Assurred Response

Chapter 28

Elounda Beach Hotel & Villas is a distinguished luxury resort situated on the island of Crete between two quaint bays. The spectacular vacation destination caters to the rich arid famous who demand the ultimate in tactile pleasure. Services include limousines, helicopters, yachts for hire, and Leaijet charters.

Saeed Shayhidi reclined on an oversized settee in the roomy Imperial Penthouse Suite at the hotel complex. The suite included a well-equipped gym, personal fitness trainer, private pool, movie theater, masseuse, butler, pianist, and chef.

Ignoring the sage advice of his longtime friend Essam Afzal, Shayhidi contemplated his meticulous planning thus far. His new executive assistant, Gamaa al-Harith, had booked the suite under a fictitious name and paid cash. At this level of opulence, no one asked questions about cash or required a credit card on file.

Al-Harith had also leased a small out-of-the-way villa near Elounda Beach under an assumed name, again paying cash for the thirty-day rental. Gamaa al-Harith had no idea about Shayhidis background or his real identity. But the important-sounding tide, along with the generous salary and benefits Shayhidi offered, were better than anything he had ever dreamed of.

Shayhidi had instructed al-Harith to invite two business associates to an early morning breakfast meeting. When the guests arrived, al-Harith was to explain that for privacy and security reasons the venue had been changed to a villa near the hotel complex.

Shayhidi left his suite and took a limousine to the remote villa while al-Harith waited for the businessmen. When the men arrived at the lavish suite, they were disappointed that the prosperous shipping mogul was not waiting for them. Al-Harith apologized effusively for the inconvenience and explained that Mr. Oscar Palante was anxious to introduce them to his other important guests at the villa.

They went to the villa in transportation supplied by the hotel. When they arrived at the restored home, the well-dressed men stepped out of the van and approached the villa. As he was instructed to do, Gamaa al-Harith ushered the businessmen inside. Then, as ordered, he returned to the hotel suite and waited for further instructions.

Saeed Shayhidi was sitting in a large leather wingback chair in the corner of the living room. He smiled to himself when he heard the front door open and then gently close.

After the men walked down the short hallway, they found their host sitting alone. They were surprised and slightly uncomfortable, but they tried to conceal their feelings. A large divan sat in the middle of the room, facing the host.

The strange man made no effort to get to his feet or even offer a handshake to his guests. He was not anything like they had expected. Inexpensive rumpled suit, scuffed black work shoes, a strange-looking straw hat, and a large pillow on his lap. The shipping tycoon was certainly eccentric.

"Have a seat," Shayhidi said, in a deep, scratchy voice. "We have a lot to discuss and not much time to kill"

Both men eyed him curiously.

The shorter one spoke first. "Aren't we supposed to be having breakfast? Where's everyone else?"

Shayhidi spoke again in the deep voice. "I don't think you're going to have much of an appetite. Sit down."

There was some concern in their eyes, but they sat down on the wide divan. Both men felt a growing sense of uneasiness.

"How's my business doing?" Shayhidi asked, in his normal voice.

There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by an eye-bugging, mind-numbing panic.

"Speak up. How's my business coming along?"

Their shocked looks turned to raw fear as Ahmed Musashi and Hafiz al-Yamani tried to come to grips with reality. This funny-looking man was, in fact, Saeed Shayhidi, completely transformed.

Smelling the visceral fear, Musashi started to get up and flee.

Shayhidi pulled his 9mm handgun from under the pillow and fired at Musashi s feet, hoping to scare him. Shayhidi's aim was off slightly, and Musashi howled in pain as he collapsed on the divan. The round had gone through the center of his left foot. He took off his shoe awkwardly and held his bleeding foot.

"Excellent idea," Shayhidi said, with a smile of pleasure. "Take off your shoes, both of you."

Musashi quickly removed his other shoe while al-Yamani, trembling with fear, did the same.

Al-Yamani twitched and squirmed when Shayhidi waved the weapon toward him. Then he closed his eyes and balled his fists.

"Getting jumpy, weasel?"

Shaking uncontrollably, al-Yamani was afraid to say anything. Ahmed Musashi had categorically told him that Saeed Shayhidi was finished. The Americans had him under tight wraps and he would not be seen again. He would be in prison or, more likely, he would be put to death. Saeed Shayhidi would never rise again. He would never have any power again.

Al-Yamani gritted his teeth and mumbled.

"Speak up, weasel!"

"He — Ahmed — told me you were dead."

