Dreams to Die For (27 page)

The Secretary of State is the chief executive officer of the United States Department of State, the most senior of all federal executive departments, and, after the President and Vice President, is the third-highest official of the federal government. Dean Assiter was a man who wielded considerable power and influence around the world, not just in Washington. He was the President's chief adviser on U.S. foreign policy and personally negotiated, interpreted and, when the need arose, terminated treaties and agreements. US foreign trade missions and overseas intelligence assets reported to him. He was a familiar face at international conferences (he had first met Gordon Truscott at a world poverty meeting) and was responsible for the administration and management of foreign embassies and consulate offices. All the inter-departmental activities of the U.S. Government overseas were known to him and he was responsible for giving them direction and ensuring their effective co-ordination. Such was his stature within the US Administration that he reported directly to the President.

It was well after 6pm on a sultry midsummer evening in Washington DC, and Dean Assiter had been behind his desk since seven that morning. He would have liked, just for once, to have been able to go home after an eleven hour working day and enjoy a drink on his patio, or stroll along the mighty Potomac. Instead, it seemed as if he would yet again be stuck in his office breathing artificially cooled, regurgitated air for a couple more hours. Whilst he never minded working long hours, indeed they had been the norm since taking office, he felt he had more important things to deal with than discuss his September holiday arrangements, and he was becoming impatient.

Seated before him in the large, oblong room were three special advisers who together had found it necessary to approach the Secretary of State's chief of staff in order to get the top man to see them, as their several requests through more normal channels had been largely ignored. Assiter had hitherto put off any meeting but, pressed by his own department's chief of staff, had finally conceded to the request and scheduled a half hour meeting commencing at 5:30pm. Forty minutes had now elapsed and his usually mild and affable demeanour, that belied nerves of steel and a brain as sharp as a rapier's blade, was close to changing.

“Look, guys, let me sum up. You all want me to take, at the US taxpayers expense, at least four Special Forces as protection to Scotland, in addition to the two already scheduled. Yet you say Truscott's place is easy to defend and has minimal risk of attack. We're going in by chopper right to the door and the Brits will also have some of their people around, all armed. Is that right so far?”

Three heads nodded their agreement. Assiter continued.

“You need to understand this is supposed to be a holiday, a goddamn break away from all this crap here.” He waved his arm across the top of the magnificent mahogany desk, indicating the sheaves of papers stacked neatly upon it. “It's not a trip to Baghdad for Christ's sake. You also say I shouldn't go out fishing or walking in the mountains since even if you had an army you couldn't guarantee me safe from sniper fire, so whether you have two SF's or six seems to make little difference to my overall safety as the whole goddamn point of this trip is to go fishing, hunting and so on.”

The middle of the trio in front of Assiter had gradually taken on the mantle as spokesperson for them all.

“Secretary of State, as you have heard this afternoon the CIA, FBI and the Executive Protection Agency are all agreed that more SF's would be better for your overall protection, in the unlikely event that some threat did exist.”

Pointing to the man on his left the spokesperson continued, “Roger, here, has told you the CIA assessment is that Great Britain has become the European hub of Islamic militancy due to its relaxed immigration stance over many years, especially in relation to immigrants coming into their country from states like Pakistan. A second important factor is the rise of home-grown militant fanaticism, whipped up by the religious teachers who exploit the disenchantment of many adolescent young men who have grown up poor and out of work in the ethnic communities of their parents. The UK's own 7/7 on the London Underground last year sent shock waves through Downing Street when it was realised that the perpetrators were all resident British nationals. Turning to your holiday itself, if you go fishing in a small boat in the middle of one of their Scottish lakes, or lochs, or whatever they're termed, you can be picked off anywhere from the surrounding hills by someone with a rifle equipped with a telescopic sight. It is simply too damned dangerous, Sir.”

