn could protest any further delay, Farrell caught his eye and shook his head slightly. He sat back. The general seemed satisfied by what they had accomplished. Presumably, the older man knew enough about the way this White House worked to be confident the President would approve their final plan.

Thorn just hoped the
JSOC
commander’s confidence was justified. They were already pushing the outer edge of the time envelope for planning, organising, and carrying out a large-scale commando attack.

He paid little attention to the meeting’s closing formalities. His mind was already far, far away wrestling with the challenge of inserting a strike force deep into the heart of an enemy country.

A tiny, ill-dressed man stopped him on the way out the launcher. Soldiers and technicians were busy piling sandbags around the vehicle and stringing camouflage netting over it. More men were occupied elsewhere around the field, digging in towed antiaircraft guns and building missile and ammunition storage bunkers.

The logistician breathed a little easier. Each load of military supplies ferried in by coast freighter, train, truck, or aircraft had made the little port city a more inviting target for a preemptive strike. Now, as General Taleh’s plans took final shape, Bushehr’s own defences were at last being strengthened.

Operation
NEMESIS

planning cell, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

Colonel Peter Thorn was practically hip-deep in maps, satellite photographs of Tehran, and intelligence reports when one of the senior sergeants assigned to his planning cell looked in the door of his temporary office. “Sir, Major General Farrell is on secure line one.”

“Thanks, Hal.” Thorn dumped the pile of papers in his hand to one side and grabbed the phone. The
JSOC
commander was still in Washington, shepherding events there while he ran things at this end. “Thorn here.”

Farrell didn’t waste any time. “
NEMESIS
is a go, Pete. The President signed off this morning after seeing your preliminary ops plan. He also confirmed you as mission commander.”

Thorn relaxed slightly.
NEMESIS
was his plan to kill Taleh. “Thank you, sir.”

Farrell snorted. “You ought to thank me. I’ve had Bill Henderson and the other guys in my face ever since they heard the news.” “Sorry about that,” Thorn said without much real remorse.

He wasn’t surprised by his peers’ reaction. In the normal course of events, Hendewn or one of the other Delta Force squadron commanders would have been selected to lead the raiding force.

Certainly, no one would have expected command to fall to a staff officer even one who was a Delta veteran with a sterling combat record. But he had been prepared to pull every string and use every chit accumulated over his career to wangle this assignment. In the end, Farrell had agreed to give him the job for two very good reasons. First, he knew the territory and Taleh’s mind and personality better than any other officer in the U.S. Army. Second, the
NEMESIS
force would, of necessity, be a mixed outfit one hastily drawn from the existing Delta Force squadrons. Given the limited time available, that was the only way to create a team with the needed language and combat skills. Besides, if
NEMESIS
failed to stop Taleh’s planned invasion, Farrell’s other officers would have more than enough bloody work for their own skilled hands.

There was a third reason, of course one he and the general left unspoken. Helen Gray. Both men knew this mission would be the most difficult and dangerous operation ever mounted by the Delta Force. Much could go wrong in the blink of an eye. And both men instinctively knew the on scene commander might need the driving force of a very personal and very compelling passion to push
NEMESIS
through to victory. Peter Thorn had that fiery drive for vengeance. He wanted Amir Taleh dead more than any other man alive.