Omega Sanction

Chapter Seventeen

The Delta Force Ranch sprawled over a large part of the Fort Bragg Reservation. It was surrounded by a wire-topped link fence with a patrol road on the inside. The compound contained not only the buildings housing the various elements of the force, but numerous training areas, including several live-fire ranges, a live-fire building, along with the fuselage of a Boeing 707 and a full-sized train for the troopers to practice their skills on.

Delta Force had earned its name from its official designation of Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta: Traditional Special Forces groups consisted of an Alpha Detachment (A-team), Bravo Detachment (B-Team, or company headquarters) and Charlie Detachment (C-Team, or battalion headquarters). When Colonel Charlie Beckwith formed a new unit in 1977 specifically designed to fight terrorism, he called it the SFOD-D, or Delta Force.

Beckwith had spent a tour of duty with British SAS, Special Air Service, and upon his return to the United States, realized his own army had no unit quite like the SAS, even though one was needed. Contrary to the common image of Special Forces, Green Berets were not specifically trained to be commandos or counterterrorist specialists, but rather were primarily designed to be teachers — force multipliers who could train other country's peoples to fight for themselves, whether it be in the guerrilla mode or counterguerrilla as they had in Vietnam.

Colonel Parker knew all about the history of Special Forces and the formation and mission of Delta Force from her time in air force Special Operations, which had often worked with their army counterparts. Her ID card and top-secret clearance, along with Sergeant Major Dublowski's presence, got her through the gate to the Ranch.

Inside the fence she picked up the different atmosphere immediately. The men walking around looked different from the norm — it was something she had noted before when around Special Operators. They carried themselves with more confidence, but they weren't cocky. They were men who had volunteered for a dangerous assignment, gone through the training that had weeded out the wannabes and left only those capable of doing a hard job and doing it well.

Dublowski drove up to a low sand-colored building with a red tile roof. He carried the hard drive they had taken from Takamura's office with him as they walked to the door and entered.

"We got a specialist for just about everything," Dublowski explained as they went down a long corridor. "Locksmiths, weapons, surveillance, aircraft, vehicles, you name it. Our computer guy is supposed to be real good." He kicked his foot against a door and pushed into the room beyond.

"Hey, Simpkins!" Dublowski called out.

A mountain of a man looked up from a table where he was peering through a large magnifying glass. His shaved scalp reflected the powerful light he had angled just in front of him. White teeth shone as his ebony face split in a wide smile.

"Dublowski, my man. How they hanging?" Simpkins spotted Parker and the rank on her collar and he straightened slightly, nodding toward her. "Ma'am."

"Colonel Parker, meet Chief Warrant Officer Simpkins, our local computer nerd."

"Chief." Parker's hand disappeared inside Simpkin's massive paw. "You don't look like any nerd I've ever seen."

"Most of the guys here think if you can add two plus two, you're a math genius," Simpkins said. He picked up what he had been working on. A small black box, about four inches long by two inches wide and an inch high. On each corner, tiny metal spikes poked out "Cute, heh? This is Freddie One." Simpkins put the box down on the table, then he went to a computer at another table.

Dublowski held up the CPU and started to say something, but Simpkins hushed him with a large finger. "Watch this."

He entered something into the keyboard. The box began "walking" on the metal spikes, each one rotating slightly forward, planting, then pulling the box forward. "Look here." Simpkins pointed at the screen.

An image of the tabletop Freddie was on was displayed— from Freddie's low-level point of view.

"I can also get audio," Simpkins said. "Range about a half a mile."

"It's not moving very fast," Dublowski noted.

Simpkins laughed. "You rather that goes into a hostage situation to take a look or you poke your head in?"

"Won't the terrorists see it and stomp it?" Dublowski asked.

"Not if it's nighttime. Or we send Freddie in an air duct. Or we keep him under cover. Freddie can even carry a very small payload."

" 'Small' being the operative," Dublowski said.

"I'm working on one a little bigger, Freddie Two." Simpkins sounded hurt.

"Okay, okay." Dublowski tapped the side of the CPU.

Simpkins reluctantly turned from the computer screen. "What you got there?"

"We need to get something out of this," Dublowski said.

Simpkins grabbed the unit and walked across the room. With one arm he cleared a spot on a table. He looked at the back of the CPU, then across at Dublowski, holding up the severed cables. "You're supposed to unscrew these."

"I was in a hurry."

"This has a government ID below the serial number," Simpkins said as he began removing the connections. "Am I going to get in trouble for working on this?"

"Not if no one finds out," Dublowski said.

Simpkins laughed as he tossed the cut cables into the trash and began connecting new ones. He plugged the CPU in and turned it on, pulling a seventeen-inch monitor close and laying a keyboard across his large thighs.

The screen came alive as the CPU booted. "Whose is this?" Simpkins asked as he typed in a few commands.

