Protect and defend (26 page)

They’d lost the Iranian Kilo. Halberg stood in the combat and control center of his sub, sweating profusely. He took a drink of water and silently watched his men work. They’d lost plenty of contacts before, but never in a situation this tense. His steel blue eyes darted from one screen to the next. A digital readout on the plotting screen read 14:32 and counting. That was how long it had been since the Kilo had broken contact. They were nearly three months into a six-month patrol and the men had conducted themselves wonderfully, until now.

Halberg had been in the engine room hitting the heavy bag when the officer of the deck had sent word that the Iranian sub had vanished. Without saying a word, Halberg peeled off his boxing gloves, grabbed a towel, and headed to the CACC. His XO met him at the plotting table and played back the tactical information on the screen starting two minutes prior to losing contact. Ten seconds of footage told Halberg all he needed to know. He saw what the Iranian captain must have done. The man had timed things perfectly. Just as he finished one of his lazy figure eights, he had made a dash across the outgoing channel and the bow of a heavily laden supertanker that was making a lot of noise and churning up a lot of muck. When the supertanker had finally passed, the Iranian Kilo was gone. They did a quick sweep and came to the conclusion that she had headed back into the strait sandwiched between two container vessels that were separated by less than a mile. Halberg ordered a new course and they fell in behind the second container vessel. As best they could figure it they were approximately two miles back from the Kilo.

The executive officer finished speaking with the navigator and then walked across the CACC to where Halberg was silently standing watch. In a hushed voice meant for only the two of them Strilzuk said, “I’m sorry I lost her, Skipper.”

“No need to apologize. She made a good move.”

“You would have seen it coming.”

Halberg shrugged. “Maybe.”

“No. You would have seen it, and we both know it.”

“You will too one day. You’re almost there.”

“I don’t know about that.” Strilzuk looked deflated.

“Stop beating yourself up, and tell me what he’s going to do next.”

Strilzuk looked down at the tactical screen and started weighing options. The Kilo really had only two choices. She could head back into port, which based on the fact that practically the entire Iranian navy had been put to sea, didn’t seem very likely. The most probable scenario was that she would transit the strait and head back into the gulf.

“She’s going to head back into the gulf, and make a sprint while we’re stuck in the channel.”

Halberg nodded. “How long will she run?”

Strilzuk checked his watch, and looked at the tactical screen. It marked the estimated location of the Kilo, the two freighters, and their speeds. Based on the Kilo’s known top speed Strilzuk answered, “Roughly five and a half minutes.”

“Any other possibilities?”

“She could head back into port, but I don’t see that happening.”

“Neither do I. What else?” Halberg asked in a tone that told Strilzuk he was missing something.

Strilzuk studied the tactical for a moment. He looked at the clump of islands off Bandar Abbas. “She might decide to partially surface, run to the leeward side of one of these islands, wait for us to pass, and then fall in behind us.”

“That’s possible, but not likely.” Halberg hit a button and rewound the tactical to the point where they lost the Kilo. He pointed to the screen and said, “What if she ran clear across the inbound channel, looped around to the east, and headed back out, or worse, fell in behind us?”

Strilzuk looked embarrassed. “That’s possible.”

“But unlikely,” Halberg offered in consolation. He read his friend’s frustration and said, “Dennis, you’re practical and straightforward. This guy,” Halberg pointed at the screen, “is a little crazy. Running across the outbound channel that close to a fully loaded tanker with all this other traffic around is not exactly a conservative move. Would you ever try something like that?”

Strilzuk sighed, “Not under normal conditions.”

“Which tells you?”

“This guy’s either got a screw loose or these aren’t normal circumstances.”

“Exactly. Send a message to CTF 54. Let them know we lost contact.”

“You sure?” Strilzuk studied his captain’s face. “You don’t want to wait and see if we reacquire her on the other side?”

Halberg clicked a button and the tactical zoomed out to show the entire Persian Gulf and the northern half of the Gulf of Oman. The screen was filled with hundreds of contacts. The Eisenhower Strike Group was positioned smack-dab in the middle of the Persian Gulf with the bulk of the noisy Iranian navy headed her way. It was the perfect screen for a quiet diesel submarine. One missing Kilo was bad enough. Two could wreak havoc on the strike group.

