July 9, 2005
Safe House – near Newton, United Kingdom
0448 Greenwich/ 2348 Eastern
Twelve men dressed from head to boot in black descended on the farm house, moving quietly through the predawn gloom. The team had been called in by the surveillance team when they had finally run Anwar Taleb to ground. This hide was rather ingenious, yet also a bad choice at the same time. Being somewhat in the country, there were few neighbors close by to notice the comings and goings of the occupants. When Taleb had chosen the place as a safe house, he had thought that the distance would give him a good chance to see people coming from a distance.
The problem was, his enemies were not planning anything as simple as waiting until daylight and driving up to the door. Rather, they were going to attack at night and rely on a three keys to wining the day: speed, surprise and violence of action. The speed would be achieved, along with the surprise, by reaching the house unseen. Then, a four man team would enter through the front, while four more went through the rear. The remainder were to cover the sides of the house and make sure that Taleb didn't escape out a window.
Violence of action was best summed up by hitting their target before he had a chance to react. Their superiors had made it plain that they wanted Taleb alive and the men would do their utmost to make that happen. They also had to be concerned about the potential of other bombs being on site, which was another reason to take him before he could react. Though a bomb going off out here wouldn't have the same potential for damage as it would if they were in a city, not that that was much consolation to the twelve men taking the house.
The raid was over in a matter of moments. Four men quickly hustled a cuffed and hooded man from the residence, with the leader calling in their transportation. The other eight formed a ring around the house, awaiting the arrival of the bomb disposal unit to go through the house. There were no cheers or backslapping going on, for the men were professionals. The celebrations would come later, once the job was well and truly done. For now, they had a mission to complete.
As for Taleb, he was left to wonder how they had found him so quickly. He had been briefed that it would take weeks before that would be possible, not days. In fact, he and Sadik had spent a good amount of time before the mission discussing that and it had been planned that other bombings would be carried out before the authorities reached him. A single thought brought a smile to Taleb's face and that was the fact that he was held by the British. Their laws would protect him from suffering abuses such as he had endured in an Egyptian prison. Here, that would be considered torture.
The British would get no information out of him, Taleb was quite sure. He would take a silent joy in listening to them talk and talk, their claims of reasonableness and his need to help himself. He would also take pleasure in the fact that no matter how long they held him, eventually they would have to let him go. He'd taken pains to ensure that nothing in the house tied him to the recent attacks, nor was there anything here that could be used to make any bombs. No, he would be harassed but then released, certain to be watched for quite some time, but still free. Free to help kill more of the hated Westerners.
Sir Alistair's Home – London, England
0602 Greenwich/ 0102 Eastern
The shrill ring of the telephone awoke Sir Alistair and with a reach, he grabbed the offending object from the bedside table.
"Hello?"
"Sorry to disturb you, Sir Alistair," C said. "But wanted to let you know that we've found Mr. Taleb. A team from SAS did the take down and he's on his way to London as we speak."
"Who has him now?"
"Special Branch has custody. We've been invited to assist in the interrogation along with the Security Service, given the foreign aspects of the case. Special Branch is tearing apart the flat in Leeds, but it looks like it was cleaned. Still, they may find something useful."
"I take it you want me involved in the interrogation?" Sir Alistair asked.
"Of course. We need to break Taleb, quickly and cleanly. We need to know if there is more to come or if this is it, we need to know where Sadik is and we need all the information we can get on Al Qaeda," C said.
"I doubt that Taleb knows where Sadik is. If he did know, Sadik must have moved on by now. Still, it is a starting point. I'd suggest we do this at noon, so that I can fully review the files we have on him, as well as see what Special Branch turns up at the flat. Give him a hearty breakfast, but otherwise leave him well alone."
"I'll see to it, Sir Alistair."
With that, Sir Alistair got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. Taking care, he took a shower and toweled dry as best as he could. Then he put on his bathrobe and left the bath for his bedroom. Here he found Michael waiting for him. The sound of the telephone had awoken him as well, with the sound of the shower urging him out of bed.
"Good morning, Sir Alistair," Michael said.
"And to you as well, Michael. We'll be leaving around 11:30, going to Special Branch," Sir Alistair said.