Assiter was quick to respond. “If I cannot fish and shoot, what is the point in going? None. I repeat gentlemen, I
am
going and I
am
going to fish and hunt. So, extra men will be superfluous; they will not protect me more. You tell me there are only three ways into the Lodge: One, over a dam which has a single track across the top for 300 yards and can be easily defended at the lodge end. The second would entail any attackers negotiating some of the roughest, most remote mountain tracks in the Highlands – and then they face a locked gate built into a high wire fence, where doubtless there will be a patrol. Lastly, the only other access is from the water itself. Anyone crossing directly and trying to storm the house from the shore-front will be easily visible for at least fifteen minutes, or they somehow land themselves miles away, unseen, from a boat; carry their assault gear through a thick forest, only to be faced with another high steel mesh fence that will be patrolled. Most rooms in the house are alarmed and the only two roads that could be used can be sealed off quickly and are dead-ended. If your two guys and the Brits can't defend these access points, only God can save me. I'm very sorry gentlemen, I thank you for your concern which is appreciated, but the answer is no. I will take two Special Forces, that's all. You have confirmed to me that only very few people within the British government, and within our own Administration, know of my plans and that we will be supplying disinformation to the press and media via releases and misleading TV newsreels and so on which will purport to show my departure to the US after the three day meetings and will also confirm my arrival back here in Washington. I think that is sufficient. Any final questions?”

“Can we please ask you to wear one of our protective vests at all times when you are fishing or out walking?” One of the aides implored.

I'll take it and try to remember to wear it, but if it interferes with my fishing I shall throw it away.” Assiter's dogmatic tone stifled any further discussion on that subject but the aide did ask another question.

“The Brits have insisted, as they always do, that our SF's are unarmed; a request they know we routinely ignore but which could aid them politically if there was an incident. I presume, Sir, you will be happy for us to follow normal procedure?”

Assiter replied quickly, “Yep, that's fine and the only concession I will make. The guys looking after me may be armed with semi-automatic weapons and a single hand gun each. Nothing else, understood?” Three heads nodded. “You may use my personal baggage if you need to.”

“No need, Sir. Our embassy there has adequate provisions of material.”

“OK then. Apart from me thanking you for your concern and advice which is appreciated, that, gentlemen, seems to be it. There is no more to say”.

Turning to his chief of staff who had remained silent throughout, he concluded the meeting. ”Draw up a minute of this discussion and I'll sign it. Thank you all again.”

Assiter rose from his chair, grabbed his jacket from its hanger and walked to the door with the advisers, hopeful of making it home before eight. As his secretary held the door open for the others to walk through, his green telephone rang. He took a deep sigh, returned to the desk and lifted the receiver.

“Good evening, Mr President.”

Fadyar opened the door of her flat. She had hidden away all the plans and photographs that the previous week had littered her floor and the furniture had been returned to its normal place. On this occasion Carron was not displeased to be visiting, though he was a little out of breath. He had parked his car over a mile away and then walked through a maze of small side streets before turning back on his route to ensure he was not being followed. Satisfied, he made his way to Fadyar's flat and was glad of the glass of peach juice she offered on his arrival.

“Here's to success, Fadyar, whatever your mission is.” Carron raised his glass and gave the toast.

“Indeed, yes. To success”. They lightly clinked the glasses together and drank a little.

“Claude, I have to tell you something of what I am planning as there are some aspects that trouble me. Are you happy about that, or would you prefer to contact someone else asking them to speak with me?”

“My role Fadyar is to assist you in certain ways if I can be of help. Please keep details to an absolute minimum, but what is it you want?”

Fadyar then outlined the terrain and the lodge where her target would be staying, carefully not revealing its whereabouts nor any information about Assiter. She said she had a good plan, with inbuilt contingencies for the target's removal, but the location presented innumerable difficulties.

“An outright assault on the house would end in certain failure. Reason one: it would be hard to even get to the location without being seen. Reason two: once there, the target's security forces would be a major obstacle and there will be little chance of a surprise element. Long before we could reach the house the alarm would be triggered and those inside would be alerted.”

“So, are you planning an external attack? Surely that carries more risk?” Carron's surprise registered in his voice.

“I don't think so. Firstly, not all those guarding my friend at the house will necessarily leave when he does, and anyway I need to ensure we have a rapid departure from the scene. The lodge itself does not have that. My target likes the outdoor life – fishing or shooting, and he may even just go for a walk. It is a very scenic area and I am hopeful that makes a quick exit easier with various options open to me.”

Fadyar continued before Carron could comment, “I need to know from you Claude whether resources will be available to take the suspect off my hands quickly. Whilst initially we can use a vehicle for our escape, the roads are very few and will be easily blocked long before we can travel far. It will be impossible to get the subject a long way away by road. That leaves boat, helicopter or small plane. I favour the latter. Where he is taken after that is not my concern.”

“OK. Others will probably have already considered that aspect. As I understand it, your mission is limited to making the initial capture and removal. I presume you have made a note of the various options and details I can take?”