Halberg decided to swallow his pride. “The sooner we let them know the better.”

“I’m sorry, Skipper.”

Halberg brushed off the apology. “I’m sure we’ll find her when we clear the channel, and then we’ll fall in behind her and make sure she behaves.”

Rapp looked through the thick windshield of the up-armored Humvee as they rolled through the main gate. He had his satellite phone held to his right ear and a look of impatience on his face. The bulk of the quick-reaction force was still back at the site of the attack securing the perimeter and collecting bodies. Rapp had commandeered a Stryker and two Humvees to transport him and the three prisoners back to the base so he could begin interrogating them immediately.

“Chuck,” Rapp said to the man on the other end of the line, “it’s the Wild West out here. I have no idea who took her. But I’m going to find out, and I can guarantee you it isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Mitch,” said the deputy director of the CIA, “get her back, but I’m telling you this as a friend. This thing is going to attract a lot of heat. Every reporter and politician in Washington is going to want to dissect every aspect of not just the kidnapping, but the aftermath as well.”

“And they can all go fuck themselves.”

“Mitch,” Charles O’Brien sighed, “that’s the kind of attitude that’s going to get you into a lot of trouble.”

“Let me make this real clear for you, Chuck.” Rapp’s voice was tense. “I don’t want to hear another word about my attitude. I don’t want anyone looking over my shoulder, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone second-guessing what I do. We’ve got maybe twenty-four hours before they break her. The rule book is out the window. This is gangland violence time. Don’t send me any analysts from Baghdad. I need knuckle draggers. I need guys who are going to kick down doors and kick the shit out of people until they give us answers.”

“Mitch, I think you need to take a step back and reassess how you’re going to handle this. I’ll be at the White House in…”

“They’re going to torture her!” Rapp growled.

“Mitch,” O’Brien sighed, “none of us want to see that happen, but you can’t go running off half-cocked. You need to…”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Rapp screamed into the phone. “You and everyone else in Washington need to stick your fucking heads in the sand for the next twenty-four hours, and let me do whatever it takes to get her back.”

“That’s not going to happen. I can’t let you do that.”

“Then you’d better go on vacation.”

“You’re too close to this thing,” O’Brien said forcefully. “You need to take a step back and cool down…remember that there are laws.”

“Well, apparently the other side didn’t get that memo, did they? You go ahead and cover your ass, Charlie.” Rapp shook his head angrily and then added, “But I remember when you used to have a pair. Back when you were in the field. Now you’ve turned into just another wussified seventh-floor desk jockey.”

There was a prolonged silence and then O’Brien said, “I’m going to ignore what you just said and write it off to the fact that you’re under a lot of stress.”

In slow, punctuated words, Rapp said, “I meant every word of it, Charlie. When this thing is over if the press comes down on you, I’ll gladly fall on the sword for both of us. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I need to put on my white gloves and ask these guys if they’d like to waive their right to an attorney.”

Rapp’s thumb stabbed the end button on the phone just as the Humvee was pulling up to the CIA compound.

The driver glanced over at Rapp and said, “This is my third tour over here.” The vehicle came to a complete stop. “I wish more people in Washington had your attitude.”

“So do I.” Rapp got out of the vehicle and waited for the soldiers to unload the prisoner who had ridden with them. Rapp had separated the three men. He’d put the Persian-speaking commander in the Stryker vehicle, the cop was strapped to a stretcher and put in the back of the second Humvee, and the foot soldier who he’d knocked out rode with him. Rapp was already racking his brain for a strategy. He needed to squeeze information out of these guys as quickly as possible. Just beating them silly would probably fail. At least short term. If he had a few days he could wear them down, but time was a luxury. He needed to come up with something more creative.

He didn’t know for sure how long Kennedy could hold out, and he didn’t want to find out. This was personal. Rapp had been tortured years before. He desperately wanted to spare her the pain, suffering, and degradation. He started to think of the ways it would be worse for a woman and then forced himself to stop. He needed to focus on finding her, not worrying about her. And he needed to do it as quickly as possible.

Two Humvees came rolling up and stopped just short of Rapp and the prisoners. Rapp recognized the base commander, General Gifford, as he climbed out of the lead vehicle. He was in full battle gear—helmet and all. He walked right up to Rapp.