"I'll have the car ready. Don't forget, Sir, you have a Miss Matthews coming at 9 for your physical therapy appointment."
"Of course. When she arrives, bring her to me."
"Very good. Anything else you need help with this morning?" Michael asked.
"Not now, but later, I'll probably need some help with socks and shoes," Sir Alistair said without the slightly embarrassment. He'd know that until his leg was more fully functional, he'd need some help.
"Certainly. Just let me know when, Sir."
With that, Michael left the room. Now, Sir Alistair shed the robe and got dressed. For now, he went with a pair of slacks and an open collared shirt. When it was time to leave, he would be dressed in a suit and tie, looking like someone very important. Once dressed for the moment, he left the bedroom and made his way to his study, using the cane to assist him.
When he was settled behind his desk, he took out his file on Anwar Taleb and started rereading it. He had much of it memorized, but it never hurt to be certain. Besides, it often scared the living daylights out of people when you could just rattle off chapter and verse about them without having to look at anything but them. That wasn't to say that he wouldn't have a folder on the table or desk he'd be using for the interrogation, but those were partly for effect and also to shock his subject.
As Sir Alistair worked, he started to mentally get into the role he would be playing later. A good interrogator had to be by turns hard yet gentle. Finding just the right key that would unlock the subject's tongue and get them talking. For most Middle Easterners, it was useful to remember that in their homelands, torture was often used by the police. They were almost expecting it and yet, they also knew that Westerners wouldn't, couldn't take that step. For Sir Alistair, he liked to convince them that there was something worse than torture for them to fear.
A knock at the door to the study brought Sir Alistair's head up. Closing the opened file, he carefully put them away. Only then did he call out for the visitor to enter. Standing from behind the desk, he took up the cane and walked slowly over to the door as a young woman with raven hair came in. He judged her to be roughly his granddaughter's age and she was dressed in blouse and slacks, wearing tennis shoes and carrying a folding massage table.
"Sir Alistair? I'm Angelica Matthews, your physical therapist," the woman said with a soft, melodic voice.
"A pleasure to meet you, Miss," Sir Alistair said as he took her extended hand and bent slightly to kiss the back of it.
"Doctor Schulte sent me your file, so I am aware of the extent of your current disability. Has there been any improvement in your left side since your release from hospital?"
"Slightly. My left leg feels a little steadier but that is only in short bursts of time. I've been doing the walking that was listed in my release papers and that does seem to be helping."
"I see you're using a cane. Have you had any difficulty with rising from a seated position?" Angelica asked.
"Some. Thankfully my left arm is almost back to normal and I can use both of them to help me get standing using the arms of the chair," Sir Alistair confessed. "Then it's just a matter of having something to steady myself with until my legs can support me."
"Well then, why don't I get this set up and we can have a go at that leg of yours?"
It was the work of moments to get the table set up and Sir Alistair onto it. Angelica had him lay on his stomach as she started moving his leg around. Then she had him turn over onto his back and began doing some walking movements with it. What she was trying to do was get the nerves to remember the motions, for she had noticed a certain stiffness as he had come to greet her. She believed that this would help with regaining the strength and stability the attack had taken from him. As would the last part of the session, where she had him try to fight her pushing on the leg.
Angelica took care not to overexert Sir Alistair, but still he was sweating slightly at the end of the session. He also wore a pleased expression on his face, almost like a child who was bringing home a good grade for his parents' perusal. Sir Alistair had felt more response from his leg, which he hoped meant that it was getting better.
"That's enough for today, Sir Alistair. I'll be back on Monday for another session. Tomorrow, I want you to walk for about thirty minutes, total. Break it up into five minute blocks, so you don't get fatigued, but the more walking you do, the quicker your leg will improve," Angelica told him as she helped him from the table and handed over his cane.
"What time would you like to return on Monday?" Sir Alistair asked as he began walking over to his desk, where his calendar sat.
"How about 9 in the morning?"
"That would be good, Miss. Thank you."
Angelica folded her table and left then, while Sir Alistair made his way back to his bedroom and slowly undressed. He then took another shower before he put on clean clothes. This time, it was a three piece suit, all in black, along with a crisp white shirt, black tie, black socks and shoes. Taking a look in the mirror by the wardrobe, he gave a slight smile as he took in the image he presented, which was not far removed from that of an undertaker.
