Mission Compromised (71 page)

Newman said, “Samir … I think you've done more than you should already, both you and your father. Last night in Dablan, I was so engrossed in my phone calls back to the States that I didn't even hear the sirens coming. If it weren't for you I could never have gotten out of there safely. I can't put you in jeopardy anymore. If you can get me on the next train to Aleppo, I'll take it from there. I don't want to take any more chances of getting you hurt or in serious trouble with the government. Here is where we must part company, my friend.”

Samir did not reply, but seemed deep in thought. Actually, he was praying about what God would have him to do. The two men pulled their dirty thobes up to make themselves a bit more presentable and let their gutras hang down across their shoulders to cover more of their faces. They followed the railroad tracks to the train station.

As they approached the station, Samir said, “I am very thirsty, and we have not eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Do you mind if we find a tea stall so that we can get some nourishment before going on?”

Newman was feeling parched as well. Their water and food had gone down with their little boat. They found a small eating place close to the train station and filled their stomachs with some bread, cheese,
and roasted lamb. A nearby vendor was selling cans of soda; Samir purchased one for Newman and he drank it as the locals did—warm. He would have preferred plain water, but the contents of the can were probably safer. Seventeen years in the Marines had taught him that bacteria could be as deadly as bullets.

After they ate, they walked over to the rundown train station, a stucco structure that looked like a smaller, less well-maintained version of the ones he had seen in the French countryside years ago. It had a few benches in the waiting room, with a few more outside along the walls. For such a small town, there were quite a few passengers waiting for the train. Samir went in, and when he came back out a few moments later said, “The next train to Aleppo is at noon—more than two hours from now. Of course, it is liable to be late.”

Newman and Samir kept walking. There was a Syrian Interior Ministry soldier pacing back and forth outside the station, every now and then looking at the new people who arrived and occasionally asking them for identification. Newman did not want to have to answer any of his questions.

They walked around the corner, just out of his range of vision, and began to strategize on how to get the train ticket. Samir cautioned him, “I can buy the ticket for you here, but I fear for your safety when you get to Aleppo because you will have to buy another ticket, from Aleppo to Elbeyli on the border. And from there you will have to buy yet another ticket to Iskenderun. I do not know how you will do this without getting caught.”

“Well … we'll just take one step at a time,” Newman said.

 

South End of Bahr Assad

________________________________________

Tabaqah Air Base, Syria

Thursday, 9 March 1995

1130 Hours, Local

 

While Newman and Samir were quenching their thirst and avoiding the Syrian Interior Ministry police in Dayr Az Zawr, General Komulakov and most of his combined force of retired KGB Department V thugs and PFLP terrorists were enjoying the relative luxury of a Syrian Air Force hangar at the military installation protecting the hydroelectric dam at the south end of nearby Lake Assad. But the Russian general wasn't happy.

He knew that they had come very close to catching the American who could undo him. Earlier in the morning they had spotted the fugitives' sunken boat, and a search of the items left aboard the dhow by Newman and his accomplice had confirmed that the missing Marine had been there. The Syrians had found a USAF survival pistol, a signal flare, a strobe light, a signal mirror, and a first-aid kit. The fugitives had left their food and water behind.

“I'm telling you, Radchenko, we wasted too much time at that filthy camel loading station or whatever it was back there by the railroad tracks across the river from Dayr Az Zawr. Any fool could tell they weren't out there. The place was locked—they couldn't have gone inside without breaking down the door or a window. No … he's found another boat on the top side of the dam, and he's going north, up the Euphrates.”

“Yes, General,” the Russian SVR Major replied. “I have positioned two of the PFLP teams on top of the dam as you directed. The reaction force here with the helicopters will swoop down on the terrorists as soon as either ambush team spots them. It is a brilliant plan.”

“Radchenko, don't play the sycophant with me. I've known you too long. Did you contact Dotensk, back in Damascus?”

“Yes, General, he is coming here with your UN aircraft and your two aides.”

Not much later they heard the sound of a jet aircraft approaching the remote air base. It was Komulakov's UN Gulfstream. The two men watched as the plane touched down and taxied toward the hangar where they stood.

