The Screaming Eagles (20 page)

Geocaris was in a bad way, his makeup caked and small flakes dripped unevenly down his cheeks giving him the appearance of having a cheap imitation mask of a painted old man. He was in obvious pain his face dazed and stricken was almost unrecognizable. Two blood spots had penetrated the cotton balls and bandage. He was having the greatest difficulty reading, opening and closing his eyes trying to focus on the words but the terror in his eyes shone with the brightness of someone who had contracted a raging high fever. He feared the Iranians. He was terrorized by the cleaver, also the walkie-talkie, in case the broadcast wasn’t live. On the verge of hysteria unable to stop his hand from shaking as he held the paper, a violent tic had developed under his eye and spittle ran uncontrolled drooling out one side of his mouth disappearing into his beard. The man in the kaffiyeh didn’t like what he saw. He said something to Geocaris who froze and looked beseechingly at the man. His eyes widened, slowly with trembling lips, he motioned to say something. Suddenly he started to cry his body began twitching and shaking, losing complete control he began sobbing loudly shrinking back into the chair, hunching his shoulders and dropping his chin onto his chest. Heaving as he sobbed, he put his hand up in front of his face trying vainly to wave the lens of the camera away from him.

Both Iranians were watching him intently.

All those watching could sense that the Iranians were ready to attack him. Now visibly angry, they began to move toward him. Without warning, Irene leaned across, took the paper from Geocaris’s hand and started reading. Her face was pale and her voice high pitched, trembling, as she looked at the man in the red kaffiyeh to see if she should continue reading, ready to stop at the first sign of his displeasure. He said nothing. Sensing that the Iranians were not going to punish her, she continued to read slowly her voice strengthening as she developed the cadence, inserting the pauses and emphasis. Watching suspiciously the Iranian at first unsure, saw that she was reading the script in her hand, she was saying what needed to be said. He visibly relaxed. Geocaris, hands over his face, was crying softly.

When she finished, she handed the paper back to the man. He said they would broadcast again in an hour. The screen went black. Dani turned off the sound. To no one in particular he said, “Boy, that Irene’s got balls. That took some guts.”

Someone at the table spoke up. “We got the tapes from management which are still recording in the studio, but no speaking. They must be under orders to whisper.”

“Have you found the fifth man?” asked Michael.

Dani shook his head. “Christy says that she got through to the Iranian ambassador. He says that they know nothing about these people, accusing them of being Israelis, Iraqis, or Americans in disguise who want to discredit Iran. Hamas and the PLO have also denied knowledge of them, although both offered to act as a mediator. Hezbollah has not returned our calls.” Standing up, notebook in hand, Dani walked to the second blackboard. Writing across the top, he wrote a word and underlined it. He left a space and wrote another word, which he also underlined. He continued until he came to the end of the board.

“Loosen up people. I want ideas, creativity. Give me anything that comes to mind. Let’s go.”

The first heading was “busses.” No one shouted. They just put up their hands. Disciplined, they waited as he eyed them one at a time, writing one word or sentence describing their thoughts. Then, he nodded to the next person. Julie had nothing to add. Michael’s ideas had been pre-empted by people who’d spoken before.

When he finished hearing from all of his people, his “busses” column read, “Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, Miami and Atlanta. Between 4:15 and 4:30 a.m., Uzi used, no survivors, same leaflets espousing Khomeni’s teachings, witnesses had seen only one man get off a bus and get into a car.” The remaining headings of “tape” and “A.T.N.” were treated the same way.

“Okay people, let’s look for threads tying anything together. Let’s find a common denominator. What have these people told us? What are we hearing and not understanding? What is staring us in the face? My reading so far is this: 4:15 was chosen as the quietest time of the night. The night shift is tired, ready to sign off, day shift not yet on. They all used the same type of weapon and left the same pamphlets. So for sure they’re small cells operating independently for one cause. So far, the cause seems to be Mushavi making Khomeni’s views known. What does he want from us? What must we give him? With the terrorist attacks, he has our attention. Why then is he continuing? What do we have that he wants? What is he trying to prove?”

