Cody's Army (14 page)

There were a dozen soft, swivel, rocker chairs in the twenty-foot-square room. Each chair fronted a long table at which microphones
perched expectantly beside steaming cups of coffee and platters high with sandwiches. Rufe grabbed four and began chowing
down.

Besides Cody’s Army, four more men sat in the chairs. One was Pete Lund, next to him sat an Army general, then a Marine colonel,
and a civilian who had State Department stamped on his forehead where frown wrinkles were growing deeper by the second.

Lund led it off.

“Gentlemen, welcome to Beirut. This is not a replay, this is a whole new shoe, another incident, almost a carbon copy of the
TWA hijack a few months back. But this one is not going to last as long or end the same way.

“The takeover of the Air Mediterranean Flight 766 from Athens to Tel Aviv was by the Palestinian Liberation Guerrilla Force.
We know little of this group, which we are assured is a radical splinter from the PLO. Members of this PLGF have been involved
in only minor bombings and some kidnapings before, nothing this ambitious.

“The PLGF are demanding the release of seven hundred Lebanese revolutionary prisoners still held in an Israeli camp outside
of Tel Aviv. These were captured in the Israeli invasion of Lebanon more than two years ago.

“The PLGF has given Israel and us a forty-eight-hour deadline, then they will begin executing one passenger an hour if their
demands are not being met. Now please watch this satellite transmission from Beirut television. The hijackers notified the
Beirut tower well in advance so that television crews were on hand at the airport when the hijacked plane landed.

“We taped this transmission less than an hour ago from a satellite transmission, showed it to the President, and he told us
to come right over here and get into operation. Roll the videotape please.”

The screen went black for a moment, then an eight-foot-square lit in the center of the wall and they saw what had to be the
Beirut airport.

An excited voice came on speaking Arabic, which was quickly translated into English, sometimes overlapping.

“Here we are at the Beirut, Lebanon airport where the Air Mediterranean flight 766 has just landed. A band of courageous Palestinians
on board have liberated the airliner and are holding the crew and passengers in custody.”

As the voice continued the camera moved closer to a 727 commercial passenger aircraft, where two persons appeared at its passenger
door. A boarding ramp was hastily rolled up to the airliner.

A gunman wearing a long black hood that completely covered his head appeared at the door and waved the two ground crewmen
away. When they were clear, the gunman pulled forward a gray-haired woman who seemed to be in her sixties and motioned for
her to go down the steps.

She hung back. The gunman slapped her twice with his open hand, jolting her head from side to side.

The translation picked up again.

“Now a passenger is being brought out. The radio man at the tower said the woman would be Mrs. Esther Marcus of New York City—oh,
she fell!”

On the screen the elderly woman could be seen to trip and then fall against the railing. The Arab gunman with his Uzi submachine
gun jerked her up and pushed her forward.

A moment later an elderly man appeared at the door of the plane and was forced down the steps. He was about the same age as
the woman.

“Now Mr. David Marcus is coming down the steps. Mr. Marcus has a heart condition and high blood-pressure, but he was selected
for the honor and so he must participate,” the translator droned on.

The two hooded terrorists now had the man and woman on the tarmac under the nose of the plane and forced both to kneel. The
woman fell down but was hoisted to her knees while her skirt slid up her thighs.

The narrator translator continued. “I’m not sure what they are doing now. The Marcus couple are looking at each other, yes,
they both are weeping.”

The camera zoomed in on a tight shot of David Marcus. Tears seeped down his cheeks. He held one arm protectively around his
wife. One of the hooded gunmen forced the old man’s arm away from her. The hijacker lifted the submachine gun and held it
at the back of David Marcus’s head.

The woman screamed and pushed the gun away, throwing her arms around her husband. The second hooded figure slammed his Uzi
against her head, stunning her, and pulled her away from David Marcus.

The translator came on again. “The gunman shouted, ’I do this for the liberation of my seven hundred fellow countrymen being
held illegally by Israel.’ Oh, my God!”

The camera zoomed in close again on the weapon’s muzzle pressed against the back of David Marcus’s head. Then the Uzi fired.

