Assurred Response

Chapter 29

Scott parked his rare Ferrari 275 GTB Spider, stepped out, and walked around to open Jackie's door. They were two minutes early when he rang the doorbell. Each was surprised when Hartwell Prost personally opened the massive door.

"Come in," Hartwell said, as he shook hands with Scott and Jackie. "I trust youve had dinner."

"Actually," Scott said, "were planning a late dinner in Georgetown."

"Thats good, because I had to dine on leftovers this evening."

"Where are Zachary and Molly?" Jackie asked.

"Zachary is on holiday, and Molly had to take a few days off to tend to her mother. Let's go out to the veranda."

Jackie and Scott followed Hartwell and took a seat on the lounge. Their host poured each of them a glass of wine.

"The president and I want to thank you — congratulate you — for your efforts in capturing Khaliq Farkas and finding the nukes." Hartwell raised his glass. "We re grateful."

"Glad we could help," Scott said.

Jackie placed her glass on the table. "Did he survive?"

"Barely. He's in critical condition. We hope to begin questioning him in a few days — at least by next week."

Prost paused to light a cigar.

"It was coincidental that President Macklin and I were discussing a new course of action when we received your message about Farkas. As you may know, the CIA has created a new super-secret hit team to target terrorists abroad. It's a paramilitary unit that conducts covert operations directly under the command of the Agency's counterterrorism center. The number of people on the team, their weaponry, and the location of their base are highly classified."

Scott had a question. "No congressional oversight?"

"Very little. The president's signed intelligence order, including the authority to use lethal force, expands a previous presidential finding. If Congress knew, it would be leaked, no question about it, and the lives of many brave people would unnecessarily be placed in jeopardy. Therefore, briefings are limited to the two ranking Democrats and Republicans from the intelligence committee of each chamber."

"Will the unit be able to operate anywhere in the world?" Jackie asked.

"For the most part. They will be free to disrupt, capture, or destroy terrorists in over eighty countries."

Scott had a question. "Does this have anything to do with the new assignment you mentioned?"

"Yes, one I hope you 11 consider." Prost smiled reassuringly. "We believe you could bring another dimension to the covert operation: the ability to gather the ground truth from human sources. We dont want different factions competing on the same mission."

"Fm not sure I understand," Jackie said.

Prost looked her in the eye. "We want you to track Saeed Shayhidi, find him, capture him, or kill him."

Jackie and Scott were quiet for a moment before Scott spoke. "You want us to assassinate Shayhidi?"

Prost shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, let's say we want you to find him and give us his coordinates to allow precision air strikes."

Jackie looked up, her eyes quizzing Prost. "Do we have any idea where Shayhidi is, the last known contact?"

"We've traced his charter flight from Siem Reap, Cambodia, to Geneva. A chartered jet left Cambodia a short time after our people went to the hotel where Shayhidi had been staying. He left so fast he didn't check out or take his clothes." His tone of voice hardened. "Shayhidi has been making a fool out of us. I'm embarrassed for the CIA, and President Macklin is beyond being upset, to put it mildly."

Prost paused and gazed across the grounds. "Geneva, his business headquarters, is where we would like you to begin. We, the president and I, need you to find him, whatever you have to do."

He turned to Jackie. "Your thoughts?"

"This may sound strange," she ventured, "but as a fighter pilot, if someone was shooting at me, I'd shoot back — doing my job. But morally speaking, I dont fit the profile of an assassin."

"I fully understand," Prost said quietly.

"I feel the same as Jackie," Scott admitted. "However, I'm willing to go after him. Well leave Shayhidi's future to someone else after we've found him, unless he tries to take us out."

Scott looked at Jackie. "You okay with that?"

"Sure, as long as we all agree on what our role is."

Prost smiled with relief. "No argument from me. The two of you have the talent, training, and tenacity to accomplish things most people wouldn't even consider. The president and I deeply appreciate everything you've done."

"Thank you," Scott said. "Any problem with using our plane, carrying our personal weapons and all the gear we need?"

"None that I can think of." Prost considered the options. "You have a legitimate business conducting safety audits for corporate flight departments, including major companies overseas. In addition, you have your FBI and CIA credentials along with current passports. That seems to cover all the bases."

