Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (12 page)

Monday, March 17
^th
– 1100 hours

The Oval Office

National
Security Advisor Smith opened the door to the Oval Office. The President was leaning
back in his chair with his legs crossed, buried in a political thriller novel.
Winnfield was a voracious reader. All his life he had loved to read. He’d even
written a few books, but never managed to get them published.

“Mr. President,
sir, can I speak with you for a moment?” Smith asked.

The President’s
foot flew down to the floor. He closed his book a little too fast, resulting in
a sound that rang like a gunshot.

“Tom,” a
startled President acknowledged. “What can I do for you?”

“Sir, it’s
concerning Israel, and you need to hear this. May I sit down?” Smith didn’t
wait for permission to plop down in the hard leather chair opposite the President.
“Sir, I just got off the phone with Prime Minister Aziza. There seems to be a
crisis unfolding with Lebanon, yet again. To get to the point, a sleeper agent in
Lebanon working for the Israeli Mossad identified a well-known terrorist as he
was crossing the border into Israel. Well, Head of the Mossad Hazeroth
instantly brought the news to the prime minister. They confirmed the terrorist
to be Fadi Qasim.”

“Wait a minute,”
Winnfield butted in. “Is he the one that assassinated their foreign minister
last year?”

“He is, or
was
,
I should say. Anyway, the Israelis figured him to be armed and dangerous, so
they sent out a QRT to take him out. One problem though,” Smith popped a breath
mint into his mouth, “they didn’t take him out.”

“What? Are you
kidding? What happened?”

Smith halted the
President’s questions with his hand. “The guy dodged the Israeli team’s rockets
and snipers and was running for the cover of a nearby apartment complex. I
guess he figured he was doomed. Whatever the reason, he flipped the switch, and
the C4 that was on him took out everyone. Twenty Israeli Mossad agents and
several innocent bystanders were killed, and a few buildings were affected.
Need I say Qasim died too?”

“That’s a no
brainer,” the President replied. “Do you have an exact figure of casualties?”

“All the agents
– that’s twenty – and three civilians were killed. Prime Minister Aziza saw the
ordeal as a threat from Lebanon and has locked down the borders tighter than a
drum.”

“If all the
agents died, where’d all the information on this incident come from?”

“The sleeper
that found Qasim followed him and saw the whole thing. He was at a safe
distance so he wasn’t affected by the blast. Aziza, I’m told, is ready to
mobilize military units in the Golan Heights, just in case. I guess he figures Lebanon will hit there if anywhere. You remember the Lebanese government wanted the
Israelis to give the Golan to them in their little UNON Plan, right?”

“Right. Along
with the Israelis destroying all their nukes and taking out half of their ICBM
supply. Lebanon must have been crazy to think Aziza would go for it.”

“Yes sir, I
agree. But Lebanon’s been upset about the denial, and Israel knows it,” Smith declared, downing another breath mint. “Anyway, Aziza’s taking no
chances whatsoever. He thinks Lebanon’s going to war, and he’s preparing for
it. They think this is a repeat of last year’s war with Lebanon. Aziza’s afraid they’re going to try to move into the Golan, and he’s deadly serious about
making sure they don’t.”

“He’s not
planning to attack the Lebanese outright is he?” the President asked with concern.

“I’m not sure,
sir. But I must say, I think Aziza is getting an itchy trigger finger for the
Lebanese. Can you blame him?”

Winnfield shook
his head. “I can’t. But I do think I should talk to him soon and maybe feel out
what he’s thinking.” He paused and then switched the subject. “Tom, can you get
me a file on this Qasim guy?”

“Uh...I’d have
to ask Mike at CIA. I’m sure he’s got something on him. What do you have in
mind, sir?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ve got a hunch. Tell Mike to get the file and
report to me immediately. For all we know, that could be a precursor to attacks
on us.”

*          *          *

“You wish to see
me, Mr. President?” Cummins asked, stepping into the Oval Office and slowly
closing the door behind him.

“Yeah Mike, I did,”
the President answered. “Did you get the information?”

