Jack Terral - Battlecraft (2006)

After the grooming session, he sent down to the kitchen for a special meal: two cheeseburgers with onions, tomatoes, and lettuce; French fried potatoes; and a chocolate milk shake. After it was brought up to him, he ate slowly, savoring the taste of the American fare after months of consuming mahshi vegetables stuffed with chopped meat, lubya beans, and bamya bil moza okra.

The next order of business was a complete debriefing from a special CIA supervisor by the name of Sam Paulsen. He and his assistant, Mort Koenig, had mysteriously appeared from some secret location especially to take advantage of having a mole pop out of his hole who had the ability to dive back in. This verbal exchange gave Mike the opportunity to make a complete report since his messages left in the dead-letter drop were by necessity short and limited in number. He began his dissertation with a question. "Who picked up those messages I was sending?"

Paulsen only smiled. "Sorry. Now let's hear all you have to tell us."

Mike was able to give Paulsen a good layout of Camp Talata, names of various leaders and mujahideen, information about the operational status of al-Mimkhalif, and other valuable bits of information that could be shared with the FBI and military intelligence. The only thing lacking was a hard identity of the terrorist group's leadership. These individuals were completely unknown to the West, and it would be invaluable to learn their names, then work out some devious assassinations or kidnappings.

As Mike spoke, Koenig took notes. When the session was over, Koenig closed his notebook and gave Mike a meaningful look. "Your acceptance by al-Mimkhalif makes you one of the most important agents in the antiterrorist clandestine operations."

Mike shrugged. "They probably figured I was killed in that fucked-up raid."

Koenig shook his head. "You can be sure that the bad guys know exactly what happened to you and where you are. But they still don't know who you are."

"They think you're a prisoner here about to be sent back to the States," Paulsen said.

"Well, they're wrong, ain't they?" Mike remarked. "Except for being sent back to the States, I mean."

Paulsen checked his watch. "Koenig and I have a meeting scheduled with Rod Barker. We'll be seeing you later. If you recall anything else, jot it down for us."

"Will do."

After they left, Mike called down for another cheeseburger with fries.

.

1600 HOURS LOCAL

THEtwo embassy security men, Mulvaney and Wheatfall, took Paulsen and Koenig back to visit Mike Assad in his apartment once again. Mulvaney and Wheatfall had already made sincere apologies to Mike for their less-than-gentle treatment of him as a prisoner. He assured them he hadn't taken their conduct personally, but added that it might be unwise of them to ever show up at the Fouled Anchor Tavern in Coronado, California. Both men took the warning seriously.

When Mike answered the knock on his door, he was surprised to see the quartet of visitors. "Come on in, guys."

They all settled down in the living room and Paulsen gave Mike a careful look. "You seem fit and strong."

"I'm fine," he assured him.

"Are you ready to go back?" Koenig inquired.

"You mean to al-Mimkhalif?" Mike asked. "I was really hoping to be returned to duty with my SEAL detachment. That's what I am, y'know, a SEAL."

"It's understandable you would want to get back to your buddies," Koenig interjected, "and if that's what you want, it will be done. However, as I told you earlier, you're in a unique position that makes you a great asset in this operation. It would take months to replace you."

"A lot of innocent lives could be lost during that time," Paulsen pointed out.

Mike frowned. "I want to report back to my outfit."

"Your country really needs you, Mike," Paulsen said. "Can we ask you to take twenty-four hours to think things over?"

"Well," Mike said, "I suppose, but let me tell you--" He stopped speaking, then took a deep breath. "Aw, fuck it! All right. I'll go back."

Paulsen appreciated Mike's attitude. "You're invaluable to the antiterrorist cause, Mike. Koenig has worked out your escape with Mulvaney and Wheatfall."

"What escape?"

"From the embassy here," Paulsen said. He turned to the other CIA man. "Brief him."

"Right," Koenig said, leaning toward Mike. "You're going to leave here within a half hour with Mulvaney and Wheatfall for a ride in the van."

"I wasn't expecting to leave so soon," Mike said. "But what the hell? So brief me."

Koenig continued. "We're going to cuff you, but one of the bracelets has been jimmied so it won't lock. The pretext of the car ride is that you're going to go in front of a lineup at central police headquarters over in Rawalpindi. As a matter of fact, we've made arrangements for just that to keep things looking realistic."

"Understood," Mike said. "Am I to assume that is the time I'll be making an escape?"

"Assume away, my friend," Paulsen said with a laugh.

Wheatfall interjected, "We'll drive you to a city park. There's a political rally going on over there to protest against President Musharraf. So the people in the area are going to be anti-West. It'll be a safe place for you to make your initial run for freedom."

"Right," Mulvaney said. "Once you've entered the crowd, even the local cops won't follow you."

"After that," Paulsen said, "you're on your own. You'll have to make your way back to rejoin al-Mimkhalif. Do you think you can do it without a map?"

"I haven't got much choice," Mike said. "I can work myself west until I steal one."

"Be careful about stealing stuff," Koenig cautioned him. 'This is an Islamic country. They cut off thieves' hands."

"I know the drill," Mike said. "I was brought up Muslim ... sort of anyhow." He stood up. "Hell! Let's get going. I don't want to sit around here and think about what I'm getting into. Okay?"

"We're ready," Wheatfall said.

"Go," Paulsen uttered. "And good luck."

Mike followed Mulvaney and Wheatfall out of the apartment and downstairs to the rear parking area. Before they got into the van, the good side of the handcuff was attached to his wrist. When all was ready, Mulvaney drove them out of the embassy grounds and turned onto the highway for the fifteen-kilometer drive to Rawalpindi.

Within a half hour they rolled into the city and reached the park. The demonstration was going full blast with signs and the loud rhythmic chanting of anti-West political slogans. A couple of dozen nervous policemen stood on the perimeter of the activity, showing no inclination to get any closer.

"Okay, guys," Mike said. "I'm ready."

"Good luck, buddy," Mulvaney said.

Mike leaped from the car and raced across the street past two startled cops. In an instant he had plunged into the crowd. Mulvaney waited until the SEAL had completely disappeared, then turned the van around and headed back toward Islamabad. "I wonder what his chances are."

Wheatfall sadly shook his head. "He's got three hundred kilometers of unknown and hostile territory to travel through. I'd say slim to none."

.

MANILA, THE PHILIPPINES

2 OCTOBER

1730 HOURS LOCAL

THEtraffic was heavy and the going slow, but Commander Carlos Batanza was in a good mood behind the wheel of his two-year-old Honda Accord. The CD player emitted the sounds of Dolly Parton--his favorite female vocalist; he admired her as much for her physical attributes as her musical talent--while the air conditioner fanned out a steady stream of cold air from each outlet.

Patrol Boat 22 had been in port for the previous couple of days undergoing routine maintenance and a minor overhaul of her engines. Mechanics from the base did all the work, so there wasn't much for the crew to do other than stand round-the-clock deck watches. Most of them had taken the week off to stay with their families or in the case of the bachelors, blow off some steam in bars and bordellos after a long period of intense patrolling. Batanza himself hadn't reported for duty that day until noon, and that was only to put his signature on the work authorizations. After that quick and easy task, he had gone to the officers club to play cards and have a few beers with his friends. He had hoped to see Ferdinand Aguilando, but the executive officer had gone to play golf at the exclusive Estrella Country Club outside Quezon City.