Tom Clancy's Act of Valor (23 page)

Engel noticed that the intel commander and the NSA man deferred to her, so she was definitely something more than a Navy lieutenant or a Navy intelligence officer. Engel guessed CIA or Homeland Security, with strong liaison connections to one or the other. Both Engel and Nolan assumed the lieutenant cover was just a means to allow her to blend in with the ship’s company and move about a little easier.

“The good news is that we now have a dozen of those explosive vests and at least eight of those who were slated to enter the U.S. on a mission of terror. There were five men and three women that we’ve positively IDed. The bad news is that we can’t account for the other vests or the terrorists. Or Shabal for that matter. And since all of those on Cedros were killed in the fighting, we have no one to interrogate. One of the women was still alive after the shooting, but she’s since died of her wounds.” She unintentionally made it sound like an accusation.

“Well, between all the grenades and the rockets and the automatic-weapons fire coming our way,” Nolan said evenly, “I guess we just got carried away.”

If she perceived some censure in Nolan’s comment, she didn’t let on, and continued. “The follow-on search teams did find a few cell phones, a satellite phone, and an iPad computer. Isaac here,” indicating the NSA man, “and his people are examining them for anything that might give us a clue to where the other vests and the terrorists might be.”

For his part, the National Security Agency man appeared restless. He seemed fixated on his Apple laptop while absentmindedly twirling a pencil in a rolling manner across his fingers, pointer to pinkie and back again.

“We’re working on it,” he mumbled, “but what they brought us from the island was pretty beat up. The computer had a bullet hole in it and most of the cell phones had been drenched in blood. Do you know just how corrosive human blood is?”

Nolan started to say something, but Engel placed a hand on his shoulder. “So where does that leave us?”

“We’ve confirmed that the Tupolev landed at the airport at Isla de Cedros Aeropuerto,” Lyons continued, “which was no small thing to get that plane onto a five-thousand-foot strip. The ‘passengers’ were taken away in open pickup trucks, and the plane immediately left. There is daily air service to Guerrero Negro, and we’re checking their bookings as we speak. And there are small craft that routinely cross the channel between Cedros and Baja. It’s safe to say that the other vests and the other terrorists, and probably Shabal as well, have made the crossing. We can only assume that they are headed north for the border. So the
Bonhomme Richard
is now steaming north to the Baja-U.S. border. But this will do us no good unless we can pinpoint where they are and where they plan to cross.”

“So,” Nolan said, “we stand by to stand by and wait for something {foro s to break.”

Lyons shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea. We’ve alerted all our border contacts to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, but we’ve stopped just short of a terrorist alert. At this time, it would serve no purpose. We have, however, let the Mexican authorities know that there may be terrorists attempting a border crossing, but we’ve given no details on just how serious this threat is. They’ve moved one of their tier-one special- operations units to the border where
they
are on standby. If it comes to mounting another operation on Mexican soil, either they will be working with you or you will be working with them. The State Department and Homeland Security are working out the liaison details.”

“You mean,” Engel said evenly, “that we might be working side-by-side with, or even under the tactical control of, these Mexican SPECOPs types?”

“That’s right, the Grupo Aeromóvil de Fuerzas Especiales, or GAFE—Mexican special forces. I’ve been led to believe they’re very good. Maybe not as good as you SEALs, but we’re south of the border here. It’s their turf, so it’s their game. The Cedros Island venture was a one-time, offshore thing. Maybe if you hadn’t, well . . .”

“Yeah, we know,” Nolan interjected, “if we hadn’t killed so many people and broken so much stuff.”

“Look,” Lyons replied, with a measure of anger in her voice, “it is what it is. They are cooperating, but there are limits to that cooperation. And we’re the beggars here; the terrorists are targeting us, not them. It took a lot of log rolling to allow you to go onto Cedros. Now we want to put an armed military unit on their mainland—even a small team, which is what you will have to go in with. So we have boundaries. Their special-operations people are supposed to have good capabilities. They operate against cartel security, which is every bit as nasty as the Taliban. So there it is; we do it this way or sit back on our side of the border and wait for them. If Isaac and his people can find them, then we have a target. If not, then we’ll have to wait for a break and watch the border smuggling routes.