Dani stopped talking, turned and stood looking at each column. Using the chalk as a pointer, he tapped on the blackboard and said, “Except for A.T.N.‘s hostages, the others haven’t yet surfaced. Why did they choose Chicago? Are they making their way to rendezvous here to help A.T.N.‘s group with their escape? If the telephone call from their boss means anything, then they’re planning something at the airport when the planes take off. They must be pretty confident that they’ll walk out of A.T.N., out of Chicago and out of the USA. So, maybe we’re talking hijack a plane from O’Hare with hostages until they reach Iran. Also, possible hijacks from any of the other cities. Kelsey, Shelby and Michaela check to see how many political prisoners we’re holding in our jails, then divide them into whichever Middle Eastern countries they come from.

Jason, Monica, Gabriel you three arrange conference calls with heads of subversives in Miami, New York, Atlanta and LA. Call me when you’ve got them all. You people, except for Perry and Michael, go out to O’Hare and take up your positions. United Global will take off in about two hours, so get going. Remember they must be neutralized. Let the politicians worry about why we didn’t take prisoners. Shoot the motherfuckers first, forget the questions. We do not, I repeat, do not want prisoners.”

Dani turned up the sound. Irene was getting ready to read. Head bowed, not looking into the camera, John Geocaris was now sitting behind her, in his place the man in the kaffiyeh sat alongside her. Much more composed, ignoring the threat beside her and without fear outwardly, Irene started.

“We deal now with immodest clothing. Men and women, when swimming at the beaches, must swim and sit separately and bathing suits should …”

Suddenly, there was a noise and shouting. One camera panned toward one of the blindfolded women. An Iranian guard was holding a technician by her arm, pulling her away from the others. Afraid and unsure of her fate, she struggled not to go. Bending from her waist, head moving from side to side, she tried to fend him off with her arms, pushing at the man and beating him with her fists.

Shouldering his gun so as to use both hands, he pulled her toward the camera. Her gag came loose and she started shrieking and flailing with her hands. A split screen showed that Irene had stopped reading and was looking over her shoulder, watching the blindfolded woman wrestling with the Iranian. Suddenly one of her hands came free. Blindly she lashed out and caught his kaffiyeh, tugging, she pulled it off his face. Startled and enraged, the Iranian hit her expertly with a vicious karate chop. She crumpled and fell, completely unconscious before she hit the floor. Turning his back to the cameras, he put on his kaffiyeh not turning until it once more hid his face. The man sitting next to Irene looked at his watch, turned and shouted in Farsi.

Dani yelled, “Translate, translate.”

The Iranian spoke in a clear and commanding voice. Michael listened carefully, translating as fast as he could.

“The time is now, my brothers. Heaven awaits us. We have ended our useless, worthless lives on this earth. Take your places. You’ve all done well. Our sacred mission is accomplished we can now finish our part of our holy plan. Our country will be liberated and all of you my friends helped our glorious cause. Goodbye my friends. As one, we will meet again in the heavens reserved for only the righteous. Goodbye.”

Incredulous at what he was witnessing, Michael yelled, “Dani, the guy at the door is priming the plunger. Stop him, do something, get your people in there now. They’re going to die. Dani, for fuck’s sake, do something.”

Everyone in the situation room sat rigidly, observing in slow motion people performing on a stage too far away to be rescued. Powerless to intervene, they saw murder in its purest form about to be committed for this was real people on the screen who were going to die, murderers and their victims. Irene saw what was happening. She was the only one that moved. Falling forward off of her chair, ducking under the console, she disappeared from view just as the plunger exploded the dynamite.

The screen went black with slashes of white lines.

For the Iranians it was their choice to die. The others had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Oh God, oh God, is Irene dead?” Julie whispered.

Michael put his arms around her shoulders, drawing her towards him. He searched his mind for rational explanations

“Julie, she got under the console. Julie, I’m sure she’s okay. You’ll see. Geocaris was sitting behind her and the Iranian was next to her. She was shielded from the explosion. She’ll be okay, you’ll see. Come, let me take you to the studio.”

She was now crying unashamedly sobbing. She held on to him, her body convulsing as she cried.

Irene and Geocaris were probably dead. Why was he lying? What was he gaining by trying to give her hope? Hope disappeared when the bomb went off. Why was she crying for Irene? Not once had she mentioned Geocaris.