Writhing in searing pain, Musashi snapped his head around. "I never told you that, you lying little—"

Boom! Shayhidi shot al-Yamani in the right foot. He fell on the floor and began holding his foot and rocking back and forth, groaning the entire time. "I didn't do anything wrong," he said, in a small, whimpering voice. "I just did what I was told."

Shayhidi gave al-Yamani a cold, hard stare. "Look at me, you two-faced weasel. Look at me or I'll shoot you again!"

Almost in tears, his lips trembling, al-Yamani looked up.

Shayhidi flashed a menacing grin. "One more lie from either one of you and you'll die a slow, agonizing death."

Recalling the anger, the absolute rage he had felt when he left Phnom Penh, Shayhidi lowered his voice and looked at Hafiz al-Yamani. "Why didn't you return my calls and answer my e-mail?"

There was a long silence.

"Answer me or 111 blow your other foot off!"

"Musashi told me he was taking control of the company and he would make me an executive. I had to be faithful to him."

Shayhidi turned to Musashi. "The two of you have really been faithful to me after everything IVe done for you, haven't you?"

Neither man said a word.

Musashi was reeling in pain when Shayhidi fired a shot into the divan between his thighs. He leaped straight back and then fell sideways.

"So, let me understand this. I was a liability to my company— your company, that is — and you had to terminate me."

Musashi was bathed in salty sweat. It trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them and causing tears to well.

Shayhidi continued in a relaxed voice. "As I recall, you said I was an international fugitive — with no money, no access to money, and no access to power — and no lawyer would associate with the likes of me. My life was over and you were going to make sure it stayed that way." He pointed the 9mm at Musashi s face. "Is that about right? Speak up, or 111 finish you off right now!"

"I was only trying to help you and save your business for you after things calmed down. I swear that's the truth—"

Boom! Shayhidi shot Musashi's other foot, prompting a spasm of howling and cursing.

Shayhidi smiled and then chuckled. "You lying piece of trash, trying to play in the big time. But the game is over — finished, done, the end — and so are you."

Hafiz al-Yamani began sobbing. "I was going to keep you informed about everything — I didn't trust what was going—"

Boom! The other foot was useless. Al-Yamani screamed at the top of his lungs, but it made no difference. No one outside the villa could hear anything.

Shayhidi leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and smiled with pleasure. "Do you want to be buried alive or the alternative?"

"Don't do this," Musashi begged. "I'll do anything you ask, anything you want. Just give me a chance to prove myself."

"I don t want you to do anything. I have lots of things to do today. Which will it be? Dead or alive?"

Shayhidi waited a few seconds and smiled. "Time's up. I've made the decision for you. Buried alive is a better way for two real weasels to leave this planet. Next question: Who goes first?"

A few more seconds passed. "Time's up. Al-Yamani goes first so the person who tried to steal my company can watch."

"Please don't do this," Musashi said, bathed in sweat and blood. "You've taught me a real lesson."

"What about you, weasel?"

Hafiz al-Yamani could barely talk above a whisper. "I feel the same way. I'll never doubt you again, I promise."

Shayhidi belly-laughed. "I had you two going, didn't I? You'll think twice next time before you screw me, right?"

Al-Yamani closed his eyes and sobbed. "Right — that's right."

"Yes," Ahmed Musashi said, with a deep sigh of relief. "We just want to be faithful to you and to the business — your business."

"Well, that's certainly the right attitude. Glad to know you're back on board," Shayhidi said, and then shot both men in the head.

He put them in body bags and placed them in the deep graves he had hired a transient to dig. Next, he broke the divan into pieces and picked up the bloodstained throw rugs. He buried them on top of Musashi and al-Yamani and then covered their graves with dirt and tree limbs. Shayhidi went inside, washed his face and hands, rested for a few minutes, and then called the hotel. The duty limousine would pick him up in ten minutes.

The stars were still shining brightly when the attack submarine USS Scranton rose from the depths to fire four Tomahawk cruise missiles. The weapons were aimed at the Military Air Base Number 1, located at Santa Lucia in the state of Mexico. Flying low at a speed of 550 miles per hour, the Tomahawks would take thirty-four minutes to reach their target. After the first missile exploded, the others would arrive in staggered order.

Seventy-three miles south of Scranton, the attack submarine USS Newport News was in the process of launching four Tomahawks at Colonia Federal Air Base southwest of Santa Lucia. The flight time to the target would be thirty-six minutes. Both submarines returned to deeper water to await further orders.

