Hostile Fire (6 page)

The second one was a mortgage company looking for business. He deleted both and checked in the freezer. The Hungry Man super dinner looked about right. He could thaw with the best cooks around. He set it for the seven minutes in the microwave and settled in with the newspaper. He scanned the front page to see if he could see any hint of where they might be heading next. More action in Afghanistan, where they’d routed some more holdouts in caves. A combined Special Forces team found four Stinger anti-aircraft shoulder-fired missiles, over a hundred thousand rounds of rifle ammunition, and hundreds of mortar rounds. The whole ammo dump made a tremendous explosion and sealed the cave. Not much chance of Third Platoon going there.

Iran was heating up again. An American diplomat had been gunned down in usually stable Yemen. Two men on a motorcycle raced up beside the diplomat’s car. One man used a submachine gun and riddled the rear seat window and the man inside the car. The attackers sped away, were soon lost in the heavy traffic, and escaped. No one had taken responsibility for the crime at the last report. No, they wouldn’t go to Yemen.

He gave up, fished the roast beef dinner out of the microwave, and ate it right out of the plastic tray. Surprisingly, it tasted good and there was plenty of it. He went back to the paper.

Ardith charged in at seven-thirty. She was tall, slender, with a mass of long blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She was the daughter of the senior senator from Oregon
and had worked for him in Washington for six years as an assistant counsel. She came west when she had a job offer she couldn’t refuse. Today there were worry lines around her eyes and she slumped against the wall.

“Tough day at the office?” Murdock asked.

Ardith laughed, ran to him, and hugged him soundly, then kissed him and kicked off her shoes. “Yes, Master. A furious day at the office. The client changed his mind, then when we did what he wanted he changed it back to the way we had it in the first place. My boss is taking him out to dinner, but I begged off. So what’s new at your zoo?”

“Mostly routine. Oh, Marie Fernandez might be calling you. We’ll be in the desert tomorrow and home about midnight. Miguel thought maybe you three could take in a movie or something.”

“Sounds good.”

“Miguel is having some worries about being a SEAL. He’s re-evaluating his job, his career, the whole thing. I think he’ll come out of it okay, but you never can tell. I’ve lost three good men who decided to go back to the black shoe navy. One of them went to officer candidate school, so he doesn’t count.”

“Miguel, he’s been with you a long time.”

“Six years. Now what can I thaw out for you for dinner?”

“Anything in there that will get hot. I could eat a horse. Let me get out of these work clothes and dress down a little. Desert tomorrow? You get a new senior chief today?” Murdock nodded. “How do you like him?”

“I think he’ll do fine. Doesn’t look like Sadler will make it back. He got shot up a little too much. We’ll have to wait about four months to see.”

He stuffed the chicken breast with broccoli and cherry pie desert into the microwave and set it for five minutes. He turned it on and looked at the paper again. Nothing in the international news that sounded critical. He was about to tune the TV set to CNN when his cell phone chimed. He’d forgotten to turn it off. He flipped the phone open.

“Murdock here.”

“Good, I caught you.” Murdock recognized the master chief’s voice at once. “Sir, we’re getting our tails twisted
again. I got a direct call from the CNO. He said he had a phone call from the President and the Chairman of the National Security Council and they want your platoon in DC tomorrow afternoon for a briefing at Langley. Something hot is cooking but he wouldn’t tell me what. You don’t argue with the chief of naval operations. You had an early morning trip to the desert planned for tomorrow. We have you booked on a biz jet for oh-eight-thirty. You’re to come in full combat-ready gear, double loads of ammo, and all weapons. No Dragers or wet suits. This sounds like a dry land operation.”

“Yes, Master Chief. North Island Air at oh-eight-thirty. Gives us lots of time. Have you talked with Miguel Fernandez lately?”

“No, why, is he in trouble?”

“Not a bit, just wondered. We’ll be ready and on board. We have two new men, but they’ll have to earn their pay as they learn. We’ll let the men check in over the quarter deck at the sched time of oh-four-thirty and take it from there. Any hint where we’re going?