“We’ve already received some help from the GAFE. They operate almost exclusively against the drug smugglers, and they say that the most numerous routes and most porous border points along the southwest border regions are in and around Mexicali. We understand that these crossing points are also the most closely guarded and defended by the cartels. They feel that if the terrorists and the smugglers are indeed in bed with each other, then they will try to cross in the Mexicali area. But that still takes in a lot of border. Meanwhile, I recommend that your team get ready to marry up with the Mexican GAFE team. They’re already set up at a small airstrip just outside of Mexicali. We can fly you off as soon as you’re ready.” She paused and seemed to soften a little. “And, I understand that you, Lieutenant, were hurt on the island raid. Are you up to this?”

“I’m up to it,” he answered, then paused to frame his words. “We can be ready to go in two hours, three at the outside. It’ll take that long to set up a communications plan and get our radios encrypted. We also have to put together a small support package. I’ll take my squad, all six of us, as the primary as {he lan andsault element, and I’ll want a sniper and a communicator from the Team One platoon, if their platoon officer approves.”

Nolan started to say something, but Engel again put his hand on his shoulder. “We need to get to our SEALs and start getting them ready. We’ll keep you advised on the progress of our preparations. You don’t have anything, do you, Chief?”

“Well, since you put it that way, Boss, I guess I don’t.” He rose and walked out of the TOC with Engel on his heels.

When they were out of earshot, Nolan turned to face him. “Look, sir, this is fucked. We don’t even know . . .” Engel raised his hands in an act of surrender and to interrupt.

“I know, and I hear you, Chief. We have no intelligence, and we know nothing about these Mexican special operators. But I think we have no choice but to go along, at least for now. We need to get ashore and in a position to react if we do get better intelligence. And I’ve got some ideas on how we can work around this. Now I want you to go and get the guys turning and burning. And talk to the Team One platoon chief; see if we can borrow a sniper and a backup SEAL communicator. I’m going to have a private little chat with Ms. Lyons to see if I can get some ground rules in place as well as a little more detail.” Engel paused and looked at his chief, who waited, arms folded, to hear him out. “I know this is not how we like to do business, but this could be a crucial operation, Chief—one that could prevent a lot of Americans from getting killed. So I, we, have to bend a little and go with the flow. As always, none of us steps out into the deep linguini unless both of us say it’s a go. Fair enough?”

Nolan smiled, relenting. “Fair enough, sir. But this Mexican SPECOPs unit bothers me. What do we know about them? How do they operate? Hell, we don’t even know what kind of radios they have.”

“Again, I hear you, Chief. Seems a bit strange, doesn’t it? We’ve worked with the Iraqi SOF and the Afghans and the Canadians and just about every NATO SPECOPs component in the world, but never with the Mexicans. And now, to have a shot at some really bad guys who are about to attack our country, we may have to. So?”

Nolan shrugged. “So we go with the flow, I guess. I’ll go and get the boys cracking, and I don’t think there’ll be an issue with the two guys from Team One. Hell, they’ll all want to go.”

Engel started to head back to the TOC, thought better of it, and headed up to the flight deck, where his Iridium sat phone worked best. He hit number one on the speed dialer. It took a few moments for the encryption to click in and the call to go through.

“Extension 3725,” came the sleepy voice on the other end.

“Good afternoon, Senior Chief, or I guess it’s good morning there.”

“It’s morning all right, very early morning. What can I do for you, sir?”

“You still have our friend there, right?”

“We do. He’s no longer on his yacht but doing nicely in a guarded stateroom here on the
Makin Island
. He’s in isolation and, so far, very cooperative. I’m just not sure that operationally, he knows all that much.”

