Wrath & Righteousnes Episodes 01 to 05 (34 page)

“And the unreadable portions of the transcript?” he then asked, pushing his personal anguish aside.

“We’re still working on that, sir. There were a couple times when Prince Saud slipped into Arabic, so our translators have been going over the recording, trying to complete the transcription, but as I mentioned, the helicopter was low and portions of the transmission didn’t come through. It might be this is the best transcription we ever get.”

The general laid the transcript on the table and stared at the far wall. The staff worked busily around him, but his mind drifted back. The crown prince had warned him. But did he have any idea he was so close to death? A sudden chill ran though him. How much did the prince really know? He thought of the codeword. Was this Firefall?

He turned back to his staff. “Who was with him in his helicopter?”

An intelligence officer stepped forward. “So far as we know, he was alone.”

Brighton shook his head. The Crown Prince of Arabia. Alone. In his helicopter. In the middle of the night. Out over the water. It was more than unusual, it was completely absurd. Turning to the transcript, he read it again. “
I only have one son.
” He looked up from the transcript and stared again into space.

Colonel Hansen moved to the conference table and sat down as a small group of staff members gathered around them. The colonel’s face was taut and he nervously wet his lips. “Sir, we’ve been poking around since we intercepted this message,” he said. “Our consul in Riyadh has been trying to talk with King Faysal, but hasn’t been able to get through. However, the king managed to send us a message. We are still trying to confirm its authenticity, but it appears to be real.” Hansen paused and wet his lips again.

“Yes?” Brighton demanded.

The colonel looked around anxiously. “I’m sorry sir, but we think Crown Prince Saud’s family has also been killed.”

“Killed?”

“Assassinated. A political hit.”

“His family?”

“His sons from Princess Tala, Prince Saud’s most senior heirs. And maybe Princes Tala and their daughter as well, all of them killed a little more than forty-eight hours ago.”

Brighton’s face drained of color and he blinked his eyes suddenly. He shook his head in doubt. “I don’t believe it,” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir. I know you and Crown Prince Saud bin Faysal were good friends. It’s a kick in the gut, especially with his family . . . .”

“I don’t believe it!” Brighton repeated, his voice growing sour. His thoughts came to him slowly, thick tar in his mind. “Why would anyone kill his family? With the security that’s around them, I don’t see how they could!”

His staff members stared at him, none of them willing to reply. Hansen tapped a finger on the table, pointing to a line on the transcript. He didn’t say anything, but his growing impatience was becoming clear. “I’m sorry, sir, but it happened,” he finally said. “I know he was your friend, but the old guy was bopped off, along with his wife and kids. We know they’ve been killed. Now we have to figure out what it means, why it happened and what’s going to happen next.”

Brighton turned toward him and Hansen tapped the transcript again, the surety of his action enough to cast Brighton’s disbelief aside. “We are seeking confirmation, turning over every stone,” the colonel continued, “but from what we are hearing from our friends at the Israeli Mossad, as well as our guys in Syria and Iraq, it looks like one of King Faysal’s sons is making a move.”

The general’s face drained of color.

A power struggle in the kingdom! It was impossible to overstate the danger this would create. The instability in the Persian Gulf would send the price of oil through the roof. It would cripple western economies at a time when they were already on the edge. The hard cash it produced would be used to breathe money and life into al Qaeda and several other terrorist regimes. It would destabilize the entire region, including the fragile Iraqi government, while bringing out all the snakes and spiders in Syria, Iran, and Lebanon. It could shut down the Persian Gulf to international shipments of oil while increasing the opportunities for nuclear proliferation in the most dangerous part of the world. It would mean the military forces in Israel would be on hair-trigger alert. It would mean . . . . He felt a sick knot in his throat.

He took a deep breath. All right. It was here. He would deal with it . . . they would deal with it . . . they would do what they had to do. He rubbed his face, then his hair, then took a deep breath. Staring at the transcript, he started thinking clearly for the first time since walking into the Situation Room. “The prince’s son,” he wondered, “the Agha Jari Deh Valley?” A light began to flicker inside his head.

“Princess Tala?” Brighton asked. “She was killed, along with all of her children.”

“Yes, sir. That is what we have been told.”

“But there were no other assassinations?”

“Not that we know of right now.”

“You know that Prince Saud had another son. He had a second wife. Another child.”

The colonel didn’t answer.
That
was something he didn’t know.

“His enemies are trying to kill Prince Saud’s heirs,” Brighton said. “He is claiming stake to the kingdom . . . .”

“Sir?” Hansen questioned, then stopped and let Brighton think.

Brighton shook his head in frustration. Then it hit him like a slap on the head. “Get me a map,” he demanded.

A map was laid out before him and one of the specialists pointed at the crash site in the Persian Gulf. “Was the prince’s helicopter fly east or west?” Brighton asked.

“West, sir. Toward Saudi Arabia.”