“Not a glimmer, lad. Not a Chinaman’s clue.”

“Right. You sleep in in the morning. We’ve got the bus on call at oh-five-hundred. See you when we get back. Oh, does Masciareli know yet?”

“I’m about to call him. He’s gonna piss his pants again.”

“Yeah, be good for him. Take care, Master Chief.” He took a deep breath. Now he had to tell Ardith they were on call again. She would not be pleased.

Murdock drove into the parking lot outside the Quarter Deck at oh-four-thirty. There were already six SEALs there jawing at each other around their cars. They waved and trooped together across the Quarter Deck and to SEAL Team Seven Third Platoon’s quarters.

“Break out your new desert cammies,” Murdock told the men. “We won’t be going to the desert today; we have a mission, only nobody but the president knows what it is.”

“How’s the time?” Jaybird asked.

“Lots of it. We don’t take off from North Island NAS until oh-eight-thirty.”

“Time for chow,” somebody chirped.

“Yes,” Murdock said. “The bus leaves here at oh-eight-hundred. We go ready to fight. Weapons, double ammo, no Drager or wet suits, so we’re on a land mission. Fill in the rest of the men when they arrive. Gardner, on me.”

Lieutenant (J.G.) Gardner walked with Murdock to the small office and couldn’t keep the curiosity out of his voice.

“So where are we really going, Cap?”

“DC, then Langley, Virginia, and a briefing I’d guess by the spooks at the farm.”

“Couldn’t they do it with encrypted radio messages?”

“Evidently not. They may have more in mind than a briefing. The last time they invited us to Langley we came out looking like a ragtag bunch of Arabs.”

“We’re going to infiltrate some Arab country?”

“Possible. We’ve done it before. Check out your squad and be sure that every man has his assigned weapon and double ammo. That’s going to mean ammo bags for the Bull Pups.”

“Will do, Commander,” Gardner said and hurried out the door.

It was a little after oh-seven-hundred when Murdock called home. Ardith should be about ready to drive to work. She picked up on the second ring.

“Yes, good morning.”

“Hi, Ardith. A small change in plans. I won’t be home for a while, maybe a couple of weeks. We just got a new mission. We fly out this morning at oh-eight-thirty. Wanted to say good-bye.”

“I guess that new furniture we talked about looking for will have to wait. It hasn’t been long since your last trip.”

“True. You know the routine. When they call, we go. You take care of things there. I’ve got to go. See you soon.”

“Soon. Murdock, I love you.”

“Love you, too. See you.”

He hung up and made a final check on Alpha Squad. Everyone had made it on time at oh-four-thirty. Some of them had breakfast. He found Fernandez checking over his gear. Murdock knelt down beside the SEAL and spoke so no one else could hear.

“You sure you want to go on this one?”

“I’m sure, Cap. I decided when I first heard we had a mission. The old fire horse. No way you can keep me out of it.”

“You talk with Maria?”

“For about two hours. She understands how I feel, and that I’m not sure which way I’m going to go. She said it’s fine with her either way, but I know she’d rather I drop out and go black shoe.”

“I can order you to stay on base.”

“I know. But I don’t think you’ll do that. You don’t want another washout.”

“Not that. I have to decide if you might endanger another man or your squad.” He looked at Fernandez. The SEAL stared straight and even at him, eye to eye. There was no wavering, no indecision on Fernandez’s part. “Okay, sailor, you on for this walk in the park.” Murdock stood. He nodded curtly and went back to the office.

The navy driver had pulled in the navy bus they were going to go to the desert in at 0840, sweating because he was late. He heard the news of the changed plans and promptly sacked out on the front seat.

The bus dropped off the sixteen SEALs in full battle gear at 0815 on the short runway next to a sleek Gulfstream II that the navy called the VC-11. It is the same as the civilian model with the exception of the added military communications gear and some interior layout changes. The craft is usually used for flying military top brass and VIPs around when they needed to move in a rush. It carries a crew of two and has seats for nineteen passengers.