The engines were still turning when the passenger door opened, and Dotensk bounded down the built-in stairs. He rushed over to Komulakov.

“Grankin has been busy. He came to my hotel room this morning to tell me that he received a secure call from Washington Residency. Apparently the intercept site at the embassy overheard a non-secure call from the National Security Advisor to the Pentagon last night, trying to get them to stop some Marine general from flying to Turkey. The resident doesn't know if the general's trip has to do with Saddam's military move against the Iraqi National Congress or your trip, but Grankin wanted you to know.”

“Hmm,” said Komulakov, thinking. “I think I had better make a few calls.”

Komulakov went into the hangar to the table where his maps were spread out and after connecting the small TV remote-sized device, picked up the handset on his satellite telephone. The Russian checked his Rolex watch—almost 0200 in Washington. He dialed the number anyway, and when the phone picked up on the other end after eight rings, he said, “Go EL-3 secure—India, November, Yankee, Seven, Niner, Four.”

When he heard the electronic handshake, he continued. “Simon, what's the latest?”

“A Marine general named Grisham left here yesterday evening, headed your way. He's supposedly going to Turkey to check on NATO contingency plans for dealing with Saddam's effort to crush the rebellion in northern Iraq, but I think that's one of the other calls Newman made from Iraq after he called me. I think the general knows Newman is alive and is coming to get him.”

“And why do you think that, Simon?” Komulakov tried to sound calm.

“Because he took Newman's wife with him.”

“How do you know that?” asked the Russian.

“Because I checked with the White House Military Office liaison at Andrews Air Force Base. He checked the manifest for the general's flight. And what's more, the general's plane isn't flying direct to Incirlik, where the NATO planners are meeting.”

“Where is it heading?” asked Komulakov.

“They filed a revised flight plan once they were airborne. The aircraft is headed for the British base at Larnaca, Cyprus.”

“And you are sure that Newman's wife is with this Marine general?”

“Yes,” responded Harrod. “The Air Force has no reason to lie about such a trivial thing.”

“Well, then I must go there. When I find Newman's wife, I'll find Newman. He'll be headed for her. I'll call you back when I get there, Simon.”

Komulakov terminated the call and summoned Radchenko. “Get the best four PFLP men you have, and get aboard the UN jet. I want you and them to come with me to Cyprus. I'll leave Dotensk in charge here with a satellite phone.”

A few moments later, while Komulakov was briefing Dotensk on the change in plans, Major Kaartje came running up.

“General, there are Palestinians boarding the aircraft with weapons,” the Dutch military aide said breathlessly.

“Yes, I know,” replied Komulakov, irate at the interruption. “We're taking the aircraft to another location in an effort to deal with this international terrorist, Duncan.”

“Sir, I must report this back to the Secretariat. This is a neutral aircraft and cannot be used to transport combatants. We're supposed to be on a diplomatic mission,” the Dutch Army captain said.

“Ah, you are so correct, Major Kaartje,” said Komulakov. He swallowed the rebuke that was on the tip of his tongue. He smiled at the Dutch aide. “Come, Major, let us confer with New York on my secure satellite phone. Excuse us, Mr. Dotensk.”

He put his arm around the officer and led him outside the hangar and then around to the rear, facing the desert wasteland to the east

“You are a very bright young officer,” Komulakov said. “Thank you for reminding me of my lapse in protocol.” But as soon as they were out of sight behind the hangar, the general suddenly grabbed his junior officer by the head and jerked him with such ferocity that he snapped the man's neck, breaking the fifth vertebrae, which in turn severed the officer's spinal cord. The man fell dead at Komulakov's feet. The general dragged the body a few meters away and placed it face down in front of a rock outcropping.

When he returned to the hangar, he said to Dotensk, “I am leaving for Cyprus. I'm taking Radchenko, the four PFLP he has selected, and Captain Sjogren with me. Continue the search of the river valley in case I am wrong. And after we are gone, take the body behind the hangar out into the desert to feed the vultures. Any questions?”

Dotensk shook his head.