“I did sir, but
there wasn’t much on him.” The Director of the CIA slid a file of papers over
to the President. “I can quickly brief you if you’d like?” Cummins offered.

The President
consented and the D/CIA started his briefing.

“Fadi Qasim was
an Iranian terrorist, unknown to the world until just last year when he
assassinated the Israeli foreign minister. He virtually vanished into thin air afterward,
and no one could track him down, not the Mossad, not us at CIA, no one. Anyway,
he was quiet and lying low until just now.” The D/CIA cleared his throat. “Qasim
was considered a deadly man and he boasted the rank of fifth on the Mossad’s
most wanted list. A bounty of fifteen million dollars was on his head for six
months after the assassination, if that gives you an idea of the desperation
they had in catching him.”

Cummins rubbed
his left hand as he continued his in-depth brief. “Qasim worked for Hezbollah
for ten years before his first attack, which was on the foreign minister. For those
years he was sitting in Lebanon, training I guess, just waiting for the green
light to go ahead with an attack. His superiors must have thought him pretty
good if they let him handle an important assassination like that. Israel is convinced that the Lebanese government sent him in to kill the minister last
year, and apparently they’re convinced they sent him in this time too,” Cummins
continued. “So, all we know is that Qasim worked for Hezbollah and killed the
Israeli foreign minister. As I said, we don’t have much on him, but at your request
I could have my guys look deeper into him.”

“I figured he
was an Iranian working for Hezbollah,” the President said. “Do you think that Lebanon put him up to whatever he was going to do, or is Iran behind this?”

“As you well
know, sir, Hezbollah pretty much does what it wants without Lebanon interfering. I think Iran would be a better guess. They are the founders of
Hezbollah, and I would venture to guess they would be the ones behind
masterminding an operation like that.”

“You think Iran’s moving against Israel?”

“All I know sir,
is that on the surface it appears that when Lebanon’s happy with Israel, there are no Iranian-based Hezbollah terrorist attacks. But when Lebanon’s unhappy with Israel, Hezbollah sends in their Iranian terrorists. Now, that would seem
like Hezbollah is being a hired-gun for Lebanon, but we have to delve deeper
into the matter. Who really owns and controls Hezbollah? Not Lebanon, but Iran. It would seem likely that Lebanon is trying to get back at Israel when these terrorists attack. But maybe Iran is striking Israel by using
their
terrorists under the guise of being ‘gunners’ for Lebanon. That would make it
look like the terrorists were ordered into Israel by the Lebanese. But really Iran is calling the shots for the terrorists, telling them when, where, and how to attack. So
all these attacks and bombings are destroying Israel by
Iran’s
command, not Lebanon’s.”

“But Lebanon
is
upset over how the Israelis denied their peace plan. Couldn’t that have
some effect on whether or not Lebanon moves against Israel?” the President
questioned.

“You’re right Mr. President, Lebanon is upset about their UNON Plan being denied, but I don’t see them
making war against Israel, in any form – terrorists or military,” Cummins
explained, cracking the knuckles on his left hand.

“Do you have a
reason for that belief, Mike?”

“Yes, quite
frankly I do,” he told the President. “You see, Lebanon’s goal of passing the
UNON Plan was not only to bring peace, but to disarm Israel of its nuclear
weapons. Prime Minister Jamil Zacka is petrified of Israel’s missile supply. He
thinks Israel is the “Big Bad Wolf” and they could swallow his little military
in one sitting. I really think that Israel’s threat of nuking Beirut would keep
Zacka’s hands from moving against them for a good long while. If he had the
power, there is no way he’d send in terrorists that could be traced back to him.
He knows Israel would take out his sorry government in a heartbeat. Sure he
wants the Golan Heights, but who doesn’t? The question is would he attack Israel, again, to try and take the Golan? Most likely not. That’s why he spent so long
forming a peace treaty that would force Israel to give the Golan to Lebanon without any fighting involved. If he felt his military could take them, would he
lower himself to make a peace plan? Iran and Iraq have not. Think about it. Would
Zacka show the weakness of his country by making a peace plan if he really felt
his military could take the Golan? Of course not. The only way Lebanon has ever gotten its way is by war, bloodshed, and destruction, not by peace and uniting
with the State of Israel. And if they thought they could gain something by
making war, they wouldn’t make a peace plan, they’d take what they wanted by
force.”