"A guy who works in SOCOM G-l," Dublowski said.

"He's done some modifications." Simpkins put his chin in his hand as he stared at the screen for several moments, then he began typing. "Anything in particular I'm looking for?"

"An E-mail was sent to this machine last night about two in the morning," Parker said. "It was transmitted from a laptop via a cell phone to the modem. We need to know what that E-mail was."

After a few moments, Simpkins sat back in the chair. "I can find the message. But I can't open it. It was sent to a locked file. I need the code word to open that file."

"Can't you break in?" Dublowski asked. "I thought that was what you were here for."

"I can break in," Simpkins said, "but whoever devised the lock booby-trapped it. You're lucky you brought this to me. Someone of inferior intelligence and expertise would have tried cracking the lock and the file would have been wiped clean."

"Well, with your superior intelligence, is there a way you can get us in?"

"Get me the code word and I'll get you in," Simpkins said. "I don't suppose you can ask whoever set this up what the password is?"

"He's dead," Dublowski said.

"That rules that out." Simpkins drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk, staring at the jumble of code on the screen.

"Takamura had to have known we would try to get this information," Parker said. "There has to be a way in."

"Takamura?" Simpkins asked.

"The man who sent the message and whose computer this is," Parker said.

"He was army?" Simpkins said. When Parker nodded, he spun on his chair and shoved himself away from the desk toward another computer. He quickly went to work. "I'm accessing his personnel records."

"Won't you get in trouble for that?" Parker asked. "I was told you could get traced back. We don't want anyone to know what we're doing."

Simpkins jabbed a thumb at Dublowski. "Contrary to what my friend there thinks, I am pretty good with a computer. Not only that, but here in the Ranch we have the highest access available on the Department of Defense system. We can also access State Department, NSA, CIA, just about everybody. There's some places they don't want us peeking at, but overall we have pretty good access. No questions asked."

He tapped the screen. "Here we go. James Takamura. He's still alive according to this record."

"He was killed in a car crash early this morning," Dublowski said.

"Right after he sent an E-mail to this computer via a cell phone from his laptop?" Simpkins didn't wait for the answer. He scooted back over to Takamura's CPU. "Read me his date of birth."

Parker sat down and read out the data.

"Not it," Simpkins said. "Mother's maiden name."

Parker read that and Simpkins entered it in the password block.

"Nope." Together they went through every piece of information that Simpkins could think might be used as a password. While he was doing that, Dublowski made coffee and stood by the pot until it was full. Then he poured mugs for everyone. Finally Simpkins had exhausted all possibilities.

The warrant officer leaned back in his chair. Then he cocked his head, looking at the stickers on the side of the computer. "This guy one of those Star Trek nuts?"

"I don't know," Parker said. "I guess so from those. He had a little figure of the Enterprise on his desk."

Simpkins began chuckling, a low rumble from deep inside his chest. "I don't believe it." He typed in a word. The screen changed. "I'm in!"

"What was the password?" Parker asked.

" 'Computer,' " Simpkins said.

"What?" Dublowski asked.

"He used the word 'computer' as his password. In Star Trek, when they want to access the computer, they just call out, 'Computer,' " Simpkins explained. "It's so obvious no one would think of it unless they watched Star Trek."

"Sort of the purloined letter technique," Parker said.

"What's that?" Dublowski asked.

"Hiding a stolen letter in a mailbox," Parker explained as she looked over Simpkins's shoulder.

"This is the E-mail," Simpkins said. "It's a file this guy Takamura lifted from personnel records, but the personnel code is funny. Not active. Not family members. I've seen this before." He paused in his typing. "Oh, yeah. Foreign students."

"What?" Dublowski and Parker said at the same time.

Simpkins tapped the screen. "These are foreign student files. You know. Guys from other countries who come here to go through the Q-Course or the School of the Americas at Benning. Any kind of training. We even get some guys here once in a while. We have an exchange program with the Brits — send one of our guys over to go through their selection course every year and then serve a year with an SAS troop and they send one of their guys over.

"Your guy Takamura has pulled two records from the database. Looks like he got them by cross-referencing some sort of criteria with the foreign student database. Location and characteristics of the people." Simpkins hit the enter key. Dublowski and Parker leaned over Simpkins's shoulders and watched as two faces appeared on the screen.

"And there they are," Simpkins said.

Hancock's desk was no longer the clear surface he liked to have at the end of the day. Files covered the top. He was writing on a legal pad, jotting notes, when there was a buzz.

He opened the left top drawer and pulled out the secure phone, a slim black handset that he tucked under his left ear as he leaned back in his seat. "Yes?"

"This is Ferguson. Dublowski and Parker are together now. Someone in Thorpe's office was killed. A specialist named Takamura. State police think it was a homicide. Parker and Dublowski went out to the accident site."