Returning to his study, Sir Alistair removed his various files from the drawer where he'd put them and loaded them into a briefcase. Then he slowly made his way downstairs and in to the dining room, where he took his customary seat at the table. Tanya must have heard him coming down the stairs, for she was out of the kitchen and approaching with a cup of tea.
"What would you like for breakfast this morning, Sir Alistair?" Tanya asked.
"A bowl of oatmeal and some fresh fruit, please," Sir Alistair said after a moment.
"Certainly, Sir. Some juice to drink or just the tea?"
"The tea is fine, Tanya. Thank you."
Tanya went back into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with the desired items. Sir Alistair ate slowly, a spoonful of the oatmeal followed by a bit of the fruit. Breakfast had never been his favorite meal of the day, yet he knew its importance. Lunch was what he was craving, with his usual bowl of French onion soup and perhaps a smallish piece of fish to go with it.
When he was finished with his food, Sir Alistair sat back in the chair for a few minutes, his eyes closed. He was taking the time to relax and let him mind flow into different corners. When he felt himself ready, he opened his eyes and stood from the table. Using his cane, he made his way slowly to the front door and on out to the waiting car. Michael didn't need instructions, knowing exactly where they were going. He also knew better than to engage Sir Alistair in an idle conversation during the drive.
Guest Quarters – RAF West Ruislip, England
1053 Greenwich/ 0553 Eastern
Beth smiled at the young Marine assigned to guard their front door. She had taken Jack out for a short walk after breakfast, while Harm had settled in on the couch with his briefcase. He had let a few things pile up until Petty Officer Simpkins had reminded him that the due dates were rapidly approaching. So, he would be spending a nice Saturday inside with paperwork instead of out enjoying the day with his wife and son.
Harm did, however, reflect on how much better he was getting at making sure that the paperwork was done on time. Part of the impetus behind this was the serving of two very different masters. As the FJA, he reported to Admiral Kieso as COMNAVFOREUR. However, as a JAG officer, he simultaneously reported to General Creswell as the JAG. Harm could only reflect on his good fortune that the two roles hadn't yet come into conflict, which much of the responsibility owing to Admiral Kieso. He'd been as good as his word, letting Harm do what was necessary and always supporting him.
General Creswell was a bit tougher on Harm, though. Some of the investigations had exceeded what the General thought they should, both in terms of expense and man-hours. Harm had defended his people, telling the JAG that their duty was justice as opposed to expediency. In most cases, the extra time and expense ultimately showed that the accused was innocent, prompting further investigation and a new hearing.
None of this was to say that General Creswell wasn't interested in justice. Rather, as the man who had to justify these expenses to the SECNAV and CNO, plus convince Congress of the need for additional funds, he wanted to have less additional expenses to fight over. Creswell had been thrilled to learn that the expense of moving the London office to Naples would be borne by NAVFOREUR rather than JAG, as he could then use the contingency funds for other issues, such as his plans to consolidate various JAG offices worldwide. It was one of the things Congress had hit him with at the latest hearing, the perceived overlap in the roles and responsibilities of the various offices. So now, Creswell was working with the senior JAG officers on a plan to change that, which he had hinted at during the conference that had taken place in June.
Harm had not been too surprised at the initial reactions from some of the officers. If not for the fact that the plan left offices like his pretty well alone, he might have had a similar reaction. But Creswell had gone out of his way to dispel some of the negatives by pointing to the long range nature of the plan, with a test program destined to start in San Diego next January. So, there would be plenty of time to get things right, as well as for manning to be reviewed. Still, it would mean fewer higher ranking positions and potential for officers to get confronted with service ceilings.
That was what made the reports Harm was currently working on so important, as they were several of his officers' efficiency reports. These would go a long way towards helping or hurting an officer's chances for promotion, he knew. So, he tended to take his time with them, as well as keep good notes over the course of the year, rather than trying to remember things that might have happened six months ago. He also tried extremely hard so that he didn't allow personal bias to shade the grades he gave. Harm choose to put his faith in the promotions system, feeling that those officers deserving of promotion would get it.
