The Team (17 page)

Chapter 50

Cleanup

The team landed at the airbase in Riyadh and bused it to Eskan Village where they headed to their barracks. The men, although weary, made no mention of having had a long day. They changed into black tactical assault gear, Kevlar vets, and checked and loaded weapons. At oh-three hundred, they headed back to the airfield where two stealth Black Hawks were waiting for them.

Earl Jones was given the night off, to which he objected, but he still had a few stitches in his arm and was told to wait for their return. The rest of them piled into the two helicopters, as per their plan, and lifted off into the darkness heading northwest.

The call from Abdul Aziz had been made to a cell phone in an older part of Riyadh, somewhat on the outskirts of the city. It was a quasi-residential area that bordered on the desert. There were a few stores and commercial buildings mixed in, as well as two small mosques. Since tracing the call, Langley had listened to everything else that had gone in and out of that number, but it wasn’t much. Most importantly, the phone hadn’t moved from its original location. Apparently, the people on that end of the phone were sitting tight, waiting for Abdul Aziz to show up.

They’d have different guests.

The plan called for landing the birds in a small clearing, and the team crossing a small open area to the target house, which was inconveniently placed very close to its neighbors. The small stone home was one story, and best analyst guesses concluded it couldn’t house more than eight to ten adults. The team would enter the front and rear doors at the same time, confirm the location by calling the cell number once inside and listening for an answer, and once they were sure they were in the correct place, they would terminate all targets. The team hated missions like this—there was no honor in killing sleeping, defenseless human beings; but they tempered their emotions by remembering that the NWJ had planned on killing as many civilians as possible in the stadium, not to mention their brothers at Al Udeid.

The helicopters moved silently through the warm night air, flying only a couple of hundred feet above the desert floor to stay under radar, even though their Black Hawk was almost invisible to radar anyway, and touched down almost imperceptibly on the hard, sun baked ground. They hopped off and moved in total silence to the house. Cascaes and half the team moved around to the front of the house, keeping a watchful eye out for any civilians outside. Mackey and his crew moved to the rear door. Moose was on his knees at the door, checking his watch. In the next moment, he very slowly tried the door. It wasn’t locked. A dim light was coming from down a center hallway. It was an oil lamp most likely as it came from the floor and not an overhead light.

Up in the front of the house, Cascaes looked at his watch. Jon was on his knee in front of Cascaes, his hand on the doorknob. Cascaes tapped Jon on his shoulder, who then tried the front door. It also opened, unlocked. Cascaes dialed the number of the cell phone he had been given. Inside, a tired voice mumbled something, which contained the word “Abdul” in it. They thought he was calling in.

A few more voices.

Another light came on, brighter.

Jon and Eric slipped inside the house and moved silently. Cascaes tapped his throat mic twice, signaling Mackey that the call was confirmed. After Cascaes signaled, everything happened quickly. Moose and Ripper moved through the rear door and stepped into a room on their right where three men had been sleeping on the floor, and were now getting up to greet Abdul Aziz. In the dim light, the red dots showed brightly on their foreheads. Moose and Ripper double-tapped each target, their silenced weapons making muffled pops in the quiet house.

Jon and Eric stepped into the front of the house and heard the pops. So did the men in the front room who began shouting to each other. Cascaes and Ernie P. rushed in and looked left as Jon and Eric moved right. One of the men had managed to get to his AK47 in the dark, but the second his hand touched it he was dead. The next thirty seconds were close-quarters killing all over the residence. Cascaes called “clear” in the smoky front of the house, followed by Mackey repeating it in the back of the house. The house smelled of cordite and blood.

The men moved quickly through the house, looking for anything that might be useful. They grabbed four cell phones and a laptop computer. They left the weapons, basic assault rifles that were common all over the Middle East, and scrambled back to the waiting Black Hawks. Dogs had started barking when the silenced weapons began popping off, and the team ran as fast as they could to the birds to get out of the neighborhood before any curious neighbors showed up. By the time the first light came on in the neighbor’s house, the team was three hundred feet off the desert and headed for their airbase.