In the Pacific Ocean off Baja California Sur, the attack submarine USS Jefferson City was in the process of launching four Tomahawks at the Zapopan Air Base. The flight time would be nineteen minutes.

Off the coast of Baja California Norte, the USS Columbus launched two Tomahawks at the El Cipres Air Base and then launched two missiles at the La Paz Air Base. They also launched two missiles at the Guaymas Air Base. One of the Guaymas missiles malfunctioned as it cleared the surface, forcing the submarine crew to fire another Tomahawk.

A total of six U. S. Navy surface combatants, equally divided between the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico, launched a dozen Tomahawks at the Santa Gertrudis Air Base, the Culiacan Air Base, the Chihuahua Air Base, the Monterrey Air Base, the Hermosillo Air Base, and the Tampico facility.

The results were good, but not 90 percent as hoped. Space-based assets indicated that Santa Lucia was now inoperable and two of the F-5E Tigers had been destroyed. Another F-5E had been heavily damaged, and the runway was going to need extensive repairs. Most of the other airfields were badly damaged, but a few could still support air operations.

Owning the skies over Mexico, U. S. Air Force and Navy fighter/ attack aircraft quickly finished the assault on the air bases with a variety of precision-guided missiles and bombs. The Tijuana Air Base was spared, barring any attempt to use it for hostile purposes.

Unfortunately, eight people were killed during the attacks and another twenty-one were injured, three seriously. The news flashed around the world in a matter of minutes, causing rioting and anti-American demonstrations in many distant countries and cities. The entire country of Mexico was in a state of calamity, and angry mobs were taking to the streets to burn American flags. U. S. citizens were fleeing the country as quickly as possible.

The U. S. embassy in Mexico City was a central target of the irate crowds. Located on Avenida de la Reforma, the fortresslike building was locked down and barricaded. Two companies of U. S. Marines had been flown to Mexico City prior to the destruction of the Mexican air bases. They reinforced the embassy security team already in place.

The Mexican Navy Knox-class frigate Mariano Abasolo (the former USS Marvin Shields) was five miles due west of Point Loma. A sister ship, the Ignacio Allende (the former USS Stein) was 300 yards abeam the starboard side of Mariano Abasolo. Ballast Point in the Point Loma area was home to the San Diego Naval Submarine Base. The San Diego Naval Station and the North Island Naval Air Station were in close proximity. On high alert, the military facilities presented a target-rich environment.

In response to the early morning attacks on the air bases, an angry Mexican admiral had ordered the ship s captains to stand off the southern California coast. The frigates were cruising slowly as they continued on a northerly heading.

Attempting to appear calm, both captains were nervously waiting for an order to return to the safety of the closest Mexican port. Considering what the Americans had recently been through, and their amazing performance in the liberation of Iraq, the captains had no doubt the U. S. Navy would sink them at the slightest provocation.

Three F-14 Tomcats from the USS Abraham Lincoln battle group had been launched to encourage the men-of-war to return to Mexican waters peacefully. One of the VF-31 fighters was clean (no bombs, no missiles, and no external fuel tanks) but had a full complement of rounds for its M61 20mm multibarrel cannon. The other pair of F-14S carried four 2,ooo-pound bombs, two Sidewinder missiles, 20mm cannon rounds, and two 280-gallon external fuel tanks.

An E-2C Hawkeye vectored the Tomcats to the Mexican frigates while a marine corps KC-130 Hercules orbited overhead to provide fuel for the fighters.

Lieutenant Commander Dallas "Hollywood" Houghland was leading the trio in the clean Cat, the fastest fighter in the U. S. Navy. Flying at an altitude of 21,000 feet over the Mexican ships, Houghland initiated the first phase of their mission.

"Hollywood One is outbound," he radioed to his two wingmen.

"Two."

"Three."

They would remain in a high holding pattern to await the results of the first flight demonstration.

Heading straight south, the clean F-14 began a gradual descent that rapidly increased. At ten miles from the frigates, Houghland initiated a steep 180-degree turn passing 11,000 feet. Rolling wings level, he was heading toward the fan tails of the frigates.

He engaged max blower, and the dual afterburners quickly accelerated the Tomcat as it descended through 6,000 feet. The wings were swept back, making the F-14 look like an overgrown lawn dart as it dropped from the sky like a slab of iron.

Leveling the fighter at seventy feet above the calm ocean, Houghland was approaching the ships at the speed of heat. He had disappeared from the Mexicans' air-search radar.

