SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (13 page)

Grant squinted sideways, staring back at him through the four lenses of his night vision gear. Nolan always thought they made the Seals look like some kind of space age monster, but the peripheral vision was superb.

“I heard the order, Chief. But Boswell’s in command out here in the field, and he told me to go check it out. I agree, I thought it was a stupid idea.” He shrugged. “But orders are orders.”

Nolan nodded. So it was Boswell all along who’d suggested it and blamed Lucas for the idea. Their platoon leader was making progress, but he still had lessons to learn, especially about following orders and loyalty to his men.

“What did you see?”

“I guess there’s someone living there, someone pretty important. The walls and gates have been repaired since our attack, and there’s extra razor wire strung everywhere. I couldn’t get much of a close look, but it seemed to me there were alarm sensors all around the perimeter, and there’s a new guard position on the roof of the main house. I’d guess they have anti-aircraft missiles up there, certainly a heavy machine gun or two. It’s well fortified, and surrounded by sandbags, so the roof is protected against incoming ground fire and grenades.”

“So it looks like he may be there.”

Grant shrugged. “Look, Chief, I went there once. We took down everything inside that house, and there was only one bin Laden. He’s the guy that’s feeding the fishes right now. So no, ‘HE’ isn’t there. But there’s someone there, that’s all I’m saying.”

Nolan saw movement and raised his rifle ready to shoot, but it was Jack Whitman come to join them.

“I’m curious about the compound, Lucas,” Jack said cheerfully. “How do you rate the chances of a rerun of the Seal Team Six mission?”

Grant sighed. “Jack, there’s no bin Laden left in that place. We got him first time around, and second, they’ll be just waiting for someone to try again. It would be like shooting rats in a trap, and next time we’d be the rats. Christ, I remember that place when we went in the first time. I thought we were goners when that Black Hawk crashed. We managed to get to the house, sure, but it could have gone either way. Funny that, there was this inscription over the door. When we weren’t sure which direction to go, we assumed it was his quarters, and it led us straight to him. Dumb, to put that over your front door.”

Whitman nodded. “Yeah, ‘God is Great’, that’s what it means. Maybe you’re right. It’s the last place he’d hole up.”

Nolan thought about that.

That’s a fair point. These al Qaeda folks are no dummies. But they may be planning something else, like trying to lure us into a trap, which is a possibility. It’s quite by chance Danial Masih survived the massacre. It’s true that Abbottabad is the last place anyone would think to look for a new al Qaeda leader, and except for the chance survival of the one of the few Christians in Waziristan, we wouldn’t have even suspected it. So maybe it isn’t a trap. Is that what they’re counting on? That it’s the last place anyone would think to look? It’s something to think about. And
something else; the cop who had his throat cut? Lucas Grant. I could ask him, but that could invite a lie. I prefer
not to let Lucas think I’ve any suspicions about him. And Jack Whitman? Where was he when the guy was killed? No, it’s unlikely. Jack’s a ‘by the book’ Seal. Navy Seals is his life. I’ll keep an eye on Lucas. The guy could be a problem
.

And then something else struck him, something Whitman had said.

“Jack, how did you know about that inscription over the door to bin Laden’s quarters, someone tell you?”

Whitman shrugged. In the dark it was impossible to see his face. “I guess they must have. I think I heard somewhere it’s what these people put over the doors of their homes. But he won’t repeat that mistake, I shouldn’t think.”

It didn’t seem likely, Nolan agreed. But he’d never heard that fact from anyone, and he’d been fighting and chasing down Islamic insurgents for years. He had a lot to think about.

The road narrowed, and the short stretch of tarmac became a rutted, rough track. Occasionally, they passed a stone farmhouse, and more than once set a dog barking like crazy, but they pressed on fast, and no one came out to challenge them. They were heading for a wide cluster of trees, almost a small forest. Vince Merano on point led them unerringly through the wood, using a combination of GPS and night vision to navigate. They came out into a wide clearing, a ragged square of about two hundred meters on each side. Boswell posted sentries and called in the Black Hawks. They were so quiet they were almost on them before the men heard the muted ‘whup, whup’ of the rotor blades, and the soft roar of the suppressed engine noise. Mariko took advantage of the wait and changed back into uniform. Nolan did the same, and by the time the helos were on the ground, they were once again in the familiar Multicam of the American Special Forces, with a Heckler and Koch HK416 in her hand and his trusty Mk 11 rifle in his. The burqa had disappeared into her backpack, and he’d thrust the musty old robes into his own pack.

Christ, how can these people wear these crazy clothes? Whatever they are designed for, comfort isn’t the priority.

He felt better in his familiar kit, armor notwithstanding. The crew chief leaned out of the nearest Black Hawk.

“You guys coming home, or are you staying out here all night?” he grinned at them.

There was a rush for the door, and Nolan sat on the floor inside the cabin with Mariko beside him. Their helo took off and soared away into the night sky, and he felt a sense of relief that they were getting out of Pakistan. Maybe the Paks were allies, but somehow it didn’t quite feel that way.

The throb of the engine note lulled him, and he started to doze. The craft lurched as it hit an air pocket, and his eyes flicked open. He saw Mariko staring at him.

“What?”

“What do you feel about the mission?” she asked him. “We’re coming back with a prisoner they can interrogate. I’d say we aced this one, but I got the impression you’re not that impressed.”

Now that they were on the way out of hostile territory, she’d started to relax and enjoy the delicious post-mission feeling; when you realized you weren’t going to be killed or wounded, and that you were going home with your ass intact. He was sorry to disillusion her on her first operation behind the lines.