“Yes.” She handed him a sealed envelope on which she had crudely applied melted candlewax onto the flap. Fadyar was not happy about giving out any sort of note but she had little option, as for her plan to succeed she needed to be certain of the additional support. Besides, she knew Carron would not dare open it but merely pass it on.

“I also have a list of equipment we shall need, plus some instructions I should like implemented please.” She passed Carron a slip of paper, which he studied, whist Fadyar kept talking. “I shall require some items here but most will need to be given to our brothers in Birmingham. On the note is a code-word I have agreed with them for when you contact them with any shipments. Remember, any stuff you get must work in the UK, I'm particularly referring to the two-way radios.” Carron's eyes widened as he read.

“I, er, I don't know if we can supply all this Fadyar, but I will try. You have been very specific on some items and may have to accept substitutes. Your instructions are clear enough.”

“Actually Claude, I think you will find you can obtain them. We used the weapons at the camp and were told these would be fairly standard issue for high profile operations.”

Carron managed to hide his irritation at the mild rebuke. “Well, I will of course try anyway. What items did you want delivered here?”

“The sniper rifle and some ammunition. As you can see, I have given you a choice but it must be one of those.”

Carron read the list again. Fadyar had specified the Heckler & Koch HK417 with 0.308 ammunition, the AWSM or Arctic Warfare Super Magnum with 0.50 ammunition or the Barrett M95 with 0.50 ammunition. All had to have sound-stifling silencers and 10X scopes. Her preference was for either the British-made AWSM or the American Barrett, both fitted with Schmidt and Bender PM11 scopes to provide the necessary magnification.

All the sniper rifles she listed had a Minute Of Angle (MOA) of 1 or better. The most common way of describing the accuracy of a sniper rifle is to measure the average diameter of a circle that may be drawn around a group of bullet holes in the target. Several groups of five or three rounds are fired and then every group is measured. The average group diameter is calculated and expressed in MOA. 1MOA is roughly equivalent to 1 inch group diameter at 100 yards or to 2 inches at 200 yards etc. So a rifle that shoots to 1MOA accuracy could place five bullets in a circle of no more than three inches in diameter at 300 yards. The American Barrett and the British AWSM, when loaded with the right ammunition, could shoot 0.5 MOA (or better) meaning 1 inch grouping at 200 yards, or 2 inch grouping at 400 yards. They were incredibly accurate weapons up to and well beyond 800 yards.

Fadyar needed the rifle early to fine-tune it, and she reassured Carron that she would be happy to conceal it on the car when she travelled over to England in September. Carron thought that an unnecessary risk but Fadyar assured him that controls on cars were lax at the ports, especially when a large vehicle ferry was in need of being loading or unloaded. She laughed and said, “The British cannot even find the Sangatte refugees that use the ferries!” Carron smiled. It was certainly true what she said, he just hoped that her confidence was not misplaced. He continued reading down the list.

“I'll put in the order but this will cost and if you require a plane or boat we are talking serious money Fadyar, at least 100,000 euros.”

“Yes, I realise that, but my task is to capture the target; it is for others to notify me at the appropriate time how I am to hand that person over. When I was sent to Europe, I was tasked with setting up a special account for such situations. If you cannot get the money through your channels, I will ensure you receive it, but you will understand that the funds will have to pass through many hands before reaching you. I assume you have a secret account known only to our friends at the Yemeni Bank? I may not be able to fund everything from my special account – my team will incur considerable expenditure and I may need some funds of my own to draw upon quickly, it's all in the note.” Fadyar sounded commanding, her confidence growing as she talked more about the operation and the equipment.

“Yes. I'm aware of the existence of the accounts, Fadyar. No problem.”

“OK then. I think we're done. I shall not move the funds until the last moment to minimise any risk of them being noted and tracked, just in case. No, wait. There is something else. I want no harm to befall the English bank manager and his wife, either before or after the operation, whatever its outcome.”

Carron looked at her enquiringly and raised his eyebrows.

“There is simply no need. If I fail, I will be dead or captured. If I succeed, I will be long gone. He will have enough trouble on his hands with the British authorities and identifying me after the event is only likely to add to his problems. He will not affect us in any way.”

“That's true,” conceded Carron. “I will ensure nothing happens to them.”

After consuming some biscuits and cheese, and another glass of the fruit juice, Carron bid Fadyar farewell. As he was walking out and into the fresher, but still warm air, he turned slowly and faced her. “We have known each other a long time, my dear sister. I shall pray for your success and safe return. Praise be to Allah.”

As she closed the door behind him, a slight tear dropped from her eye. She had grown to like him.