“You think Lebanon is too weak to take the Golan so they made up a peace plan that would try to make Israel give it to them?” the President wondered.

“That would sum
it up, sir. They’re just too afraid right now to invade Israel when they’ve got nukes and Lebanon doesn’t. But Iran...” Cummins let his point sink in.

“Has the nukes,
the military force, the will to destroy Israel, and the terrorists and brains
to think up a plan like this that would shift the blame to Lebanon while they
just sit behind the scenes ordering in terrorists and allowing Lebanon to take
Israel’s punches,” Winnfield finished for Cummins.

“Exactly. You
must admit it’s a brilliant plan.”

“If it’s really
their plan,” the President corrected. “There’s still a small chance that Zacka
has the guts to retaliate against Israel for denying his plan, is there not?”

“There is sir,” Cummins
agreed. “But I must tell you that Iran is looking guilty in my eyes more so than
Lebanon.”

Winnfield pushed
back from his desk and scooted his swivel chair to the nearby window.
What
threat can this be to my country? And how am I supposed to respond?
he
thought to himself.

“All right Mike,
do an investigation on Qasim. Find all you can and report to me the instant you
find something of value. But be careful; I want this investigation to have no
leaks whatsoever. I don’t want Iran – or Lebanon for that matter – to catch
wind of what we’re doing,” the President said, starring out the window at the bloomless
Rose Garden.

“I will sir,” Cummins promised. “We always are careful. You may not like
what I find though.”

*          *          *

Parks looked
around his roomy and comfortable office. There were two desks in the center of
the office, a conference table by the windows, and two small couches off to one
side, with a small coffee table in between them. A computer was positioned on
each desk, along with a phone, and an empty bookshelf by the door.

Parks sat down
in the black swivel chair in front of the left desk. He pulled open the middle
drawer and found a directory inside. He opened the small binder and scanned the
names. The National Security Advisor and everyone that was on his team had
their phone numbers and home addresses written down. It would be a very useful
item in the near future, Parks figured.

As Parks was
flipping through the directory, the desk phone rang and he picked it up
hesitantly.

“Major Parks,”
he said, hoping he’d answered in the right way.

“Major Parks, this
is the White House operator. Please hold for the National Security Advisor,”
the lady stated.

“Yes ma’am.”

Seconds later,
the tired, burnt-out voice of the NSA came onto the line. “Keith, this is Tom
Smith. How’re you?”

“Great sir. How
are you doing?”

“Don’t ask,
please. But anyway, to get to the point of my call, I want to say I’m sorry. I
was supposed to have that long briefing with you as soon as you were finished talking
with your team. But we have had a slight occurrence, and I’m going in a million
different directions. I’m afraid I just can’t find the time to do it right now.”

“I understand
sir,” Parks replied.

“However, I’d
like to meet with you in an hour or so, at my office, and I’ll try to answer
all the questions I’m sure you still have. I wanted to get you acquainted with
your team this morning so they could get back to their offices. That’s why I
cut our first meeting short and planned for another.”

“Right sir,
that’s fine,” Parks said.

“Okay that’s all.
Take care, Keith.”

“All right, I’ll
see you in an hour then, sir.”

Parks heard
Smith hang up the phone and he did the same. One hour until he received answers
to all of his questions. He still had much to learn about this job, mainly
because it was not military in nature. But he’d know the answers soon; all he
had was an hour to wait.

Monday, March 17
^th
– 1230 hours

The Office of the National Security
Advisor

Smith was
shuffling through some last-minute papers just as Parks walked through the door
and stood at attention. The National Security Advisor was very busy, but he had
his orders from the President to answer any questions that Parks may have and
to brief him thoroughly on his job. So that was what he was going to do. Smith
threw the papers in a heap on the floor and cleared away the empty bottles of
water resting on his desk.