“We’re coming out with just one guy, a cop who may or may not know anything. Three cops got killed, and no matter what’s going on back there between the various factions that are fighting each other, they’re gonna wonder. And Lucas Grant went off to the compound, disobeying a direct order, so we don’t know if they saw him or not. It’s not a good result.”

“But surely Boswell ordered him to go.”

“He had no right to do that. You know Colonel Weathers ordered us to stay away from the immediate vicinity. If we get away with this one, it’ll be pure luck, and that’s about all we can say for it. We should have been in and out of there with no one any the wiser. We didn’t do that. We fucked up, period!”

He saw her face fall, and she looked away from him.

If she wants some headquarters’ bullshit, she’ll have to look elsewhere.

The helo hammered through the night on the long haul back to Afghanistan. The 160th Aviation Regiment had organized a refueling stop on the way to the border, and they put down in a remote part of the Waziristan badlands while a third helo, a tanker that had already landed and was waiting for them, fueled up the two thirsty birds. Nolan scanned around the immediate vicinity while they pumped the fuel. The green landscape stared back at him, almost mocking him for worrying about a non-existent threat in a landscape that was as devoid of life as the moon. But he knew appearances could be deceptive, and he stayed watching. He noticed Mariko Noguchi staring at the distant mountain range, which he knew was the Hindu Kush, the high peaks that formed the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan. He was distracted by the stink of aviation kerosene, so pervasive against the background of the warm scents of the Waziristan countryside, and they moved further away from the aircraft. They stopped, and he looked at her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, you know…”

She turned to face him. “You mean to spell it out, the truth?”

He grimaced. “Something like that, yeah. You okay now?”

She nodded. “I think so. It was just disappointing, that’s all.”

“What about the cop, did you talk to him on the way back to the exfil site?”

“I did. What he told me was inconclusive. There is a bigshot staying at the compound. There’s no doubt about that, but we knew that anyway. It’s an expensive and prestigious property, and someone would have moved in there anyway after Osama went down. But whether he’s al Qaeda, or indeed even a relation of Osama, that’s another matter, and he had no idea. He’s still shaken up. What with being captured, and one of his buddies shot, and the other with his throat cut.”

Nolan digested that info. It seemed unlikely he’d told her everything.

The guy’s a cop, so he’ll know what’s going down on his own turf. Rumors, threats, bribes, snitches, together they form an intelligence haul any cop puts together as part of his daily work. If he does know something useful, maybe the mission will be worth something after all. It’s too many maybes. Not the way I’m used to working. But still
…

He looked at Mariko. “I reckon there’s a good chance he knows more, that cop. He just wants someone to pull the right levers.”

She grinned. “Like…”

“Yeah, maybe. Threaten to rip his balls off, whatever. They’ll get it out of him back at Bagram.”

“You think they really will torture him?”

He smiled. “No, I don’t. These guys speak a universal language. They’ll just say the right words.”

She looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“The bribe. It all depends on the amount. Cops in this region are all on the take. That’s it.”

“At least it’ll make the mission worthwhile.”

“No, it won’t. What’ll make it worthwhile is when we take down a sonofabitch who thinks he can take over bin Laden’s mantel and carry out terrorist raids against America. If the guy exists, we need to send him to follow his predecessor, and he can make himself useful feeding the fishes. When that happens, it’ll be worthwhile.”

They both looked up as the crew chief from their helo walked over to them.

“It’s time to mount up. The rest of the guys are aboard and we’re set to go.”

They both nodded and went toward the waiting Black Hawk.

The Night Hawks delivered them safely back to Bagram where Colonel Weathers was waiting for them. He took Boswell to one side, and they talked at length. Nolan wondered what the hell Boswell could have to say about a mission that had failed in many respects. The Lieutenant rejoined them after a few minutes, looking happy enough, so he’d spun the entire operation as a success, which wasn’t anything new. In the Afghan theater of war, getting a unit to return from a mission with zero casualties was often considered a victory, of sorts. Nolan recalled reading something like that about another war. That one was called Vietnam, where often the jungle swallowed whole companies of men. And the dire outcome of that war had gone down into history. Nolan looked around as the door opened, and a couple of soldiers carried in a portable table and three chairs. When they’d set them up at the back of the room, they left. A civilian, who looked like military, came in with a female Marine corporal. The corporal sat at the table and waited. The civilian remained standing and called for their attention.

“Good news, men. Lieutenant Boswell gave a good report of the operation. It was one hell of a job you did over there. The cop you brought back was taken straight into interrogation, and he agreed almost immediately to cooperate. He’s spilling everything to a couple of CIA guys we had waiting to debrief any prisoners you brought back. It’s too early to know for certain, but we’re pretty sure there’s a high-ranking al Qaeda operative living in bin Laden’s compound. I have an officer waiting at the back of the room. He’ll have some questions for you, and then you can get some shut-eye. That’s all. We’ll reconvene here later today, and we can decide what to do with the intel we’ve uncovered. Before you leave, I want each of you to give me a brief report.”

They stood and saluted. Will Bryce looked at Nolan, and raised his eyes to the heavens. They both knew Boswell had fed a pile of bilge to cover up an operation that owed any success to luck and coincidence more than any masterful planning and execution. Nolan pushed his way to the back of the room. He wanted to get the bullshit over with and get to his bunk. The Intelligence officer and his clerk were sitting behind a folding table, on which there was a laptop and a portable recorder. The guy looked up at him while the uniformed marine held her fingers over the keys of the laptop.