"And?"

"They got Takamura's office computer and took it to the Delta Force Ranch."

"What else?" Hancock asked. Ferguson was the CIA representative to Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg. As such, Hancock knew, his primary job was to constantly deny request by the army people for intelligence while trying to cram CIA agents in the various schools run by SOCOM. His other job, maybe even more important, was to keep an eye on the Green Beanies and make sure they didn't use too much of their initiative.

"Takamura's laptop was not found in the ruins of his trailer — he usually kept it in his car. His body was found with a cell phone in hand and a data cord that could hook to the modem of his cell phone. I've pulled the phone records — he called his office modem just before his accident. I think he sent some files to the office computer via the cell phone."

"And of course you found all this out after Dublowski and Parker had figured it out," Hancock said.

There was no reply. Hancock stared up at the ceiling, then returned his gaze to the chess sets on the right side of his desk. "Anything else?"

"I've got an inquiry from the state police in reference to Takamura's killing. They want to know if we know anything."

"Do we?" Hancock asked.

"Not that I know of." There was a pause. "Do we?"

"Anything else?" Hancock asked once more.

"I think they're one step ahead of us," Ferguson said.

Hancock laughed. "You don't even know where I'm going; my good man, so how could you even suppose they might be one step ahead?"

"Well, it's just—"

"Oh, no," Hancock cut him off. "Quite the contrary. Them thinking they're one step ahead means they're three steps behind."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing right now. I'll call you."

Hancock hung up the phone. There was another buzz and his secretary's voice echoed out of a speaker built into the desk. "The D/O is here to see you, sir."

"Send her in," Hancock said as he cleared his desktop with a swipe of his arm into an empty drawer.

The double doors whished open on pneumatic arms. Kim Gereg strode in. She walked to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Instead of immediately sitting in it, she pulled it to the side where the chess sets were located and put it down just outside the rings of light reflecting down on them. She sat down, in as much shadow as Hancock was at his desk.

"What can I do for you?" Hancock asked.

"One of my men died yesterday in a car accident," Gereg said.

"I saw it in the morning brief," Hancock said. "Most unfortunate."

"Yes," Gereg said. A long silence played out before she spoke again. "You were very qualified in your support of stronger intervention in the Balkans."

"We either need to shit or get off the pot," Hancock said. "If you'd pardon my French."

"You don't care which?"

"Not particularly. I don't think that part of the world is in our strategic interests."

"World War I started in that part of the world," Gereg noted.

"World War III won't."

"You sound sure of that."

"Nothing is certain. But I do see certain parallels between this situation and the quagmire in Vietnam and I would prefer not to repeat history."

"I didn't know you cared so much," Gereg said.

Hancock smiled, not taking the bait.

"That was Adviser Lane's view, wasn't it?"

"It was."

She turned and looked at the wall of photos.

A long silence played out.

"I've gone through Welwood's files," Gereg finally said.

"Welwood?" Hancock asked.

A twitch of a smile touched the ends of Gereg's mouth. "My man who died yesterday."

"Ah, yes."

"He was doing some checking on a couple of operations. One code-named Romulus and one code-named Remus."

Again Hancock waited, not offering anything to Gereg.

"Have you heard of these operations?" Gereg asked.

"How should I know anything? They were obviously something run by your department," Hancock said. "After all, it was in your man's files. Why are you coming to me?"

"I've never heard of either of these operations and they're clearly connected, given the code names."

"You expect me to believe you've never heard of an operation run by your own department? What would the director think of that?"

Gereg stared at him for several seconds, then stood. "Thank you for your time. I know how busy you are."

"No more busy than you are," Hancock said to her back."

"Can you get to a secure modem?" Parker's voice sounded faint in the SATPhone.

"Hold on," Thorpe said. He turned to Master Sergeant King. "Is there a secure modem here?"

King nodded and wrote on a slip of paper. "Here's the E- mail address." He pointed across the office. "It's for that computer there." They were in the G-3 shop of Special Operations Command, Europe. Morty Lorsen had dropped Thorpe off in front of the building an hour ago and Parker had just called.

Thorpe read the address to her. "What do you have?"

"We recovered the last thing Takamura pulled up on the computer," Parker said.

"What is it?"

"Best you see for yourself, then give me a call back. It's being sent right now."

"All right." Thorpe hung up, then followed King over to the computer. It was evening in Germany and the room was deserted except for the two of them.

"We got it," King said. "Here it is."

Two faces appeared on the screen line by line. "Who the hell are you?" Thorpe whispered. Both men had dark skin and straight black hair. Their eyes were identical — deep blue with a steady gaze into the camera. The combination of eyes and skin color was disconcerting.

Names appeared below each: Jawhar Matin and Akil Matin.