A pair of hands came down gently on his shoulders as he sat there. Looking up, Harm saw Beth standing there with a smile on her face. He also noticed the absence of Jack.
"He's in his room," Beth said in response to his look.
"No doubt tossing his stuffed animals around," Harm told her with a grin.
"I wonder where his destructive tendencies come from."
"You certainly can't be implying that I'm the source of those tendencies?"
"Of course not, dear," Beth replied with a sweet smile that said that was exactly what she was implying, before letting go of his shoulders and coming around the couch to settle in next to him. Harm put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. The happy couple snuggled up against one another, enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet.
As they sat there, Harm thought about Beth's news from yesterday. He had hoped that something could have been found for her in Naples, but he guessed that Rome was the best that her detailer was able to find for her. Still, the thought of a two hour train trip each way every day was not something that he was pleased with. Even worse though was the drive which, depending on when she left either Naples for Rome or the return trip, could take up to four hours one way.
"Are you happy with your career, Beth?" Harm asked, thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?" Beth asked back, curious as to where this had come from.
"I mean being assigned to the Embassy in Rome, working in the Office of Defense Cooperation. I just feel like you're sacrificing your career for mine, when you should be looking to get retrained now that the Tomcat is going away."
"I can't say that I'm exactly happy, but it is part of the promise we made on our wedding day. For better or for worse. Right now, it is more the worse than the better."
"I've been thinking about my career and your career. I'm half way through my three years as the Force Judge Advocate and who knows what my next assignment might be. If it's something we don't like, I'll be eligible for retirement. You, on the other hand, have a lot a career left in front of you. But you need to start thinking about getting back out to the fleet, I think, or you're going to get left behind," Harm told her.
"God knows I want to get back to flying, but what about Jack? He's not even a year old yet. I can't leave him now," Beth said, thinking of the biggest objection she had to the idea.
"I can understand that, but now would be a good time to do this, instead of waiting until all the old Tomcat NFOs get the best assignments and you're left with whatever is left."
Beth went silent at that statement, recognizing an inherent truth to it that she couldn't rationally argue again. If she wanted to continue flying, she was going to have to find another ride. Currently, it would either be as an Electronic Warfare Officer on an EA-6B Prowler or as a crew member of an E-2 Hawkeye. There was going to be a replacement coming for the Prowler based on the F/A-18 Hornet, but that was a couple of years off. Worse still, when the Navy went from the Prowler to the new plane, it would be reducing the number of EWOs needed from three to one. She had to wonder what that would mean for her career, especially as the new gal in the EWO trade going up against others who were vastly more experienced.
In some ways, she'd be in the same position Harm had been a few years ago, wanting to fly but confronted with the knowledge that he didn't have the hours to be expected for someone his age and rank. The big difference was she had the flight hours, she just would need to make sure she was on top of the new game. Even more, she'd have to convince her superiors that she was.
Harm just sat there and waited, watching her face. He hadn't exactly wanted to bring this up, but he also wanted Beth to be happy. In the last eighteen months, he'd noticed a slight change, as the mindlessness of her post grated on her. He remembered with fondness how animated she'd been when they were together on the Patrick Henry, how the joy of flying had lit up her face and he wanted that light back. The separations would just have to be faced, as well as planned for.
"I'll call my detailer on Monday and see what he thinks about me getting a training slot to transition to a EWO," Beth finally said. "Once I find out more, we'll be able to start making plans."
"Well, I think I should keep Jack with me, especially if you're going to be probably moving around a bit. Maybe look at getting a nanny for him, until we're back together again."
"That makes sense, I guess," Beth said, frowning at the thought of another woman raising her son. Still, she knew there was no way for her to take him with her if she did go through training and Harm would need some help, especially with his being at work during the day.
Jack choose that moment to announce he needed his parents' attention. Beth and Harm got up from the couch and went into the room where their son was. Looking at the mess, Beth could only laugh helplessly, for Jack had proceeded to launch all of his toys out of the playpen and was now rather upset that he had nothing to play with. So, Harm picked up the toys and load them all back into the space around his son. But what really set Beth off was the sight of the little boy tossing the first item he reached back out of the pen while squealing with delight.