The VC-11 has a broad, tall vertical tail with a full-height rudder, swept horizontal stabilizers on top of the vertical “T.” It uses insert elevators. Flight controls, flaps, spoilers, landing gear, and brakes are all operated by two independent hydraulic systems. Two Rolls-Royce turbofan engines power the craft.

It’s seventy-nine feet long, twenty-four feet high, and has a long-range maximum cruising speed of 581 miles an hour. At cruising it can jump over 3,712 miles without refueling and has a ceiling of 43,000 feet.

The SEALs settled into the deluxe first-class, passenger-style seats, stowing their ammo sacks, combat vests, and weapons wherever they found enough room.

A male second-class petty officer came in from the front cabin and talked to Murdock. Then the CO of the platoon bellowed out an order. “Listen up,” he said. The chatter stopped and the second class waved.

“Morning. I’m Tanner. You have any questions, ask me. We’ll be taking off promptly at oh-eight-thirty. Commander Johnson is our pilot. She is one of the best. Our flight time to the Washington National Airport will be four point seven two hours, depending on the jet stream. The jet goes from west to east, so it could boost our speed by a hundred miles an hour. We’ve taken meals on board. As soon as we take off and gain altitude, I’ll be bring you box breakfasts. Just after twelve hundred, you’ll get a lunch prepared by the North Island NAS Officers’ Mess. Any questions?”

“Yeah, who has the beer concession?” Jaybird cracked.

“That would be Commander Janice Johnson. However, she’s a little busy right now getting ready for take off. Any other questions?”

“Yeah, why are we landing at Washington National instead of Andrews Air Force Base?” Canzoneri asked.

“I don’t know. I have no need to know, and that matter may be classified. Let’s have a good trip.” The crew chief vanished back into the forward cabin.

Murdock looked at J.G. Gardner. “So why are we landing in downtown Washington?”

“Got me. I know that airport is a lot closer to Langley than Andrews, which is maybe fifteen miles east of DC in Maryland.”

The box breakfasts were routine, but the noon meal was great, served on china with silverware.

They landed early, barely four hours into the flight. The plane taxied to the end of the runway and took a narrow concrete strip to a building painted dull green, with two closed vans and three airport police cars in front of it. A light colonel came out of the closest van and marched over to where the crew had just let down the steps on the VC-11. Murdock met him at the steps.

“Commander Murdock?”

“Yes, sir,” Murdock said, saluting.

“Anderson here, I’ll be your official guide. Have your men bring all of their equipment, weapons, vests, everything. We’re a little early, which will make the chief happy. Remember to set your watches. It’s three hours later here than on the coast.”

They loaded into the vans and drove. The closed vans were the twelve-passenger type but had no windows other than the windshield and those in the front doors.

“This feels like a goddamned tomb,” Hospital Corpsman First Class Jack Mahanani said.

“You’ve done this before?” Gardner asked. The squads were each in a separate van.

“Once or twice I can remember,” Fernandez said. “This must be a high-level operation to pull us in here rather than jet us right to the hot spot.”

“We gonna be here long?” Dexter Tate asked.

“Who knows?” Fernandez said. “When they tell us to go, we’ll go.”

Fernandez tried to watch out the windshield, but he couldn’t see much. They had lost three hours so it was just past 1600. Fernandez grinned. He had seen the same roadside fruit stand twice now. The drivers were taking them on a confusing joy ride before settling down at the Farm, the famous training ground for United States CIA spies and operatives.

It was another half hour before the van came to a stop. The guard in the front seat opened the rolling door from the outside.

“End of the line. Everyone out.”

They came out and automatically formed into a column of ducks and awaited the next command. The army colonel waved at Gardner and he brought his men up near Murdock’s squad.

“Gentlemen, this is the CIA Farm. You’ve heard of it. Most of you have been here before. We have some business to take care of before you head out on your mission. These guides will lead you to your quarters. In twenty minutes there’ll be a chow call, and then at oh-nineteen-hundred we have a meeting. Leave all of your weapons, even your hideouts, and your ammo and gear in your quarters. A guide will be on hand to lead you to the meeting. That’s all. You’re dismissed.”