The man slammed forward, blood and skull fragments sprayed in the air. David Marcus jolted to the tarmac face-first; his body
twitched two or three times, then lay still. He was dead before his face skidded onto the black surface. A pool of crimson-red
blood formed on the tarmac below his head. The woman beside him screamed and swung her fists at the hooded murderer, then
in total frustration and agony dropped on top of her dead husband.

The two masked figures dragged Mrs. Marcus off her husband’s corpse and forced her to kneel next to him.

“My God! They killed him! Shot him in cold blood. I’m sorry, it’s so tragic. The translation, yes, I forgot. The killer shouted
that he was doing this for Lebanon. He shouted that the criminal Israelis must set his starving seven hundred countrymen free.
Then he murdered David Marcus. Now…oh, my God! Now they are forcing Mrs. Marcus to kneel. Surely they are not going to…they
wouldn’t dare to…not again!”

The zoom lens showed only Mrs. Marcus’s face now on the giant screen. In back of her there was some motion. Then the camera
pulled back a little to show the Uzi’s muzzle against the back of her head.

The weapon fired once and Esther Marcus’s eyes widened, her mouth flew open before her whole body smashed out of the frame
to the blacktop runway.

“My God! They did it again. They murdered Mrs. Marcus and the gunman said the same thing as before!”

The giant screen showed a wider shot of the scene now that included the plane’s nose, the two bodies, and the ramp. One of
the hooded terrorists went to Mr. Marcus and fired a three-round burst into his head, then moved to the woman and did the
same. He lifted his weapon in the air, and then both the terrorists hurried back up the steps. They returned from inside the
plane a minute later and threw the body of a man to the runway. Then they left and closed the plane’s door.

Over this scene the translator continued with a shaky voice. “A short time later, by radio, the terrorists made these demands:
One. The United States and Israel must make plans at once to release seven hundred Lebanese prisoners Israel still detains.
These men must be returned to Lebanon within forty-eight hours of the current time.

“Two, there will be no attempt made to free the hostages from the aircraft or all will die.

“Three, there will be no retaliation against any PLO organization or personnel, or all the hostages will die.

“Four, if satisfactory negotiations are not completed for the release of the seven hundred within forty-eight hours, one of
the hostages will be killed every hour on the hour.

“Negotiations are to be made through the good offices of Majed Kaddoumi in Beirut. Set our prisoners free!”

The lights came up softly as the image faded on the screen. When the TV feed was gone the lights were up fully.

Cody felt the familiar rage building in his gut. The anger against all those who took advantage of the weak and defenseless.
The brazen brutality of these killings sickened him.

“Bloody bastards!” Caine whispered.

“Fucking sonsofbitches!” Hawkeye blurted.

“I owe them muthus! I owe them hard!” Rufe raged.

The four-star Army general stood and looked at Cody. “Gentlemen, this will not be another TWA flight 847 hijacking. The United
States government cannot permit that to happen. We must deal with this quickly, with total dedication, and we must fight as
deadly and as dirty as the terrorists do. No negotiations and no prisoners is our firm resolve in this matter.”

He looked at the four men. “I am assured by the President, and by Mr. Lund, that you four are the men to do the job. I hope
they are right. You have the full resources of the United States government and military establishment at your disposal. I
wish you luck, and more to the point, good hunting.”

Pete Lund stood as the general eased into his chair. “So far we have little to go on. You will be briefed in code on your
flight. You leave in a B-52 taking a training flight to Tel Aviv in exactly one hour and twenty-two minutes.

“We are not certain how many hijackers there are. At least two, the hooded ones we saw on the ground in the film. There must
be more, perhaps as many as six to eight more on board. The deadline time clock began at 18:36 Beirut time, which was 11:36
today here. Beirut is seven hours ahead of us. We were notified of the hijacking at 12:02. We have a less than forty-six-hours
before the next innocent hostage is scheduled to die.

“The third person to die on the aircraft was the flight engineer, Yamir Abudah, an Egyptian national. He was killed, evidently,
in the takeover of the plane.”