“Here’s where we are, Senior,” and he gave him a brief breakdown of the Cedros Island operation and of the missing terrorists and explosive vests. “We don’t know where they are, and we don’t know where Shabal is. If there’s
anything
you can get from him that might lead us to where they are or where they might cross the border, it might be our only shot. Otherwise, they could slip into the country, and we’ll never know where they are until they strike.”

“Understood, sir. Give me a few hours. No promises, as he just may not know, but I’ll do what I can from this end.”

“Thanks, Senior. That’s all we can ask.”

“And, sir, you take care of yourself. I understand that you’ve been confronting large-caliber objects at close range. Most unwise, sir.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Senior,” he said and cut the connection.

As he headed for the TOC, he wondered how Miller had heard about his close call with the 40mm grenade. On further consideration, he realized there were Navy communication channels and Navy chief-to-chief communication channels. And the latter were the faster of the two.

When he reached the TOC, one of the ship’s communicators handed him a message. It was a set of orders—and a notice of his promotion to lieutenant commander. The orders were to the White House for a two-year tour as a junior military aide-de-camp. He smiled. For the first time since he was a high school running back, he would carry “the football.” He couldn’t wait to tell Jackie—two full years and he’d be home most every night. This would please her to no end. Then he frowned as he thought about telling Dave Nolan and the others that he was leaving. He’d wait until after this operation was over. And, he reflected, it would probably be his last one as leader of the Bandito SEALs. Promotion to lieutenant commander meant that he would be leaving the operational platoons.

He tucked the message into his shirt pocket and set off to find Lieutenant Susan Lyons.

*  *  *

“You say that they are all dead? All dead! And the vests gone as well?” Shabal paced as he shouted into the cell phone. “How could this have happened? . . . Very well . . . There is nothing to be done. Immediately destroy your cell phone and stay out of sight!”

Shabal threw his own phone to the floor and crushed it underfoot. He continued to pace while several swarthy Mexican smugglers sat at a nearby table and watched him. These were hard, fierce men, but this violent and mercurial Chechen scared them. They watched as Shabal paced, the rage etched on his feature {n hhe rs. How could they have found the other contingent of recruits on Cedros, he wondered? And what bad luck. In another few hours, they, too, would have been on the mainland and moving to their border-crossing point.
So be it,
he reasoned,
we will make do with what we have left.

For his part, he had done everything he needed to do, and done it to perfection. He shook his head. Was it ego, or was it just a fact of life? If he left it to others, they made a mess of it. And Christo wanted him to deal with his intermediaries. What a crock! This was too important to leave to intermediaries. Perhaps too important to leave to those who did not believe as he believed.

They had made it to Cedros Island and made the channel crossing to Baja. Now they were in a safe house in Mexicali. He didn’t trust these Mexicans, but they were useful to him—at least for the moment. He pulled aside the dirty window shade on the second floor bedroom and looked down on the dusty Mexicali street below. A hairless dog wandered down the street, looking for food scraps. Soon they would be at this place they called the milk factory and their border-crossing point, and nothing could stop them from there.

Long ago Christo had explained the vast tunnel system running from Mexican border towns north into the United States. It was one of the things he liked about Christo. He didn’t describe them as a clandestine or an illegal network for smuggling drugs and people into the United States—a network that had made Christo wealthy beyond imagination. These details were simply a part of his business empire. They were but a means of transportation as normal to Christo as the U.S. Interstate Highway system was to truck drivers.

But now that Shabal was here, the tunnels were no longer an abstraction. They were part of the tactical plan he needed to execute to consummate his assault on America. With half of his recruits dead and half of his vests gone, he needed to ensure the remaining vests produced maximum carnage. He must now carefully prioritize the targets.
Even so,
he thought,
with eight targets and thousands dead, it will still make 9/11 pale by comparison.