Paul McKellips - Jericho 3

“General.”

“Welcome back, Camp. What’s the story on the 18th beacon? We picked it up about two and a half days ago,” Ferguson asked.

“Sir, can’t really get into that on this transmission for security reasons. Suffice it to say, I authorized placing a beacon on an item. Sir, I’d highly recommend that you turn that beacon off… permanently, sir.”

Ferguson and his coffee-pouring majors appeared puzzled.

“I can’t really authorize that until I have some more information. How long before you get to a FOB and get on SIPR?”

“Twenty-four to 36 hours, sir. Air is red, roads are red. Nasty weather.”

“Understood. We’ll continue to keep an eye on number 18.”

Camp paused and thought for a few seconds. “Sir, I wanted to let you know that I need to cancel my leave.”

“Your leave? You just got here.”

“Roger that, sir, but you know I was planning to take Marcy and the kids to International Falls, Minnesota for some canoeing. But Marcy said the mosquitoes are out, and they’d kill us. So we’re going to have to postpone that trip.”

Ferguson got up and paced the room.

“Roger that, Camp, roger that. Listen, I know how much this trip means to you and Mary — ah, correction — Marcy, so I’m going to send my birds to pick you up. Sometimes the air for my birds isn’t quite as red as it can be for those boys who fly the ring routes.”

Camp hung up the SAT phone wondering if his old friend and former XO from Iraq understood what he was saying or concluded that he had finally lost his mind.

Major Spann was at the phone and dialing Special Agent Daniels’ home number even before Ferguson could issue the order.

“What time is it in Virginia, major?”

“Sir, 0240 hours.”

Ferguson smiled.

“Perfect.”

ISAF Headquarters

Kabul, Afghanistan

General Ferguson’s two Blackhawk helicopters made the round trip flight to and from Combat Outpost Chergotah, with one stop on the return to Bagram Air Base, in less than two hours. Camp and Billy Finn remained on their bird at Bagram in respect until six soldiers from mortuary affairs removed the body of Major Dean Banks. A throng of 40 soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines stood ramrod straight and held their salutes until Major Banks was placed in an ambulance on the tarmac.

At just past 0930 hours Major Spann greeted Camp and Finn at the ISAF helo pad and walked them over to Ferguson’s office. The hot shower and warm meal could wait until they briefed the General. Ferguson rose from his desk as Camp and Finn entered.

“You need a shave, sailor.”

“Aye, aye, sir, it’s on the schedule,” Camp said as he shook Ferguson’s hand.

“How are you, Billy?”

“Cold, wet and hungry, but I’ll survive,” Finn chided.

“Well, let me guess,” Ferguson said as he took a seat behind his desk. “You found a SkitoMister.”

Camp and Finn were surprised.

“You knew about it?” Camp asked.

“Not in time, unfortunately. Special Agent Daniels from CIA called me while you two were hiking up the Hindu Kush. The Agency traced two of these units from Illinois, to Hamburg, to Jakarta and finally Islamabad. Had no idea you’d stumble across one in North Waziristan, not that that would be much of a surprise given the FATA. What did you see in there, Camp?”

“Basically a laboratory and a barbaric third world surgical suite.”

“I took 20-some pictures if you want to take a look?” Finn said as he handed the SD card from his camera to one of the coffee-pouring majors who put it in the general’s laptop and warmed up the projector.

“I found this in the trash,” Camp said as he handed Ferguson the Poly Prothese PIP packaging.

“What is it?”

“Industrial grade silicone breast implants, made by a French company. We suspect they abducted Major Banks probably because he was a female surgeon,” Camp said.

“You can’t be serious,” Ferguson responded.

“Boob jobs for burka babes, general. You can’t make this shit up,” Finn cracked with a sly grin on his face.

“Ready, sir,” the major said as the first of Finn’s photos appeared on the screen. The major handed Finn the remote clicker.

“There were two or three bottles of ether. Ether was used for anesthesiology way back in the day, maybe 40 years ago, but it still gets the job done. Here you see surgical sutures, scalpel, bandages, gauze and rubbing alcohol,” Camp said as he narrated the photos.

“What are those? Looks Russian?”

“No clue, sir. Finn found three of these bottles, but the labels were in Russian,” Camp said to Ferguson.

Ferguson waved his hand at Major Spann. “Get me an American or British Russian speaker right now.”

“Sir, many of the Afghans speak—”

Ferguson cut him short. “I don’t want a damn Afghan who kinda speaks Russian, then tries to translate what he’s thinking in Dari Persian or Pashtu and then over to the English he kinda speaks.”

Spann left the room before Ferguson could finish ranting.

“How’d they kill Banks?”

“Single shot to the temple. At least they didn’t make him suffer. Then again, not sure what he may have gone through before they shot him,” Finn said.

“Looks like he was performing some surgeries based on the PIPs and the ether,” Ferguson answered. “What about the Terp’s son? Did you find him?”

“Yes, sir, at least we were pretty sure that was her kid. We put him in a vacant house across the street, bound and gagged. I’m sure they found him within minutes. Any word on Miriam?”

“She’s here in Kabul. Recovered nicely, no infections, but I’m told some ugly scars on her face and arm. You certainly saved her life,” Ferguson said.

“Right, not every day that you can save a suicide bomber. What’s going to happen to her?”

“Well, the geniuses from the State Department are trying to find another country for her. She’s a dead woman walking in Afghanistan or Pakistan… literally. I’m guessing she’ll go into the SIV program and be resettled as a refugee in Virginia. She’s highly educated and speaks fluent English.”

“Not to mention she only tried to kill 40 Americans,” Camp said with sarcasm duly noted by Ferguson and Finn. “Sir, why don’t you just email the photo to the Russian desk at the Pentagon, State or CIA. I’m sure they could give you an answer in 60 seconds. I’d really like to get a hot shower.”

Ferguson nodded to the sole remaining major who took the SD card out of Ferguson’s laptop and sat down at the PC on his desk.

“Were you able to immobilize the SkitoMister? I had our intel guys hide a GPS beacon on it so the drone could lock in,” Camp said.

“It was the 18th beacon, Camp. We thought it was Banks until it headed in the other direction. Until I spoke with you, there was no way that I was going to authorize an airstrike.”

“Other direction?”

“It moved. First to Miran Shah, then Islamabad… then we lost it.”

“Do you think the Paki’s found the beacon?”

“No, they put the whole machine on an airplane and then we lost it… until it landed in Tehran. Now it’s in Damghan, 300 kilometers east of Tehran… close to the Caspian Sea and not far from the border with Turkmenistan.”

Ferguson stood up and paced rapidly in his office.

“General?” Camp asked.

“Crap,” Ferguson grumbled as he rubbed his balding head. “Raines.”

“Leslie Raines?”

“Daniels and some other agent from Langley briefed her on some biologicals a few weeks ago at Detrick. Raines called me afterwards and told me the Agency was tracking a rail shipment of stockpiled biologicals from the Kirov Oblast west of the Ural Mountains along the Vyatka River on a 36-hour ride on the Trans-Siberian railway to Ashgabat, Turkmenistan.”