The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (32 page)

He just stood there at the top of the stairs, shook his head and laughed. He realized in an instant that he was a schmuck
–
just a punk kid playing a man’s game.

“Don’t just stand there. You have your assignment; the mission is still a go.” Seibel was all business. His demeanor emotionless. There would be time later to discuss and rehash and bitch and scream. “The truck is three minutes out.”

Lance didn’t say a word. First Marta knew his name, then he learned the nukes were already captured, or maybe never stolen, and now Seibel shows up. Actually, he was here already. Lance turned to look back down the hall at the door he had just left.

“She’s not dead. I guess I’m a softie.” He nodded toward the door.

“I’ll bet she said a thing or two that surprised you.” Seibel was brief. No time.

“She seems to know you.” Preacher turned to go down the stairs. Fuchs was right on his tail. They raced down the stairs and out the lobby into the street. He put the headset and microphone on under his keffiyeh as he and Fuchs ran between the apartment building and a bazaar. Fuchs already had his headset on.

“Baghdad beckons.” Fuchs’ words brought a short response from team leads for the Delta squads. All reported ready and in position. Everything was brief in case anyone was monitoring the frequency.

“Eyes on shopping cart?” Fuchs asked.

“Rolling; 1.5.” The truck was estimated at 90 seconds out. Lance and Fuchs slowed to a stroll as they rounded the corner on the street the truck would be turning onto any second. They split up on each side of the street. Lance looked over his shoulder to see the cargo truck come round the corner a quarter mile down the street. He looked over at Fuchs to see him casually scanning every window with a view of the scene. He was looking for something, someone.

They passed the first truck holding a Delta team. Abdullah, the driver, leaned against the hood. The Egyptian ignored them and concentrated only on the last puffs of his cigarette.

“One,” the eyes down the street chimed in to put all teams on a 60-second warning.

Fuchs slowed his pace and stopped to pull out a cigarette. He made brief eye contact with Lance. Lance continued to the next street where a security checkpoint had been set up within the last hour. The truck Tarwanah had driven and Lance had ridden in was now 30 yards behind this impromptu security blockade. Lance crossed the street to get some distance between him and the soldiers manning the checkpoint.

In just a minute, the cargo truck supposedly carrying the warheads would be at the checkpoint and surely be waved on. Also down the narrow lane, Lance saw dozens more soldiers positioned on each side of the street. The clandestine meeting had become a militarized exchange of goods.

Seibel’s voice suddenly buzzed in Lance’s ear.

“Alfalfa. Go to 13.” This code simply meant switch the radio frequency to channel 4. Lance kept walking while reaching into his pocket to turn the dial to the new frequency. Once there, he was joined by Seibel, Fuchs, Tarwanah and Jamaani. All said go.

“This frequency just opened up and is brand new, only we can use it for now,” Seibel was slow and deliberate. “Gentlemen, plans have changed. All resources are to be employed to take out Green 1 and Green 2 as well as Yellow 1. Cargo is not the target. No prisoners. None. Be advised, sources are confident Yellow 1 is on or near the scene. Most likely in a four-story office building 800 meters north. All resources are to be employed to ascertain and exterminate. Good luck. Back to ops frequency now.”

Ten seconds later Seibel came on the radio frequency for the entire mission. “All units. Blue cashmere sweater. Answer is negative on package. Shopping to continue. All store clerks to be tipped. One hundred percent.” His orders were clear. Everyone dies.

Captain Hubbard sounded off. “Cashmere, come again on package?”

“Repeat. Negative.” Seibel replied.

Hubbard cut him off, “Source?”

“Repeat. Negative on package. Confirmed by higher authority. Continue shopping. Mushroom move position to four-story structure one click northeast. Position is east side of the building. Yellow 1 is possibly inside structure. Confirm when in position.”

Hubbard was pissed. The other Delta Force captains were likely just as ticked. The mission had been changed with less that a minute before escalation. If it were anyone besides Seibel, they would abort the mission. But Seibel was beyond reproach. He had the confidence of both military leadership and the boots on the ground. He had been here before.