Holding her he started to walk toward the door.

Dani moved to bar their exit, his hand grabbing roughly at Michael’s shoulder. Turning toward him, Michael saw angry accusing eyes penetrating and threatening. Dani spoke, an edge to his voice, thick with sarcasm, “Where in the fuck do you think you’re going, asshole? If they’re dead, they’re dead. There’s nothing you can do or we can do. I need you here. We’ve work to do, asshole. You can send Ms. Hannesson with Kathy. Kathy honey, you and Quinn take Ms. Hannesson to the studio or hospital. Stay with her and get her any clearances to be admitted wherever she wants to go. Thanks, hon.” “Come here, look at this tape.”

Michael’s anger flashed. “I don’t owe you spit. Fuck off. I did what I could. It’s over now. I don’t work for you. You’ve no authority over me, so get the fuck out of my way. I’m going to the hospital with her. If you don’t like it, tough; that’s your problem, you piece of shit.”

Perry pushed between them. Michael was quivering, getting ready to take a swing at Dani. They faced each other, eyes locked, daring each other to start, neither prepared to give a millimeter.

“Michael, listen,” said Perry maneuvering himself in front of Dani, pushing him back slightly. “You didn’t recognize the one whose face you saw on the TV. All along you said their body bulk was bigger than the four you saw in the hotel. You warned us they would probably kill hundreds. You said they wouldn’t sacrifice four for eight. A.T.N. was probably a diversion so they could get their other team to the airport and they’ve now had plenty of time to get into their positions. The ones you saw are probably in those positions at the airport right now. I can operate without you but I’m going in blind.

You’re the only one who’s seen them. My chances are that much better if you come with me. We only have your composites to go by. If they’ve disguised themselves, we’ll never spot them as fast as you could. I need your help to find these men before they kill more people.”

Reluctantly, not wanting to let go of his rage, still ready to attack Dani if he as much as blinked, Michael looked at Perry. The boil became a simmer. He took a step back as Julie disengaged herself. Her eyes looked dead, clouded in a fog of her personal pain.

Nodding, she started to cry again, grabbing Kleenex angrily from Kathy, uncomfortable at the show of weakness to the group of people surrounding her. Tearfully she said, “Dani’s right, you still have work to do. They need you. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is. Thank you for caring, I know you’re my friend. As a friend I ask you, please help them catch the men that did this to Irene. I too have a reason for them to be caught and punished, for they’ve probably killed my best friend.”

Michael still had his arm around her shoulders searching for rational explanations, “I want … “

“No, Michael, Dani’s right. Look after the living. I’m going to the hospital with Kathy and Quinn. Maybe Irene made it. I’ve got to find out. Call me when you can. Here’s my number.” She gave him a card. “It has my home number on it. Please call.”

She walked out of the room quickly, Kathy and Quinn both grabbed some cookies as they exited, hurrying to catch up to her, Kathy shouting to Dani, “Call us at Kommetjie Hospital if you need us, Raini is driving us there, Sam will also follow.” “Quick, look here,” said Dani. “Look at his face again, take your time. Is this one of your guys? Make absolutely sure. Have you ever seen him anywhere before?”

The picture was frozen at the point where the woman had pulled off the Iranian’s kaffiyeh. The man’s face was dark. He had thick eyebrows that nearly came together above his nose, a mustache, curly hair and full lips.

He looked startled, surprised, not yet angry, but Michael had never seen his face before. He was not one of the five.

THE DESERT BUNKER

3:30 a.m.

The desert night was cold, black darkness was heavy, shrouding all the buildings. Crystal clear quietness was broken only by the sound of sand shifting gently. It was three hours before the celebration breakfast. Sweating profusely and panting, the man under the huge table grunted his satisfaction as he finally finished securing the plastic explosives. He set the frequency, checked its remote-detonating device once again, and carefully put it into his coat pocket.

On his knees moving backward he maneuvered himself away from underneath the table. He felt a drop of sweat fall from his forehead onto his glasses, blurring the vision in his right eye. Standing up, he absentmindedly brushed his pants, then walked quietly to the exit of the bunker.