Smith’s office
was large and positioned in the West Wing of the White House. It was twice as
large as Parks’ seemingly “mansion suite.” Additionally, the black walnut desk
in front of the NSA was enormous and obviously made by a very skilled craftsman.

“You’ll need a secure
Blackberry,” the National Security Advisor suddenly announced, digging into one
of the desk drawers and pulling one out.

“If it’s all the
same to you, sir, I’d rather not have one of those high-speed, low-drag things,”
Parks said honestly, standing straight and still.

“Oh. Cell
phone?”

“That’d be fine,
sir.”

Smith traded the
Blackberry for a cell phone but kept it in his hand instead of giving it to
Parks.

“Come in Keith.
Have a seat over there,” he offered, motioning to the couches by the large
windows.

Parks walked to
the couches and remained standing until he was joined by a clearly disturbed
Smith. The National Security Advisor sat down, and then and only then, did
Parks take a seat.

“Can I get you
anything to drink?” Smith asked kindly, gesturing with his head to a small
refrigerator in the corner.

“No sir, I’m
fine, thanks.”

“Good, then you
wouldn’t mind grabbing me a bottle of water?”

In a moment,
Parks had retrieved the bottle of
Fiji
water from the fridge, and had
set it down on the small table next to Smith.

“Thanks,” he acknowledged,
gulping the entire bottle down in just a couple swallows. “Ahhh,” he sighed, as
he threw the bottle at a nearby trashcan. It actually landed inside it, to
Parks’ amusement. “You have any questions for me?” Smith asked.

“Yes sir, I do
have a couple,” Parks said.

Smith nodded for
him to go on.

“My biggest
concern, sir, is that it’s a known fact that the U.S. military does not engage
in combat roles in the United States. I feel I need to double-check and see
what kind of authority I have to do so.”

Smith rubbed his
hands together vigorously. “Okay then, let’s get technical. You are aware that
Marines do not conduct operations inside the United States. Nor do CIA agents
for that matter. So in order for you to be permitted to do this job, the
President had to write an executive order.” The NSA grabbed a top secret folder
from an end-table, took out a piece of paper, and handed it to Parks. “Check it
over just to be sure.”

Trust and
verify,
Parks thought as he looked over the executive order on Presidential
letterhead.

“Executive Order
54029 allows you to perform operations inside the U.S. to a great extent. You
are now free to take out terrorists when ordered, topple hostile forces, and the
like. That order covers everyone on your team.”

Parks took note
of President Winnfield’s signature at the very bottom of the paper.

“Go ahead and
keep that in the safe in your office. But I must stress that the information
that page contains is highly classified,” the NSA pointed out.

“Don’t worry,
sir, it’ll be safe,” Parks assured.

“If we’re good
on that issue then I’ll take your next question.”

Parks took a
deep breath. “I’m somewhat hesitant to ask this, sir, but I have noticed that
some of my team members are less than enthusiastic about me commanding the
team. I hate to suggest this, but should one of them be unbearably
uncooperative, do I have the authority to fire that man?”

“You betcha,”
Smith hastily confirmed. “Anyone who holds up progress for your team is not
worth having around. But let me know before you actually fire someone or change
the command in any way.”

“Yes sir.”

“Your work hours
are from 0600 to 1800 but those are just estimated times for normal days. Keep
in mind that if we believe we’ve located a terrorist you will be on duty for
much longer. Sometimes days non-stop,” he stated. “As for leave, each member of
your team will get one full week off per year. But, you are forbidden to leave
the D.C. area during your time off unless you are within an hour’s drive from
this very spot.”

Parks hardly
thought of that as time off.

“Also, the President
must agree before I sign off on any leave you take. And you may not have time
off when we’re in a high threat level. So you can take leave on occasion, but
your freedoms are limited.”

