Waterkill (Dave Henson Series) (15 page)

Chapter 23 (April 16, Saturday 11:30am, Southeastern Germany)

Dave raced south in the Audi S4, in the direction he had come from. Towards Dresden. He had remembered passing a small airfield on his drive to Eberswalde, about twenty kilometers south of Berlin.

Ron had indicated that Dana’s captors had called him near the small town of Lubbenau, Germany. From there they had proceeded southeast. When Ron called, Dana and her captors were stopped somewhere in the northwestern corner of Serbia. Based on their current direction Dave had concluded they were on their way to the Middle East via Turkey. If he could find an airplane at the airfield he might be able to catch up with them before they got to Turkey.

It would be difficult getting through the various countries’ airspaces between Germany and Turkey, but he figured with a little support from the U.S. government, and particularly the CIA, he would obtain the necessary clearances. Turkey airspace, however, would be a different matter altogether. Relations with Turkey and the United States were strained in recent years. It would be unlikely he would get clearance to fly over the country. And if he got caught flying over it without authorization he knew they would not hesitate to shoot him out of the sky.

Dave had driven for nearly one and a half hours. Finally, as he neared the airfield, he thought once again about Dana’s phone. Though her cell phone had been powered off, with support from the CIA’s Communication Division, Ron was able to remotely power up the phone and track its location via the GPS network. Though constantly maligned by the American press, the Patriot Act certainly had its advantages when it came to supporting national security. And in Dave’s case, helping him track down his wife and the terrorists that captured her.

Ron had also explained to him that the power on Dana’s cell phone could be cycled so that they could periodically obtain a new GPS location and preserve the battery life for as long as possible. It also mitigated the chances of Dana’s captors discovering that her phone had somehow powered up on its own. It would not take them long to figure out that Dana’s phone was most likely giving away their position.

Dave pulled into the small airport and drove up to what looked like the Fixed Base Operation office, or FBO, for the airfield. There were a couple of vehicles parked outside the office. As he got out of the car and walked to the FBO entrance he could not help but notice that there was an SR22T Cirrus sitting in a nearby open hanger. The SR22T was every general aviation pilot’s dream plane. It was a four-seater that had an all composite airframe, a 315 horsepower turbo charged piston engine, and a state of the art avionics panel. With a cruising speed of over two hundred forty miles per hour, a ceiling height of twenty five thousand feet and a range of eight hundred and fifty miles with a forty-five minute reserve, it was the perfect aircraft for his immediate needs.

Dave walked into the FBO and saw two men working behind a counter. “Guten Tag. Sprechen Sie Englisch?” asked Dave. 

“Yes,” one of the men responded in English. “How can I help you?”

“I need to rent a plane for the next several days.” Dave pointed out the window in the direction of the hanger with the SR22T sitting in it. “Any chance I could talk to the owner about possibly renting that one?”

“That plane is not for rent,” responded the man.

“Is there any chance I could speak to the owner?”

“You are speaking to the owner. It is my private aircraft and I don’t rent it out, and particularly not to strangers.”

“Oh, I understand.” Dave thought for a couple of seconds and took another look at the aircraft. “Well if you will not rent it to me would you consider selling it to me?” persisted Dave. Being an avid private pilot for over twenty years, if Dave knew one thing about general aviation it was the fact that when it came to small personal aircraft ownership every aircraft was always for sale. It was just a matter of price.

The man that had been talking to Dave looked over at the other man behind the counter and said something to him in German. The man responded back to him with a brief statement that ended with a rolling laugh. Dave thought he heard a number referenced in the second man’s comment.

“You want to buy my plane,” laughed the man. “Sure, sure I will sell it to you. For one million dollars.” The man had a big smile on his face when he said dollars.

Dave knew the offer was about twice as high as the plane was worth. Even a brand new SR22T only cost around seven hundred fifty thousand dollars. But he did not have the time to dicker with the man. He knew Dana’s life was on a short time table, regardless of what the terrorist had said.

“Ja, ja, yes I accept your offer.”

The man’s mouth dropped open in shock. So did his buddy’s. They knew the plane was worth far less. Dave could also tell the man was in instant shock with the thought of losing his cherished aircraft.

Two hours later and a bank wire transfer, Dave was boarding his newest aircraft carrying its complete set of logbooks. Dave had only fifteen hours of previous flight time in the SR22T, just enough to have an endorsement in his logbook to legally fly the aircraft. It was also sufficient enough time, and recent enough experience, that he was able to quickly run through the set of checklists and have the aircraft airborne five minutes later.

As he climbed in altitude he punched in coordinates into the onboard flight computer for a course towards the southeast. He was headed to Sofia airport in Bulgaria. It was at the edge of the envelope range for the Cirrus’s fuel tanks. However, he had topped off the tanks to above their collars. By his calculations he should just make it. And with any luck, he hoped to intercept Dana and her captors before they got that far south. 

Chapter 24 (April 16, Saturday 3:00am, Tehran, Iran)

The cell phone buzzed for a fourth time on the nightstand. Still only half awake, Aref rolled over and reached for his phone. As he did he glanced at the bright red numbers displayed on the digital clock sitting on top of the armoire across the room. It showed three o’clock in the morning. Looking back at his cell phone he squinted at the display and saw that it was Barak calling him, one of his most trusted lieutenants positioned in the United States. He and Barak had been classmates together at MIT and worshiped at the same mosque in Boston when he lived there. Barak had chosen to stay in Boston after they graduated and worked for a high tech software firm in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Like himself, Barak had been influenced by the mosque to wage jihad on western civilizations. However, unlike Aref, Barak took a more docile and clandestine approach in his war on the west. Instead of participating in actual terrorist acts, he chose to labor quietly for the cause. For example, he regularly helped to raise United States dollars to fund Al Qaeda attacks and acted as a deep mole for them in certain operations. It was this latter type of work which Barak had been conducting for Aref over the past few months.