However, the laughter stopped as another thought entered her mind. She didn't want to miss moments like this. It was in that moment that she experienced the struggle that millions of women face, the battle between family and career. The only difference between her and most of them was Beth's career would take her thousands of miles from her family for who knew how long. It was definitely something she needed to think about.
Special Branch Interrogation Room – New Scotland Yard, London, England
1155 Greenwich/ 0655 Eastern
The scene of today's little drama was well set. Taleb was sitting at the table, alongside an attorney that had been provided for him. On the table sat a glass pitcher filled with water, along with three glasses. Sir Alistair had been watching for several minutes from behind the one-way window, waiting to see if either man would help themselves to a drink. Neither elected to do so, nor did they even speak to one another. Sir Alistair knew that Taleb had his suspicions about whether the water was drugged or not, as well as being suspicious of the lawyer as well.
After another moment, Sir Alistair picked up the files and left the observation room. He counted to ten slowly, then opened the door to the interview room and walked through. He went to his side of the table and sat down, well aware that both men's eyes were firmly on him. As he looked up, he could see a certain surprise in both pairs, for clearly they were not expecting someone like him.
"Good afternoon, Mister Taleb," Sir Alistair said courteously in Arabic. He was rewarded by seeing the man's eyes widen slightly in further surprise. He then continued in English. "And good afternoon to you as well, Mister Rhodes."
Sir Alistair then laid the folders on the table, their labels plainly visible to the other two men, though they were more for show than any real need. He was all too conscious of the eyes that watched his every move, not just in the room but the other room as well.
"Anwar Taleb. Born Cairo, Egypt on April 9, 1956. Your father is deceased, killed for his part in the assassination of President Sadat in 1981. Your mother and two sisters still live in Cairo, your younger brother Aziz died in prison after being convicted of various charges due to his ties to the Islamic Group. You fled Egypt in 1983 just before you were due to be arrested and went to Afghanistan as part of the jihad against the Soviets. While in Afghanistan, you met and became close to both Osama bin Laden and Sadik Fahd. You moved up in the organization and became involved in planning attacks, including the US Embassy bombings in 1998."
"Now, before we have our little chat, I must caution you, Mister Rhodes, that I am not here in an attempt to get information from your client. I simply wish to apprise both him and you of what is going to be happening in the next few days. See, we already know everything we need to know about your client, his role in the recent terrorist attacks here in London and we're well on our way to knowing who the bombers were. So, there isn't anything we're particularly interested in with your client."
"And when will my client be charged with any specific crime?" Mister Rhodes asked, stunned by the way this was going, as well as the speed of it all. He had hoped for some room to maneuver for his client, only to find there was none.
"Actually, he won't be. Following conversations between the Foreign Secretary and the Home Secretary, it has been decided that the best solution would be to simply deport him as undesirable back to Egypt. We have spoken with the Egyptian government and they are going to make arrangements to take Mister Taleb into custody sometime in the next few days. They are also picking up your mother and sisters for questioning," Sir Alistair said, a slight smile coming to his face as he saw the moment the words clicked with Taleb.
"But there is much that I can tell you," Taleb said from his seat, his voice rising.
"About what? We know you are connected to the bombings, we have your fingerprints in the flat in Leads as well as video of you and a couple of the bombers walking together while having a chat. We found additional evidence in the safe house we captured you at, suggesting there were additional attacks in at least the planning stages. But that doesn't matter because we've stopped those attacks and we can't go back and undo the past."
"What we can do is what the government has decided to do, which is to keep the full extent of the attacks a secret. We'll also score a few points with our friends in Egypt by turning over a fugitive to them and we don't have to keep you in one of our prisons, feeding you while you try to recruit new men to your jihad," Sir Alistair finished before going to stand up.
"But I can help you? I know things!"
"Mister Taleb, what could you possibly know that would be of interest to my government? And don't try to sell me on the idea that you know where Osama bin Laden is. We know you don't, otherwise you'd be in hiding as well, rather than here in London."