The two Black Hawks landed back at the base at oh-four forty. The men hopped the same buses back to Eskan Village and were showered and snoring by five-fifteen. At nine, they were up and repacked, wearing Navy All-Star Baseball Team uniforms. They grabbed a quick breakfast and boarded a jet for home.

Chapter 51

One Last Detail

Cascaes and Mackey sat with Kim and Dex back in Langley. The dark circles under their eyes were testament to their long flight after a grueling week. All four of them drank large cups of coffee.

Dex took a long sip, as he carefully chose his words. “Your team has proven itself in more ways than one. I have to admit, I was nervous about this whole concept—so many operators working in one place at one time. But the baseball cover was perfect, and your team’s actions under pressure were truly outstanding. When you have time to write the full report, I’ll spend a nice long weekend reading it. How you managed to prevent the stadium attack is beyond me.”

“A little luck, a little help, and a whole lot of time training,” said Cascaes.

“Well, it was amazing work. I have a special reward for you. The best movie you’ll watch all year.”

“Movie?” asked Mackey.

“Yes. Sorry I don’t have popcorn. Kim will fill you in.”

Kim leaned forward on her elbows and looked at both men thoughtfully. “Prince Abdul bin-Mustafa Awadi funded one hundred million dollars to the New Wahhabi Jihad. We all knew it, but we needed proof. The information we were able to pull from his computers, thanks to your bugging devices, gave us that proof. In addition, the laptop and cell phones you pulled from the safe house in Riyadh had lots of cell phone calls to the prince, as well as a network of New Wahhabi Jihadists and weapons dealers, including the now deceased Abu Mohamed. They were connected in multiple ways like a giant spider web. Lastly, Abdul Aziz had a few things to share.”

“You got him to talk, huh?” asked Mackey. “Moose told me about wanting to kick his ass personally.”

“The United States doesn’t condone torture,” said Kim, stone-faced.

“
Ohhh
, so you asked him nicely and he decided to share?” asked Cascaes.

“Medically enhanced interviews can divulge great amounts of information without inflicting any pain on the subject interviewee,” said Kim, still keeping a poker face.

“I see. Any side effects of this technique?” asked Cascaes.

“Sometimes the subject may have permanent brain damage. It can be fatal,” she replied coldly. They all stared at each other.

Dex interrupted the awkward silence. “Abdul Aziz confirmed that the prince was giving him the money. It was the icing on the cake to prove our case.”

“Prove it to whom?” asked Mackey.

“Prove it to the people above our pay grade that make certain decisions,” replied Dex. “Kim, finish, please.”

“As you know, Prince Awadi loves his very expensive racing cars,” said Kim.

The two men nodded, perplexed, and waited until she continued.

“We let it leak that the new Zenvo 10 was available in Riyadh.”

“What’s a Zenvo 10?” asked Mackey.

Kim smiled. “It’s your basic one and a half million dollar Danish racing car. It’s so fast it needs computerized steering and braking assistance. You’re basically sitting in a rocket car, and at two hundred and fifty miles an hour, most drivers can’t operate the car without the car automatically helping out the driver.”

“Okay, so where’s this going?” asked Mackey.

“As soon as the prince heard it was in Saudi Arabia, he had to have it immediately. The dealership failed to mention that our toy department had the vehicle for a few weeks first.”

The two men sat back and folded their arms almost simultaneously.

“
Okay
…?” said Mackey, waiting for the rest of the story.

Kim picked up a remote and pressed the run button. A stunning white sports car was racing through the wide open desert highway. She turned up the sound, and loud American music was playing.

“This was recorded yesterday. The prince likes to listen to Led Zeppelin when no one is around. Just another one of his little secrets.”

“The car is bugged?” asked Cascaes.

“Yup,” said Kim, with an evil smile.

They watched for another minute, listening to loud music and the prince’s terrible singing.