A phone blinked beside Lund. The civilian next to Lund picked it up, listened, then whispered to the CIA man.

“We have just been informed that the hijackers have utilized contacts at the airport and rolled onto the field with a heavily
armored column. They have commandeered airport buses and taken away the one-hundred and twenty passengers and the crew of
seven from the aircraft.

“They left the airport, which is under control of the Amal Militia, without a shot being fired. Then under heavily armed escort
have transported the hostages somewhere into West Beirut. We no longer have the advantage of knowing where they are, or of
the chance for a friendly rescue attempt with the aid of the Christian Forces Militia who control East Beirut.”

“So now we have to find the hostages before we can do anything,” Cody growled.

“Exactly, and you’ll be dealing within a hostile nation. These men and women of West Beirut are in a constant state of war,
heavily armed and eager to die for the glory of Allah. Our man from the Near East desk at State can help us understand the
situation in Beirut.”

The civilian stood. He looked even more worried now than before.

“Gentlemen, this will be difficult. Beirut is a madhouse. There is little stability there and no consistency except that of
terror and constant warfare. There is no central government that has any power. Amin Gemayel is the president, with almost
no authority or day-to-day operating muscle. He is leader of the Phalange Party. All of the major political and militia groups
oppose him.

“Yes, yes, I know. From time to time they have accords, cease-fires and treaties among the three major forces fighting in
Lebanon, but just as quickly these are shattered.

“Several of these groups opposing the East Beirut forces include:

“The Shiite Amal Militia, one of the stronger and better-armed outfits in Beirut. The Sixth Brigade is one of their largest
units.

“Hezbollah, or the Party of God, is a large, heavily armed group. This is a rival Shiite faction, not controlled by the Amal.
Often they shoot at the Amal people, and sometimes at each other.

“The Sunni Moslem Mourbitoun are a group backed by Libya and Yasser Arafat’s PLO.

“The Islamic Jihad, or the Islamic Holy War, is a fourth band Fighting for a homeland. This is a shadow group of Shiites loyal
only to themselves. They are Moslem super-fundamentalists closely tied to Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini, and display all of his
radical, extreme tendencies.

“The Druse Moslems are a group who vow to fight President Gemayel to the death.

“The only force that is friendly to the Western world is the Christian Lebanese Forces, who control most of East Beirut. They
are led by Elie Hobeika. All of the previously described groups are Moslem and they all fight the Christian Militiamen. It
makes for exciting times on the streets.

“This Lebanon situation is unlike anything most Westerners have ever seen. It is not a civil war, it is like six civil wars
going on at once. Generally the only security you will have as Westerners will be in the east half of Beirut. It’s easy to
tell the east. There is a line of blood called the Green Line that separates East Beirut from the west.

“Almost constant fighting takes place along and across the Green Line. There might be a fourteen-year-old boy firing a fully
automatic rifle across the line at random. There could be a blooded killer of eighteen firing a rocket-propelled grenade at
a moving car or truck. The fighters then return home and play with their toys, try to feed their families, and argue. For
the moment their war is over.

“In Beirut, trust no one; your best friend is your loaded SMG, and the U.S. Government has never heard of you if you are captured
or come under some foreign nation’s official jurisdiction.

“You may have any weapons you want. You may order more or different arms on your flight. It all will be ready for you at your
final landing point, the U.S. Embassy in East Beirut. You each will have plenty of cash, in U.S. dollars, Israeli shekels,
and Lebanese pounds. Your team leader is authorized to draw up to five-hundred-thousand dollars if needed for equipment that
may be needed later. Are there any questions?”

“What is our exact mission?” Cody asked.

Lund leaned forward.

“You are to proceed to Beirut as directed, locate the missing hostages of Flight 766, then penetrate the area and rescue the
hostages, removing them with the cooperation of Israeli Air Force choppers. You pick up liaison and radios for Israeli contact
in Beirut. The Israelis will operate from Haifa, only seventy-five miles from Beirut.”

“The rescue of the hostages, then, is our major concern?”