Flying at 63,000 feet above Mexico City, the unmanned surveillance craft relayed the movement of four army brigades heading north at 11:25 RM-The brigades comprised one armored, two infantry, and one motorized infantry. Their olive-drab "deuce and a half" cargo trucks with canvas tops were, for the most part, Korean War vintage. Once established on Highway 85, the caravan advanced toward Ciudad Victoria, a transportation center east of the 13,300-foot peak of Cerro Pefta Nevada.

If the brigades stayed on 85 after passing Ciudad Victoria, that would take them through Monterrey to Nuevo Laredo, across the Rio Bravo del Norte from Laredo, Texas. If the convoy took Highway 101 at Ciudad Victoria, they would arrive at Matamoros, Mexico, across the border from Brownsville, Texas. Regardless of the caravans planned destination, the president of the United States had a decision to make.

President Macklin was awakened at 1:05 A. M. and had coffee with Dave Timkey, Brad Austin, Pete Adair, and Les Chalmers. After a secure phone conference call with Hartwell Prost and a conversation with the senior officers at NORAD, the president and his aides went to the library on the ground floor. Macklin closed the door and everyone took a seat.

"First thing," the president said, "I want to make sure they dont get anywhere close to our border."

Secretary Austin glanced at Chalmers and then turned to Macklin. "I respectfully yield to Secretary Adair and General Chalmers on military matters. Having said that, I am convinced that a firepower demonstration would halt the convoy and turn them back like the Mexican frigates."

Macklin removed his reading glasses. "What makes you so sure?"

"These troops are not kamikazes," Austin said with conviction. "When they see what they're up against, they'll know this is an exercise in futility. They aren't a tough, well-disciplined, well-equipped, seasoned fighting force. Besides, they've seen the results of Operation Iraqi Freedom. They'll turn back."

Pete Adair spoke up in support. "I agree with you, but as a backup let's destroy the highway so they can't continue. Give them time to think about it."

"Les," the president said, "what's your view?"

"I would try something to get their attention short of destroying the highway. We have the assets standing by," Chalmers said. "One thing, though — we need to hit them just as the sun begins to nibble at the sky. Regardless of which highway they take, they'll be past Ciudad Victoria by that time and in a sparsely populated area. That's where we want to take action."

"What do you plan to use?" Macklin asked.

"Two AC-130 Spectre gunships, two A-10 Warthogs, and two B-1Bs. Well also have helicopters in the area in case someone goes down."

The president nodded his approval. "If we do have to cut the highway, and it looks like they might try to find an alternative route, cut off the road behind them also. Strand the caravan in place and keep them pinned down with no way out."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, gentlemen, we have a short night ahead," Macklin declared. "You can rest here or have breakfast here. Your choice, but let s gather in the Situation Room at five-thirty A. M."

Two B-1B Lancers, affectionately known as the "Bone," taxied for takeoff under a star-filled sky. The sleek swing-wing long-range bomber was capable of carrying eighty-four 500-pound bombs or twenty-four 2,ooo-pound JDAMs. This morning the supersonic bombers from the 9th Bomb Squadron, 7th Wing, would be flying empty with a standard crew consisting of an aircraft commander, copilot, offensive systems operator, and defensive systems operator.

Cleared for takeoff, the B-1Bs took off in interval and climbed to altitude en route to Mexico. They checked in with the E-3 AWACS to receive the latest coordinates of the Mexican military caravan. The brigades were on Highway 101 approaching Santander Jimenez, and Global Hawk was keeping a watchful eye on the procession of vehicles.

Orbiting over the Gulf of Mexico twenty-three nautical miles east of the smil town of Carboneras, two AC-130 Spectre gunships from Hurlburt Field, Florida, waited to turn on course. The ground-attack aircraft were armed with a stunning array of firepower that could be concentrated on a small area.

The relatively low-flying Hercules gunships were equipped with two 20mm Vulcan cannons, one Bofors cannon, and one howitzer that could fire 100 rounds. The new "U" model aircraft had replaced their 20mm cannons with a rapid-firing 25mm Gatling gun. Known as one mean flying machine, the AC-130 was one of the weapons most feared by enemy ground forces.