“He’s doing almost two hundred fifty miles an hour at this point,” said Kim.

“How can you tell? The speedometer monitored, too?” asked Cascaes.

“Nope. But the Moon Dogs flying overhead can tell his exact speed.”

Mackey’s eyes lit up. “You said computer-assisted steering, didn’t you?”

“Why
yes
, yes I did,” she said, her smile now a full-fledged grin. She pressed another button. The audio added another layer of sound over the prince’s terrible singing.

“Lima one, this is Moon Dog Five. We’re in position with target confirmed.”

“Moon Dog Five, you are cleared to begin electronic jamming,” said a female voice. It was Kim Elton’s voice. She smiled at the two Chrises.

“Moon Dog Five, commencing attack, over.”

There was a few seconds of chatter in the cockpit, followed by screaming from the inside of the car as the driver realized he was no longer in charge of his vehicle. The aerial footage showed the white car veering off the highway, never slowing down as it put up a huge cloud of dust and sand behind it. The car continued across the flat expanse of desert straight for a small cliff that dropped to a rocky bottom. The prince’s screaming drowned out the Led Zeppelin classic, “When the Levee Breaks.”

The beautiful white sports car exploded into a giant fireball when it hit the rocks at almost two hundred fifty miles an hour.

“Not sure if airbags or a seatbelt will help,” said Kim calmly. “He wanted to kill fifty thousand civilians. I’m going to go home, take a nice warm bath, and sleep about ten hours. I think you and your guys should take a few days off, too. You deserve it.”

Chris and Mackey stared at the last freeze-framed picture of the burning wreckage.

“So the folks above your pay grade wanted the prince gone, but wanted it to look like an accident,” said Cascaes, basically talking to himself.

“Allegedly,” said Dex.

“So that’s everyone except the Qatari Emir,” added Mackey. He started counting off on his fingers, “Abu Mohamed the arms dealer, Prince Awadi the money guy, Abdul Aziz the killer, most of the New Wahhabi Jihad, the Sarin—it’s done?”

Dex sat back and folded his fingers together. “The Qatari Emir will be rethinking his connections with the radicals, I’m sure. The stadium attack would have crippled any chances for a World Cup or tourist business, and the fact that his buddy the prince ‘had an accident’ won’t be lost on him, either. I think the emir has seen the light. It was a very successful mission, gentlemen.” Dex took a moment to find the rights words, and then he smiled. “Mr. Hill has been reassigned by Director Holstrum. Seems there had been some differences of opinion that didn’t go Mr. Hill’s way.”

“You must be heartbroken,” said Mackey. ”You forgot one additional victory. We beat the prince’s team on the baseball field,” said Mackey.

“With corked bats,” reminded Cascaes.

“They had ringers!” Mackey exclaimed.

Chris shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll get a chance to play again.”

“Maybe,” said Dex. “But not any time soon. Your team is headed to South America in a few weeks. And you won’t be a baseball team.”

“A new cover story?” asked Mackey.

“Missionaries,” replied Dex with a smile.

The two Chrises looked at each other.

“Lord help us,” was all Mackey could muster.

About the Author

David M. Salkin is the author of eight thrillers in various genres, including military espionage, crime, horror, science fiction, action-adventure and mystery. With a writing style reminiscent of the late, great Michael Crichton, Salkin’s work keeps his readers turning pages into the late hours. His books have received Gold and Bronze medals in the Stars & Flags book awards, and David has appeared as a guest speaker all over the country.

David is an elected official in Freehold Township, NJ where he has served for twenty years in various roles including Mayor, Deputy Mayor, Township Committeeman and Police Commissioner. He co-owns Salkin’s Jewel Case with his brother and is a Master Graduate Gemologist.

When not working or writing, David prefers to be Scuba diving with his family. He is a Master Diver and “fish geek,” as well as a pretty good chef and wine aficionado. Some of his famous recipes were perfected in the parking lot of Giants Stadium.