"How about Sadik Fahd? I know where he is hiding," Taleb said anxiously. He well knew the fate that awaited him in an Egyptian prison and over the years, the idea of martyrdom had lost its appeal to him. Now, he wanted to live and if the price of that was finding another who could take his place before death, then so be it. And that didn't even speak to the chill that had run through him when the man had mentioned his mother and sisters being interrogated by the Egyptian authorities, for Taleb knew full well what that meant.
"Yes, I think my government might be interesting in such information. However, any deal would of course be completely dependent on the verification of the information you provide us. So, Mister Taleb, where is your old friend?" Sir Alistair asked, looking the terrorist directly in the eyes.
"He's in a compound near Peshawar, Pakistan. Many of the senior Al Qaeda leadership have taken to using Pakistan as a hiding place. They know the Americans won't be able to strike them there, because they are trying to make the Pakistani government their allies. All the while, many members of the government and military secretly support and protect the very people the Americans are looking for."
Sir Alistair was not surprised by the statement. He'd long known that the aid they were receiving from many governments in the Middle East in their fight against Islamic terrorists was at best mere lip service. The reason was very simple, really. These governments were walking a tightrope, with the West on the one side and their own peoples on the other, many of whom supported what Al Qaeda was doing. Lean too far towards the West and there was the possibility of the people rising up against them. Lean too far towards the radicals and risk economic disruptions or worse from the West.
"Tell me everything you know about this compound, Mister Taleb."
With that command, Taleb started singing. It was a good two hours before the man finally began to wind down. By this time, Sir Alistair had several pages covered with notes. Yet, these had been taken just for show, as the entire interview was being recorded and transcribed in the observation room. C stood there, a broad smile on his face, one that was matched by both the head of the Security Service and the CIA's liaison to SIS, who had just gotten off the telephone with Langley with a request for immediate priority satellite imagery of the area around Peshawar.
CIA Operations Center – Langley, Virginia
1153 Eastern/ 1653 Greenwich
The KH-11 satellite was coming into position now, following a repositioning of platform. The lead analyst was getting the various systems online, so that he could be ready when they were over the target area. The problem was the target area was fairly large and they had nothing to narrow the area down. So, today was all about getting some detailed imagery of the area, looking for anything that could potentially remove items for their watch list.
The one good thing they had going for them was the target was a compound. That meant that small homes and buildings could be essentially removed for consideration. They were looking for a walled structure with a decent sized home. They would keep bigger places on the board, but he doubted very much that those would be where their target was. Too big called too much attention to the place. This would be someone who wanted to blend in while also having an amount of security as well.
"Coming up on the first point now, boss," one of his team called out.
Looking at his monitor, he began to see the outlying areas of Peshawar. Next, he called up the display, which featured such things as a compass arrow showing which way north was and a clock telling them how long the KH-11 would be on station. Taking control of the camera, he zoomed in until he could make out things like walls and have an idea of structure size.
The lead analyst and the rest of his team were in a race with the clock, trying to get as much data as they could before the clock reached zero. After the satellite passed out of range would be the time to go back over the imagery. The camera was constantly moving for one place to the next, getting its pictures as the team worked a grid pattern that they had laid out on a map of the area in the hour before the satellite would be ready.
As the team worked, another team was also working on the problem from a slightly different place. Director Kershaw sat in his office, talking with the head of the National Clandestine Service's Special Activities Division. They had been joined by the Commander of the Joint Special Operations Command. On the small conference table in front of them was a map of Afghanistan and Pakistan, which they were using to come up with basic ideas. Once they had a concept that seemed possible, they would then fly down to Fort Bragg and have JSOC's planners get to work, refining the idea into something that was doable.
"It's going to have to be helicopters if we're sending a team in," the head of the Special Activities Division, Bryan Davidson, said.
"We could do a HAHO drop," offered Lieutenant General Cranston.
"Pure suicide, in my opinion. There are just too many factors against it, not to mention the whole issue of getting the team out after they do the mission."
"Helicopters aren't much better. Slow and noisy means the Pakistanis will be on to us long before we're ready to fly back out."
"Come on, I need ideas here, not problems," Director Kershaw said.
"Director, we're looking at roughly an hour each way and that's straight line. No way is the mission going straight line, so that means even more time. And that doesn't even consider the time on the ground or anything cropping up along the way. I'll say it again, too slow. The goal is quick strike, not pitched battle with the Pakistani military," Davidson replied shaking his head.