Two A-10 Warthogs from Barksdale AFB, Louisiana, were refueling from a KC-135. The close-air-support aircraft were each armed with eighteen conventional Mk-82 500-pound general-purpose bombs. Their showcase weapon, a powerful 30mm Gatling-type seven-barrel rotary cannon, was capable of destroying any tank. The Warthog put cold fear into the hearts of enemy soldiers who witnessed the cannon fire.

After topping off their fuel tanks, the lead pilot checked in with the AWACS for vectors to their holding pattern. The senior pilots had been thoroughly briefed about the mission and looked forward to playing a role in discouraging the Mexican advance.

The president and his advisers quietly filed into the Situation Room and took their seats. There was little conversation while they waited to monitor the firepower demonstration. They paid rapt attention when the AWACS cued the first event, the B-1B supersonic Mach 1.2 reveille call. The second bomber would remain at altitude as a spare.

Ready to step onstage after the 900-mph B-1B pass, the lead AC-130 Spectre gunship was orbiting two miles north of the Mexican caravan. The second ground-attack Hercules circled six miles to the east. The A-10s would roll in together after the AC-130 departed the immediate area.

Three U. S. Air Force HH-60G Pave Hawk combat search-and-rescue helicopters formed a triangle around the caravan. They were ready to snag any downed crew members. Along the entire length of the U. S.-Mexican border, other AWACS and fighter aircraft continued to fly combat air patrols to stop any threat from the ground or from the air.

The B-1B aircraft commander was beginning his run fourteen miles east of the Mexican brigades. Since the target was moving, the bomber crew would have to make a few minor heading corrections during the pass. The last five miles would be flown supersonic at treetop level.

Moving at a steady pace on Highway 101, the Mexican military caravan was getting closer to the U. S — Mexican border. Most of the soldiers were asleep as the first light of day began to engulf the line of olive-drab cargo trucks. There was little traffic going north and practically no vehicles traveling south. The highway crossing the Rio Grande at Brownsville, Texas, had been closed for hours.

Some of the Mexican soldiers were beginning to wake up and stretch their arms and legs. Others who had been awake for a while smoked cigarettes and discussed how far their senior officers and their government were going to take the military charade. Even though it embarrassed some of the veteran soldiers, they figured the Americans were laughing out loud.

In reality, few people north of the border even knew the Mexican convoy was approaching the border of Texas. Certainly, no one was laughing at the Pentagon or in the White House Situation Room.

While the Mexican soldiers were discussing what was going to happen when they reached the border, a black dot appeared in the eastern sky. It rapidly grew larger as it hugged the terrain with its wings in full sweep. There was no sound, no warning.

Flying faster than sound travels, the "Bone" could drop 7 tons of 500-pound bombs in a concentrated path of destruction. Before anyone on the ground would even know what happened, the B-1B could lay waste to a large concentration of troops and their equipment.

That was the bombers mission: to rain astonishing destruction and then disappear in the blink of an eye. The psychological impact of not being able to see or hear death coming had a debilitating effect on infantry soldiers.

Making a slight course correction a mile from the caravan, the aircraft commander intended to pass directly in front of the lead cargo truck. All four General Electric turbofans were in full afterburner, each generating over 30,700 pounds of thrust.

The driver and the colonel in the first truck never saw the bomber coming. They never heard anything. A huge, dark object flashed past the hood, startling them. A second later, the quiet of the early morning was shattered by an explosive sonic boom that cracked the trucks windshield in three places. The eardrum-splitting roar of the four afterburners topped the aerial demonstration as the B-1B steeply climbed and turned north.

The copilot of the bomber keyed his radio and spoke to the orbiting AWACS. "Adios, partner."

"Good job."

On the highway, chaos ensued as the army vehicles lurched to a stop in accordion fashion. No one remained asleep, not in the convoy or anywhere within a twelve-mile radius. Shock and fear permeated the ranks. They had never seen anything that even vaguely resembled the weapon that had just shocked them. While the officers huddled, the soldiers stopped traffic in both directions. The troops not on traffic detail gathered in small groups and speculated about their march toward the U. S. border.

Watching the scene through the eyes of Global Hawk, President Macklin was growing impatient. "I dont think we should let the shock wear off. Show them another example of why they don t want to pursue this machismo madness."

SecDef nodded.