 

Taurus Express Train Station

________________________________________

Dayr Az Zawr, Syria

Thursday, 9 March 1995

1145 Hours, Local

 

Newman feigned napping on some wooden crates in an alley near the train station while Samir went to buy his ticket. Samir was gone almost twenty minutes before returning. When he returned, he was smiling broadly. “I believe that God is watching over us,” he said.

Newman raised his eyebrows.

He handed Newman a clean linen thobe and a brown wool mish-lah. In the relative privacy of their hiding place, Samir helped Newman remove the filthy garment that he had swum ashore in earlier in the day and assisted the Marine in putting on the fresh gown. Then he showed the American how Arabic men wore the mishlah like a cloak in the cool night air. Finally, he pressed into Newman's hand a wad of currency, some Syrian and the rest Turkish. When Newman started to protest, the younger man simply waved a hand and shook his head

“Now, do you see those two women and the two little girls over there, sitting on the bench?” Samir asked. “They are traveling to Elbeyli, Turkey too. I asked them if I could do them a favor and they could also do a favor for me. I said, ‘Could my friend ride on the train with you as an escort, to fend off any troublemakers?' I told them that you were strong, but unable to speak—and that you were on your way to meet your family. I asked them, if, in exchange for being their escort, they could help you get the tickets you will need in Aleppo and Elbeyli, since you could not read and write.”

Newman smiled. “Well, my Arabic is pretty nonexistent, all right.”

“They have agreed,” Samir went on, “so I purchased a ticket for you and gave them money to buy your tickets in Aleppo for Elbeyli and
Iskenderun. There was a fare chart posted on the wall, so I know how much it costs, but I added some to it, so they will feel like they are making something for their trouble.

“The older lady is the grandmother. The young mother is a widow, and those girls are her daughters. They are from the Christian community in Homs that Assad tried to obliterate years ago. Those who survived his purge and who did not flee Syria were sent to ‘internal exile' out in the desert. They told me that they live not far from here and have just been given travel documents allowing them to visit their family in Turkey. They are going there for Passover and Easter, since they are Assyrian Christians and many of them celebrate both. When I showed them this, they gave their word that they will take good care of you,” Samir said.

Newman looked down at Samir's open hand. He held a small metal fish, similar to the one Samir's father wore on a chain around his neck. But before the Marine could ask the significance of the little metal fish, the train sounded its whistle just outside the city. Newman looked to the east and saw it heading toward them on the bridge they had crossed earlier that morning. It was slowing to come into the station.

“It will stop only long enough to take on passengers. If you were thinking of waiting until all others boarded, you might miss the train,” Samir said. “Please come and meet your new companions so you can all board together. That will make it less likely that the soldier will question you.”

“But anyone who looks at me will see that I am not an Arab,” Newman protested.

Samir shook his head, “God will show them what He wants them to see,” he said simply. “Besides, the sun and burns have browned your face, and you have a good start on a heavy beard. Just keep your
gutra
loose around your face so that your blue eyes do not show. I will pray that God will keep those who are looking for you from seeing you.

“I will also hold you in my prayers every day from now until we meet again. My father and mother and the rest of my family will do the same. Have faith, Peter Newman. God answers prayers. Not always the way we think they should be answered—but He always answers. Now you must go.”

Samir embraced Newman—with whom he'd had so many close calls in just two days. Simply because his father had asked him to, he had risked his life and possibly the lives of his wife and children, to—as Habib had said—obey God.

“I can't possibly thank you enough,” Newman said. “I'd take your name and address so I can get in touch with you when I get home, but I'm afraid that if I'm caught, I wouldn't want to have that information on me. It would be too dangerous for you.”

“Don't worry, Peter. We will see each other again. I know it.” Samir walked with Newman to where the women and girls were waiting. By now the train had pulled up beside the station, and passengers were boarding. Samir gave last-minute instructions to the women, and the five of them got on the train. No one seemed to notice that Newman's features were more Anglo-Saxon than Semite. Newman smiled and nodded at the women and helped them up the stairway into the coach. Then he lifted the two girls—about seven and ten, he estimated.