“My recon choppers are up, I’ve got three Predators in the air, and two Reapers are on their way up from Baghdad. There’s four main roads that come into the city, and six more secondary roads, the Hundred and First is in the process of setting up checkpoints on all ten of those roads between forty and sixty clicks.”

“What about the river?”

“Covered to the north and south,” he replied in his clipped military tone. “We’re mobilizing every soldier we can and putting them on the street. Is there anything else you need from me?”

Rapp thought of the conversation he’d just had with O’Brien. “Yeah.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the three prisoners in black hoods. One was walking and two were on stretchers. “These guys with the bags over their heads…you never saw them…understand?”

Gifford looked beyond Rapp at the men. He hesitated for a moment as he thought of the obvious implication. He gave a quick nod and then said, “What men?” The general turned and marched back to his Humvee, over his shoulder he shouted, “You need anything, call me.”

Just as the general was pulling away Stilwell arrived with his Kurds. Rapp told the soldiers to set the stretchers down and had the Kurds take over. He figured the less the GIs knew the better.

Rapp and Stilwell walked into the trailer that housed the offices and a reception area. “Do you have a camera?” Rapp asked.

“Polaroid or digital?”

“Polaroid.”

Stilwell disappeared into an office and returned a moment later with the camera. As he handed it to Rapp he asked, “What else?”

Rapp flipped the camera around to see if it was loaded. “Yeah…find out where those bodies are.”

“What bodies?”

“The ones that I asked that captain, from the QRF…” Rapp snapped his fingers while he searched for the name.

“Captain Jensen,” Stilwell offered.

“Yeah, that’s him. I told him I wanted all the bodies brought back here so we could identify them. Make sure they’re brought here.”

“Not the base morgue?” asked a confused Stilwell.

“Here…right here. I want them stripped naked and dumped in the biggest cell you have. I want every square inch of the floor covered with dead bodies.”

“You’re serious?” Stilwell asked with a questioning frown.

“Yes,” Rapp barked.

Taken slightly aback Stilwell asked, “Anything else?”

Rapp was already halfway to the door. He stopped and asked, “What kind of sound tracks do you have to soften these guys up?”

Stilwell looked up at the ceiling and recited the list. “Barney, ‘I love you, you love me,’ ‘The Macarena,’ that obnoxious Nelly Furtado song, a lot of heavy metal…there’s some Barry Manilow, which I personally think is bullshit. The guy’s a genius…”

“No,” Rapp yelled. “I mean soundtracks of people being tortured…screaming, yelling, begging for their life. Not the looped Barney shit. I don’t have a week to wear these fuckers down.”

“Oh…sorry. Yeah, we’ve got a few good ones.”

“Put one on.” Rapp left the office and walked across the compound. The interrogation containers were around back next to a massive tan hangar. The containers had been placed side-by-side and covered in three layers of sandbags. Only one door and an air-conditioning unit weren’t covered. Rapp walked in the door and past a small desk and a bank of surveillance monitors. Twelve ten-inch screens. One for each cell. A man in jeans and a T-shirt was sitting behind the desk with his feet up reading a magazine.

Rapp stopped and pointed to the monitors. “You record what goes on in these cells?”

“Twenty-four seven. Mandated by Congress, courtesy of Abu Ghraib.”

“Lovely,” Rapp growled. “The recordings are stored on that hard drive sitting there?”

The guy looked at the computer sitting on the floor. “Yep.”

“Excuse me.” Rapp nudged past the man and yanked all the connections out of the back of the computer.

“Hey, you can’t do that. That’s against…”

Before the man could finish, Rapp grabbed him under the arm and yanked him to his feet. “Take a break.”

Rapp pushed the guy outside and started for the cells. A hallway had been cut down the center of the three containers, halving them with six cells on each side. The doors and walls were all quarter inch steel with foam insulation in between. Rapp ran into one of the Kurds in the hallway and asked him where the guy was who they thought was the leader. The Kurd directed him to the last cell on the left. Rapp slid the spy hole to the side and saw the man lying on his stretcher in the middle of the cell. He undid the lock, entered the cell and stood next to him. Then he reached down and yanked the hood off the man’s head.