Aref sat up and slid his legs over the side of the bed as he answered the phone.

“Hello Barak. What good news do you bring to me at this early hour of the day?” A body buried from head to toe underneath the silk sheets next to Aref moved slightly at the sound of Aref’s voice. Aref placed his hand on the deep curve in the sheets and whispered to the person to remain quiet. The body immediately stopped moving.

“I am sorry to have to wake you so early in the morning,” said Barak. “However, I have important news to share with you. Information I only received a few minutes ago myself.”

Barak hesitated before continuing.

“Go on,” urged Aref. “What information do you have for me today? Have you been able to confirm for me the loss of Zand and his team?”

“Yes I did,” said Barak, again with a slight hesitation in his voice. “I have learned from my contacts out west that Zand and his team were killed and that a United States government’s Border Patrol Special Ops group recovered what Zand and his team were after.”

Barak could hear Aref breathing heavily on the phone, but there was no immediate response from him. After several seconds Aref spoke.

“Do you have any additional information about Zand’s failed mission?” asked Aref.

“I also received confirmation that Doctor Henson and his partner from NSurv were part of the Special Ops team that took out Zand and his men.”

The hair on the back of Aref’s neck sprung up at the mention of the name Henson.

“Doctor Dave Henson is a technical advisor to the Senate Homeland Security and Government Affairs Committee and is also an expert in the field of nanoscience,” Barak continued.

“Yes, I know about Doctor Henson,” responded Aref in a hushed seething voice. “As a matter of fact, his wife is currently enroute to me.”

Aref paused for an extended period of time as he stared at the red numbers on the clock across the room on the armoire. Barak waited quietly and patiently for any further response from Aref.

The clock ticked forward another minute breaking Aref from his trance-like state. “Doctor Henson and his wife will pay for the grief that he has caused me and our cause. But not before they first observe what I do to their country.”

After a brief pause Barak spoke again.

“Aref, I need to tell you one more piece of important intelligence.”

“Go on,” said Aref slowly as his mind was half focused on his future plans for Henson and his wife.

“The material that Zand and his team were trying to recover. It has been taken to the US Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases for analysis.”

“It would be impossible for us to recover it from that facility,” commented Aref.

“Yes, this is true,” said Barak. “However, Doctor Henson’s company NSurv, as I mentioned before, is focused on nanoscience technology. They employ many of the top scientists and engineers in this field and are involved in a number of nanotechnology areas, including bioengineering and advanced surveillance. Undoubtedly they will be asked by the U.S. government to help assess the recovered material. If they discover the unique properties of it, they could jeopardize your plans further.”

Aref thought for another moment before speaking. “We need to take NSurv out of the equation, or at least defocus them for a while to give us a little extra time. Barak, I need you to step up and help orchestrate an attack on NSurv.”

There was an extended silence over the phone, Aref waiting for a response from Barak, and Barak not knowing how to reply.

On the other side of the world, in his small two bedroom apartment in Cambridge, Barak began to break out in a cold sweat as he considered Aref’s request, or more accurately, command.

“Barak, I need you to assemble a small team of our U.S. based Mujahideen brothers and pay NSurv a holy visit.”

Barak continued to remain silent on the phone as he debated how to respond.

“Barak, Barak, do you hear me?” commanded Aref into the phone.

“Yes, yes I do,” said Barak quietly. After hesitating a few seconds longer he finally spoke.  “I will answer Allah’s calling and do what you request Aref.”

“Thank you. You will be rewarded in your current and after life for your efforts,” responded Aref in a pleased and commanding voice. “You need to act quickly. Make your calls and put together a small team immediately. I want NSurv to know who they are dealing with in the next twenty four hours.”

“I understand,” replied Barak, still somewhat in shock with what he just committed to.

“Excellent, call me when you have completed your task.”

“I will,” said Barak in a quiet and monotone voice. However, Aref never heard his response. He had already hit the off button on his phone.

The body underneath the silk bed sheets moved again slightly. Aref was still holding his cell phone in his hand and modifying the timetable of his plans in his head when he felt the movement. Though he was angry with Zand’s failure he was somewhat pleased with the fact that he had to move up his schedule.

He reached over and turned on the light on the nightstand. He looked to the other side of the bed and saw the slender curves of a woman covered by the white silk sheets. He placed his hand gently on top of the sheets, near the woman’s waist, to acknowledge her movement and to coax her to pull the sheets down from over her head.

The sheets were slowly pulled back to reveal the tousled long dark hair of a young woman. She was no older than the age of sixteen, as Aref had made it clear to his staff years ago that no woman older than that age shares his bed with him. However, he didn’t know this girl’s specific age, or even her name, and nor did he care. They were both irrelevant to him. The women were simply his gift to himself, and their gift to him, for doing Allah’s work, nothing more and nothing less.

As he reached over to bring the girl towards him, he thought once again of Doctor Henson. As the young girl complied with Aref’s touch he wondered to himself how he would enjoy Henson’s wife before killing her. He smiled for a brief second, the young girl interpreting the gesture as an act of appreciation towards her. Doctor Henson would also pay the ultimate price for his deeds, but not before he first saw the defiling and death of his own wife. As he looked into the young girl’s flawless honey colored skinned face, a feeling of excitement welled up into his body. Not so much for the beautiful girl he held in his arms, but for the knowledge that he would soon greet his close friend Ahmad and his captive Ms. Dana Cogswell.