"Off alongside the road," the president suggested. "Give them an opportunity to wake up and start thinking straight before we have to destroy the damn highway."

General Chalmers gave the order. It was immediately transmitted to the orbiting AC-130 gunship.

The aircraft commander of the Hercules had the convoy in visual contact. After carefully adjusting the power, he set up a left-hand orbit around the caravan of army vehicles. The object lesson began at the edge of the highway approximately 100 yards from the lead truck.

A combination of unbelievable firepower, accurately concentrated in one small area by the onboard fire-control radar system, dug a hole six feet deep in a matter of seconds. The thunderous noise and total devastation stunned the people on the ground.

The soldiers on traffic detail lost control as the myriad civilian drivers frantically made U-turns, some bumping into each other, and roared off in the direction they had come from.

Within seconds the frightened officers made a decision while the Spectre gunship continued to orbit overhead. Forget what the generals and politicians were going to say. Continuing northbound would be suicidal. The convoy would return to their quarters near Mexico City.

While the caravan was reorganizing, the AC-130 gunship departed the area and returned to its holding pattern. The spare B-1B bomber was granted permission to make a low supersonic pass over the convoy and then return to Dyess AFB. It was a final warning for those who might harbor second thoughts.

After the aircraft shattered everyone's nerves and tortured their eardrums, the bomber pulled up in a steep climbing turn to the north. Still in afterburner, the number-three engine exploded. The pilots went through the procedures to shut it down and extinguish the fire, but the number-four engine soon began to show indications of trouble.

Major Jared Townsen, the aircraft commander and mission commander, slowed the airplane to 300 knots and broadcast a Mayday radio call. Two F-16s from a nearby combat air patrol rendezvoused with the stricken bomber and reported a long trail of fire emitting from the right engines.

As the aircraft began suffering multiple malfunctions, Townsen was having problems controlling the plane. He tried to salvage the situation and find a suitable airport, but the B-1B finally pitched up and rolled to the right. As hard as he tried, Townsen could not arrest the roll. He ordered the crew to eject and all four crew members exited the bomber.

The sleek aircraft crashed in a field six miles south of Reynosa, Mexico, across the border from McAllen, Texas. Once the crew was on the ground, the F-16s flew cover for the men until an air force HH-60G Pave Hawk rescue helicopter arrived.

Although the final demonstration proved costly, the end result was worth the price. A potentially deadly conflict on the border was avoided and there were now scores of true believers in the Mexican Army They would be spreading the word to their cohorts. Provoking the world's only superpower was not a sound idea.

When news of the armys humiliating confrontation with the Americans was made public in Mexico City it provoked more demonstrations and riots. The U. S. Marines at the embattled embassy had been ordered to hold their fire unless the perimeter of the grounds was breached.

Later, when a story broke about the army shooting down the American supersonic bomber, the crowds began cheering and chanting. Less than an hour later, the radio stations and television outlets were reporting that two American warplanes had been shot down. The news fueled more celebrating and flag waving. The Mexican military had indeed acquitted themselves well.

Acting on General Chalmers's orders, the lead AC-130 gunship reduced the crashed B-1B to rubble. There was nothing left to give anyone a single clue about its offensive and defensive capabilities.

Relieved by the turn of events, Chalmers faced the president, the only other person in the Situation Room. "The flight crew has been checked. No broken bones, just bruises, minor cuts, and abrasions."

"That's definitely good to hear." Macklin was filled with relief over the outcome of the standoff, but he didn't want to show any elation. "Do they have any idea what happened? Missile, maybe?"

"The pilots believe they might have ingested some birds just as they pulled up. At any rate, the crew is on their way back to Dyess, and I'm headed to the Pentagon."

The president rose to shake hands with Chalmers. "Great job, Les. Thanks for coming through for me."

Chalmers finally cracked a smile. "The folks flying the airplanes deserve the real credit."

"Well, at least part of it." Macklins voice reflected fatigue. "Why don't you take a few days off and go fishing."

"If you 11 go with me."

"Wish I could, but I have to be in Corpus Christi in a couple of hours."

Chalmerss smile slowly faded. "Cord, I hope you dont mind an old friend being honest. You need to get some rest, some quality sleep."

"I just might do that when we get back this evening."