Smith peeled off
his suit coat and continued. “Your office phone number, email account address
and password – which of course you’ll need to change – and cell phone number,
are all written here.” Smith shoved a small, yellow piece of stationary toward
him and then tossed him the secure cell phone. “Your team members already have
your work numbers.” The National Security Advisor closed his eyes and breathed
deeply before going on. “Your password for your intel email account needs to be
unbreakable. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Excellent. Does
that settle everything on the immediate questions, Major Parks?” The National
Security Advisor secretly hoped it did.

“It does, sir.”

“Good, then I
have a question for you. Did you know that your team will need to train almost
every day?”

Parks thought that
he needed to on occasion but managed to respond, “I do now, sir.”

“You will need
to conduct a lot of training,” Smith confirmed.

“Understood
sir,” Parks said.

“When I refer to
training,” the NSA continued, “I am referring to both physical and strategic.
For example, physical training as in shooting, real-life scenarios, hand-to-hand
combat, such and so forth. Strategic training as in war-gaming counterterrorism
plans by conferring with each other to see what the best plan of attack will be
for random situations, and so on. I will leave the details up to your personal
preferences and ideas. But I must advise you,” Smith said, “I would jump on the
training part. Who knows how much time your team has before being called into
action? And the last thing anyone would want is to have seven independent minds
during an operation – you want one cohesive team. Now I know in the Marine
Corps they train you all to think and act as one man. The President likes that
mindset. He wants you to instill it in each one of your team members, and if I
were you, I’d do it quickly.”

“Thank you sir,
I appreciate the advice. I most certainly will get on that,” Parks told him.

“
When
will you get on that?” the National Security Advisor pressed. “The President
has put me in charge of your team’s fine details, and I intend to see to them.”

“Uh...tomorrow,
sir. We will start PT tomorrow,” Parks threw out, hoping his answer was
acceptable.

“Good, that’s
fine,” Smith said happily. “I know just the place for you to train too. Now,
could you give me a rough plan of what your training session will consist of?”

Parks was
surprised at the NSA’s enthusiasm. He hesitated, and then spit out a response. “Well,
we’ll focus on physical training first, sir. Like running, pull-ups, push-ups,
and sit-ups for starts.”

Smith nodded.
“How long will you train each day?”

“Depends on the
ability of the men, sir. I’d like to see how far along they are before I say,”
Parks explained, hoping to buy some time. He squirmed nervously in his seat
before he asked a question. “Could you tell me where we’ll train, sir?”

“We’ve secured a
gym that’s just down the road from here that’ll serve well for the physical
part. For shooting and maneuvers we also have a special place nearby.”

“All right sir.”

“Oh, that email
account and cell phone I just gave you is for White House business only,” the
NSA stated. “Not for personal things. And I must tell you that when
communicating with your team I want you only to use your work email and phones.
Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s just for security reasons. We don’t want anyone finding out about
your team. As far as the rest of the world knows, you died and were buried back
at Camp Lejeune.”

*          *          *

“Good afternoon,
Mr. President,” Aziza answered his phone.

Winnfield dove
into the conversation without any formalities. “Mr. Prime Minister, I would
like to address the attempted terrorist attack performed on the Israeli-Lebanese
border.”

“Go ahead, Mr.
President,” the prime minister allowed, also in no mood for formalities.

“First off, I’d
like to condemn the attacks and, as stated earlier today by my National
Security Advisor, we offer you our complete assistance. However, I would like
to ask you a few questions concerning the attack.”

“Please, feel
free.”

“Thank you. Our
CIA has very limited information concerning Qasim, and we are trying to dig
deeper and find more. It would be appreciated if your Mossad could send us all
the information they have on him. Um, also, are you sure that Lebanon is to blame here?”

Aziza was
irritable and in a state of panic, and he didn’t want to hear “are you sure?”
from anyone. “Mr. President, your agency has as little, or as much, information
as we do. We have nothing. All we know is that Qasim is an Iranian working for
Hezbollah, which can be traced back to Lebanon. It’s simple; it should be
simple enough for even you to understand,” he said harshly.