"There is another option," General Cranston said, a thought forming. "We could try a sniper team. Two men are a bit easier to slip into the country than a full assault package. Before we consider it, though, we need more information on where Sadik Fahd is exactly."
"We've got some assets in Pakistan. The problem is, we need to be very careful because the Brits have already lost 3 agents looking for Sadik."
"Well, it's difficult to make a plan when we don't have a clue as to where the objective is, what type of building we're going to be hitting, what's around it that we could maybe use as a hide for the sniper and his spotter if we go that route. We need intelligence or we're dead in the water."
"General, I agree with you completely. But dead agents aren't going to bring back that information. We need our guys to blend in, look and act like they belong so they stay off the radar of either Al Qaeda or ISI," Director Kershaw said, using the acronym for the Pakistani Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence. "Especially ISI."
"Why especially, Director?" General Cranston asked.
"Because ISI can do a lot more damage by going public, General. Even though they're ostensibly our allies in the fight against Al Qaeda, there are still those within ISI who wouldn't be any happier finding a CIA team snooping in their country than we would be finding their agents doing similar things over here. They could then either quietly tell Al Qaeda, if their sympathies flow that way, or they could just release the information to the press, along with pictures, which would put a giant bull's-eye on the agents' backs."
The other two men shared a look at that. Their people, when they were out in the field, went armed and ready. What Director Kershaw had just described was a nightmare scenario to them: basically being stuck in the middle of bad guy land without a weapon and a long way from friends. When that happened, those guys were as good as dead.
Shenandoah National Park – Virginia
1138 Eastern/ 1638 Greenwich
Mattie was beginning to get slightly uncomfortable laying on the ground, but she wasn't about to complain. Not with Debbie laying in much the same position next to her, while also staring through her camera's viewfinder. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous, Mattie thought, as the two of them lay at the edge of a clearing, watching for anything that might happen. The trees were massive and she could hear birds singing overhead.
The duo had arrived here just before first light, meaning that it had been an earlier than normal morning for Mattie. Yet it had been well worth it, as the sun had risen and the light had brightened the clearing and the trees beyond. Evidently Debbie had thought the scene inspirational enough to snap several pictures of it. They soon saw a deer flit across the far edge of the clearing, heading towards one of the little rivers that cut through the park. Debbie wasn't sure if she'd been able to capture the image and wouldn't know until she got home and developed the negatives.
After that, it was just a long morning out in nature. Now, however, Debbie was beginning to sense that Mattie was growing restless. She'd been like that too when she'd first started out and it had taken years of work to get to the point where she could just lay there, waiting for that one picture that might not even happen. Just as she was about to call it a day, Debbie saw a young rabbit dashing across the clearing. Taking a second to focus, she snapped off a dozen photos as she saw the falcon enter the picture and snatch up the prey. When it was done, she looked over at Mattie who had a look of shock on her face.
"Did you know that was going to happen?" Mattie asked. "Is that why you started taking pictures?"
"I thought it was possible," Debbie said carefully. She'd seen it enough times to have had a very good idea of what was going to occur.
"So, what? Just take pictures while that defenseless little bunny gets killed?"
"Oh, Mattie. There's a beauty to it, because the falcon needs to kill in order to survive. A couple hundred years ago, man needed to do the same thing, before we had ranches raising cattle for beef and farms raising chickens and pigs for eggs and bacon. Man went out and hunted deer and elk and buffalo and rabbits, whatever it took to fill the pot come supper time."
"So, that bunny was just dinner?" Mattie asked.
"More like, that was a dumb bunny. The smarter ones know to skirt the clearing, to stay somewhat hidden. Some of them still get caught by the predators, but not as often as the young ones who go out in the open."
Mattie lay there for a few moments, thinking about what Debbie had said and the sense that it made. The falcon had to eat too. She just wished she hadn't seen what the bird's dinner was going to be, thinking about the bunny as well. Debbie, for her part, elected to keep silent as she gathered up her equipment and got ready for them to leave. This was something that the teen was going to have to come to terms with on her own, just as she had done years ago