Dash Two keyed his radio. "Look at Hollywood scoot. Leaving a rooster tail!"

"Those boys are gonna have the shakes," Dash Three replied. "Hope no ones shaving."

Transonic vapor was flickering off the aircraft seconds before it shattered the sound barrier 150 yards behind the frigates. Houghland passed between the two ships and snapped the Tomcat's nose skyward.

The teeth-rattling sonic boom rocked the Mexican frigates. Sailors spilled their coffee; others dropped to their knees. Most thought they had been hit with a bomb.

Both frigates went to general quarters, but it was clearly not in their best interests to engage the Americans. They increased their speed and continued north on a straight course.

Houghland had one more option to try. Then, if the ships refused to turn back, he would contact the Hawkeye. A mission systems operator would check with the admiral on the carrier and then give the F-14 flight leader his orders. Houghland reversed course, approaching the frigates head on.

"Hollywood's in hot," he radioed, as he armed his cannon.

Flying slower than the speed of sound, Houghland waited until he was a few hundred yards from the ships. He squeezed the trigger and laid down a curtain of cannon shells between the frigates.

Houghland was climbing in afterburner when Dash Two keyed his radio. "Message sent — message received."

"Say again," Houghland said. "They're coming about, heading home."

Hollywood turned his head to look at the ships. "Good decision." The two F-14S closed on Houghland's Tomcat. "It's time for a lunch break," Two radioed.

"You have the lead," Houghland calmly radioed back. "Take us home to Mother."

After a fairly short conversation, Cord Macklin placed the phone receiver in its cradle and turned to Hartwell Prost and Brad Austin. "President Cardenas is fully supportive of our grounding his air force. He seemed relieved that only eight people were killed. He understands the gravity of the situation and the urgency of our conference. He'll meet with us early tomorrow afternoon in Corpus Christi."

"Did he balk about restructuring his military?" Prost asked. "He knew what I was alluding to, but he glossed over it." Austin looked up. "I have a sense he will give the idea serious consideration. He left me with the impression that he would truly like to reform his country, but he can only tinker at the edges as long as the corrupt generals are calling the shots. The military star chamber has to be toppled. The culture in the military and in law enforcement has to be changed before anything meaningful can happen."

Macklin glanced at his watch. "We'll deal with that after we have the border problem completely under control. I know this is a spur-of-the-moment trip, but I want to keep a lid on it. We'll use a smaller aircraft and a skeleton crew — no press and no leaks."

"We'll take care of it," Austin said.

The USS Nimitz battle group was close enough to the North Arabian Sea to launch long-range strikes on a number of targets. Terrorist facilities were being pounded in five countries, and more targets were being added to the list.

The sailors and marines aboard the ships in the Nimitz, Washington, and Stennis battle groups had little time for recreation or breaking news stories. When they were not working eighteen-hour shifts or eating three or four meals a day they were sleeping.

The relatively few who had time to pay attention to world events knew about the howls and shrieks emanating from the United Nations headquarters in New York, the International Criminal Court, European capitals, Human Rights Watch, and U. S. "allies" and diplomats from every nook and cranny on the planet. The U. S.-led war on terrorism was being characterized as "unilateral imperialism."

Predictably, after the bombing of the Mexican Air Force bases, the die-hard media had gone into hollow-eyed shock before responding in unity. There was a massive eruption of name-calling and derisive attacks directed squarely at President Macklin and his administration.

The primary units of the Mexican Army consisted of a handful of brigades based around the Federal District that encompasses the Mexico City area. Along with independent regiments and infantry battalions, the brigades were preparing to move north to the U. S. Mexico border.

The destruction of the air bases had set off a frenzy of anger within the military. Chaos reigned for the first few hours until senior officers began arriving in the Federal District.

A majority of Mexican generals and admirals had a sense of trepidation about hostilities with the United States. Many viewed the call to arms as patently stupid and suicidal. Others, political aspirants in generals uniforms, argued that personal and national pride should carry the day.

The debate mattered not. The secretary of national defense, a corrupt active-duty army general appointed by the previous president, had made his decision. The only way the general could protect his power would be to confront the Americans. President Juan Cardenas had not been consulted, a deliberate insult that was intended to convey a message.

The Mexican military would confront the United States, the country that had stolen the southwestern U. S. from Mexico. The Mexican armed forces would defend the country's honor and protect her borders. The senior general would accomplish two goals: protect his future fortunes in drug trafficking and render Cardenas impotent.