“Blue skies.” Hubbard confirmed his new orders and ordered Jamaani to move the truck to the position Seibel ordered.

Plans change all the time. This had been drilled into Lance from day one after signing on to join Seibel’s private espionage army. This however was no mere change. A plan built entirely to capture nuclear warheads, disarm them and evacuate the area via helicopter had now been repositioned as a hunt and kill mission with K&K and Iraqi intelligence as the targets. But even more so, Saddam Hussein --
Yellow 1
-- was believed to be on scene. Most likely to revel in the acquisition of his precious nukes at last.

Flash bulbs kept going off for Lance. The plan, the entire plan, was a ruse, a fake. He stood on a street in friggin Baghdad, Iraq with a dumbfounded look on his face. It was all Seibel.

The realization was a gut blow. The mission was never meant to capture nuclear warheads. They came to Baghdad to kill people. They were here to kill all actors in this play; here to find and kill Saddam Hussein when he showed up to witness his greatest achievement. “Damn.” Lance whispered to himself as the truck supposedly carrying the precious cargo reached the checkpoint just yards away. A soldier conversed briefly with the driver and waived the truck and two vehicles behind it to turn down the barricaded alley. “
This whole thing was a set-up from the beginning. All of it.”
Lance said in Arabic to no one.

Seibel was the unquestioned expert in compartmentalization. He had created several sets of reality and controlled the participants in each, just as a director controls actors on a stage. Lance was merely a piece of an intricately layered puzzle Seibel had amassed in the years leading up to this moment. He smiled to himself as he thought the brilliant plan through.
Brilliant.

First, identify the one thing Saddam wanted more than anything. Second, arrange for three nuclear warheads to be “stolen” from the Soviets. Three, trick rogue KGB agents to act as brokers to contact Iraq. Put a supposed rogue KGB agent and her team on their trail so they can watch the whole thing. Four, switch out the nukes sometime before they begin their trip to Iraq, if there ever were real nukes. Five, get Saddam’s intelligence folks so consumed with the deal they bring the great leader himself into the transaction and its ensuing celebration. Six, kill Saddam and as many bad guys as possible at the scene of the crime.

Something about that thought made Lance look to the sky. If Seibel knew Saddam was here on this block at this time, would they call in a missile hit? That could probably kill three Delta Force teams and a CIA squad with he and Fuchs. But that would merely be collateral damage for taking out the world’s greatest threat. Preacher didn’t think that sounded like Seibel though.

“Shopping cart available.” The words were brief and awaited a reply. The Deltas were all set. The cargo truck had pulled into the warehouse.

“Green 1 located.” Another spotter had located a high value target and relayed the info.

“Two, take position on Green 1.” Fuchs’ order was brief.

From his vantage point, Lance could see down the long alley. He had watched the van disappear into the open doors of the warehouse about 200 yards away. He scanned the street. A look left revealed little traffic. To the right, there were a few vehicles moving at the end of the block. The army barricade across the street from Lance had seven men. They, of course, didn’t know they were dead.

Lance replied, “Baghdad beckons. Come home.” Four simple words spoken in Arabic. But with those words came action, thundering explosions and death; lots of death.

Lance walked across the street to the small troop of seven soldiers manning the street barricade. They were in no mood for small talk so he got right to the point. He saw that behind them Tarwanah approached on foot. He looked over his shoulder and Fuchs walked toward the group. Lance smiled at the soldier who stepped up to get in his face. In the four seconds after that deliberate smile, Lance killed the soldier and two others with his silenced SIG. Tarwanah took down two and Fuchs silently killed the remaining two. It was all done quietly, right there in the middle of the street. Their silenced guns made audible pops that blended with the sounds of the city. The Iraqis did not get a shot off.

The three of them turned from the spot and walked away. The second Delta Team truck pulled up to and past the empty checkpoint. Lance and Fuchs walked down a side alley. Tarwanah returned to his truck and started it up. Their new mission
–
Seibel’s real mission
–
was now underway.