The President
was slightly taken aback. “I should be offended by that last statement, but at
the present time, considering all that’s been going on, I’m not. But I will
reiterate the fact that we should not fly off the handle and hit the wrong target.”

“In other words,
don’t get trigger happy?” the prime minister shot back.

“Please, Mr.
Prime Minister, I feel the urgency you do. Really. Believe me, my country was
severely attacked just two months ago. I almost lost my life. I know what hard
times these can be. I just want to make sure we retaliate against the right
country.”

“
We?
”
Aziza questioned, seeming somewhat astonished.

“Yes, we will
watch your back. We will support every move you make. Also, I feel that the
same people who just tried to attack your country could be behind the attacks
on mine. And if that’s the case, we’ll spare you the trouble of a war. But
again, you and I both want to be sure we hit the right country,” the President
pointed out again.

“I am sure
enough, Mr. President, and so should you be. Lebanon is upset, and it’d be no
wonder that they’d try to strike back at us with suicide bombers. Eventually,
when the time is right, they’ll invade the Golan Heights. We cannot let that
happen. We cannot let terrorists come into our borders.”

“Mr. Prime Minister,” the President argued, “there is no real evidence
that points to that affect. It is not ground in stone that Lebanon’s to blame. But, some of my most trusted advisors have made a stunning point to me, and I’d
like to pass it on to you.”

*          *          *

The Israeli
borders were locked down. Military units were on guard at every major checkpoint,
and were scattered throughout the desert borders. Israel had slacked off, and
fortunately had not been bitten by the consequences. Israel was not going to
make the same mistake twice. Military units were now crawling everywhere in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Haifa. The Golan Heights was the only place where military units
were not swarming. Prime Minister Aziza had not yet ordered in more troops, or
allowed units already there to beef up their defenses. He had taken Hazeroth’s
advice on that. He had agreed that mobilizing the military units in the Golan
could push them into an all-out war with Lebanon.

Hazeroth paced
his office. Why had this happened? How could he have been so naïve? Was he
getting old? Or maybe too slow for this job? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t
afford to make yet another mistake; his job was already on the line. He had begged
every one of his sleeper agents inside Lebanon for intelligence. He had told
them the stakes couldn’t be higher. Now he could only wait and see. Wait for
the next terrorist to be picked up by his agents, and wait for the prime
minister to make a decision. This game of “cat and mouse” was tiresome.

Hazeroth pounded
his fist on the desk, then rubbed it soothingly. He hadn’t meant to pound so
hard, he just had to let out his frustration and soothe his nerves. He fell
into a chair and began thinking. Iraq had been silenced by America during the War on Terror. Iran was supposed to be neutralized and frightened of the Americans.
Syria was silent. Palestine couldn’t be quieter. And until today, Lebanon had been outraged, but nevertheless, quiet and peaceful. What had triggered the
sudden suicide bombing attempt? It was psychotic. How could the Israelis be so
peaceful and safe one minute, and then the next be preparing for thousands of
deaths at the hands of the Lebanese? The whole situation made no sense. Sure, the
Lebanese were upset, but to be stupid enough to send in a suicide bomber from
their
own
border was crazy. Why would they do that? It was outrageously uncommon
for the now-petrified prime minister of Lebanon. Unless some other country was
behind it. But who?

Hazeroth racked
his brain relentlessly. This was his job – to strategize and think things out until
he came up with an answer. But really, who could be behind this mess other than
Lebanon? Could Iraq? Afghanistan? They had more reason to suspect the Chinese
had done this than think either of those countries were responsible. Saddam
Hussein and Osama bin Laden were dead, so what madman in Iraq would order this? The Taliban and other terror groups in Afghanistan were still in hiding, not
daring to peek their sorry heads out for fear they would be blown off. Russia most likely was not involved. So that meant there were only two logical answers, and
one seemed more likely than the other – Iran or Lebanon. Iran was less likely, but even still, Lebanon did not seem likely to send in a terrorist when the
Lebanese were scared of Israel. Maybe everyone was overreacting. Perhaps this
Qasim had done this mission on his own orders.