And that was it.

Thorpe punched in Parker's SATphone number. "Who are they?" he demanded as soon as she answered. "Are there two killers?"

"As near as we can tell, the last thing Takamura did was a search for foreign students at the posts where the girls disappeared. He came up with these two."

"Foreign? What country are they from?"

"Saudi Arabia."

"With a name like Matin?"

"Jawhar there was at Fort Rucker when two girls disappeared. His brother, meanwhile, was at Fort Benning going through Ranger School at the time one girl disappeared there."

"You don't have any time at Ranger School to go kill anyone," Thorpe said. Thorpe remembered his own Ranger School experience quite vividly. He also remembered there were several foreign officers in his class. The same with his Special Forces qualification course.

"Ranger students get a twelve-hour break between each phase," Parker noted.

"And you're usually too tired to do anything other than eat and sleep."

"And maybe have your brother visit you," Parker said.

"What about Germany? Were either of them around Stuttgart? Who the hell exactly are these guys? Where are they from?" Thorpe was trying to assimilate this information.

"Their training files are sealed," Parker said. "This was all Takamura was able to get. Other than the names and those stateside assignments, we don't know anything."

"So it's a long shot they're who we're looking for?" Thorpe closed his eyes, remembering the little round man who he had gotten involved in this. "Anything further on what happened to Takamura?"

"He was run off the road. Dan thinks he was murdered. The last thing he did was send those two pictures and names by modem from his laptop in his car to his computer in the office. His trailer was burned to the ground early this morning also."

Thorpe opened his eyes and stared at the screen. "Let me talk to Dan."

Dublowski's low growl came over the phone. "Hey, Mike. You see the two sons-a-bitches."

"I see them. Was Takamura killed?"

"Yes."

"Who did it?"

"We have no idea, but whoever it was tried to make a clean sweep of things. I'll keep in contact with my man at police headquarters but I think they're going to come up with zip."

"Could these guys have done it? Are either of these guys I'm looking at in the States?"

"I don't know," Dublowski said. "Even if one of them is, the reaction was too damn fast. Takamura had just come up with this and called me and whoever killed him was on top of him within the hour."

"So someone was watching him."

"Right."

"Which means there's a good chance someone is watching you and Parker," Thorpe added.

"Right again. We're on the Ranch right now, so we're safe for the moment."

"I wouldn't bet my life on it," Thorpe said.

"Let's not go too far with a conspiracy here," Dublowski said.

"I don't think you can ever go too far with a conspiracy," Thorpe replied. "These two guys can't be this on top of things by themselves."

"I don't know what the fuck is going on," Dublowski said, "but we'll get to the bottom of this."

"At least I have something to work with on this end," Thorpe said. He told Dublowski about what he had learned from the kids Lorsen had taken him to. "Maybe one of these guys is this Jewel Man."

"Terri wouldn't have gotten within fifty feet of no drug dealer," Dublowski growled. "Or gone to any party with scumbags like these two."

"We don't know what happened yet." Thorpe remembered what Lorsen had said about kids but knew better than to mention that to the sergeant major. "Does Parker think these guys are the ones?" Thorpe asked. "Her profile said one killer."

"They're brothers," Dublowski said. "Maybe one kills and the other doesn't know." There was a long pause. "All we have are the pictures and the names. We need more."

Thorpe considered the situation. "If this one guy — Akil Matin — went through Ranger School, there's a chance he might have attended one of the schools at the JFK Center there at Bragg. The Q-Course or maybe one of the specialty schools."

"I can check on that," Dublowski said.

"Okay. Let me talk to Parker."

As soon as she got the phone, Parker began speaking, "Mike, if these guys are involved in any way, we have to run it up the flagpole. Bring in the people who are supposed to take care—"

"Takamura was killed," Thorpe cut her off, knowing where she was going. "Remember when we waited for the air police to help us get into the launch control center for Omega Missile? They almost all got killed and we ended up having to do it ourselves."

"Mike—"

"No!" Thorpe's yell drew King's attention from the other side of the room. Thorpe leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, Lisa, Takamura was killed because I got him involved. Dan's daughter is missing. The other girls. If we pass the buck on this, there's a good chance more people are going to die. We have to do it ourselves."

"Are you sure that's the reason?" Parker asked.

"Everyone with the questions," Thorpe muttered. "Hey, something big is going on here. Takamura getting killed so quickly after coming up with these guys' names is very strange."

"Strange?" Parker repeated.

"Keep your eyes open there," Thorpe said. "Maybe our guy is right there at Bragg."

"All right."

"Listen, I've got to go. I got some checking to do here. I'll talk to your shortly."

He pressed the off button on the phone, then turned to King. "Who could we talk to, to find out if those two fellows have ever been around here?"

King laughed. "Morty, of course."

"Let's go."