The general considered, thinking of what the crown prince had said, the warning in the garden, the fear in his voice. “Where is Agha Jari Deh?” he asked. Hansen pointed at the map. The general drew a line with his finger between Saud’s personal heliport in Riyadh . . . the border . . . across the Gulf to Iran . . . through the mountains to Agha Jari Deh. The line was almost perfectly straight. He swallowed hard. “He hid him!” he said.

Hansen looked at him, not understanding.

Brighton pointed again. “He was hiding his last son, his last heir. He took him to Iran.” His voice was so certain, no one dared argue with him.

Brighton moved toward an illuminated map on the wall. The small group of advisors followed, Hansen staying at his side. “Prince Saud knew it was coming,” Brighton explained. “He tried to warn me.” He pointed to the small village with his finger. “He was over the Persian Gulf, on his way back from where he had hidden his son in Iran.”

Hansen stood in silence, then cracked his knuckles. Brighton turned away from the wall map.

“If we know it, the killer knows. If we know where Prince Saud was going, then the assassin knows it, too. He has to kill the last son to ensure the kingdom doesn’t fall to Prince Saud’s heir. If that’s the case . . . .”

Hansen started nodding.

“We’ve got to help him,” Brighton said as he turned to his aide. “What’s the closest Special Operations unit?”

“You know how thin we are in Special Forces, sir. All of our Spec Ops units are committed to ongoing operations. I’m not sure if we have anyone available . . .”

“There’s got to be someone!”

“Special Forces are stretched to the point of breaking three hundred and sixty-five days a year. None of them are idle. And we’ll have to use an SF unit. This isn’t the kind of mission we can send someone else.”

“Find someone!” Brighton commanded sternly. “I don’t care what you do or how you do it. Find us a unit we can task. We’ve got to get them to Agha Jari Deh before it’s too late. We’re looking for a young boy, four, maybe five years old. And Princess Ash Salman will be with him. Agha Jari Deh looks like a tiny village. If Saud took them there, then we can find him. But we’ve got to move quickly. If we picked up the radio broadcast, then Prince Saud’s enemies inside Saudi Arabia certainly picked it up as well. They will be moving. They
are
moving now. We have to get there before they do.”

Hansen turned to an Army liaison who had been standing with the circle of advisors a few feet away. The army colonel stepped forward. “We’ve got a Delta Team R&Ring in Germany,” he said. “They were supposed to get another couple days’ rest, but we could load them up and get them in-country if we had to. If we can get airlift from the Air Force, they could have them in Iran within twelve hours or so.”

Dagger turned to Brighton. His face was suddenly even more intense.
Sam’s unit was in Germany. That was the Delta unit the colonel was taking about. He was ordering his son into combat. It was a lousy thing to have to do.

“Sir?” Hansen prodded.

“Do it,” Brighton said. “Coordinate with the Chairman, the SecDef, and the CINC to get the orders in place. We need their support to authorize a mission into Iran. The president will have to pull the final trigger. I’ll lay the groundwork with him. Meanwhile, authorize all support and combat SAR assets. Who knows what our Deltas will run into once they get there. This is going to be a very dangerous mission, with no time to plan or prepare. Move other SAR assets if you have to. We can’t leave these guys out there without support. If anyone gives you pushback, send them directly to me. Emphasize to the Deltas that this is a rescue mission only. They need to avoid a firefight if possible, but they need to be ready. We might meet up with hostiles and we have to be prepared to accept casualties.” He stopped and scanned his staff. Most were scribbling notes. “I want the talking papers within an hour so I can brief the president.”

The army colonel nodded and moved toward his console. Hansen went with him, all the time talking in his ear. Brighton looked at the other members of the staff. “Any questions?” he demanded. No one spoke. “OK, get at it.”

The group sprang to life.

* * *

Prince al-Rahman listened to the young communications specialist intently, boring his dark eyes into him. “You are
certain
?” he demanded, his voice deadly but calm.

“
Sayid,
yes I am.”

“He said the Agha Jari Deh Valley?”

“I am certain, Prince Abdullah, that is what he said.”

“That’s in Iran?”

“Yes, my
Sayid
.”

Prince al-Rahman closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “My older brother has been murdered,” he said carefully. “I need to know everything. I need to know every detail of the radio call. Now, try to remember! Did he say anything else?”

The young soldier didn’t move as he thought intensely. “I have told you everything,” he finally answered. “Everything that I can recall.”

“His helicopter was shot down?”

“It seems that way,
Sayid
.”

“And there were no survivors?”

“No, my
Sayid.
”

“No survivors . . . no survivors . . . ,” Al-Rahman’s voice choked with pain. He forced a look of grief and deep sadness that pulled the corners of his lips into a tight frown. His eyes teared, his lip trembled, it was a spectacular display, with just the right mix of rage, shock and sadness at his brother’s death. Every head bowed in respect for his pain. Always emotional, his fellow Arabs recognized Al-Rahman needed a private moment to grieve.

The young prince wiped his hand across his eyes, then dismissed his staff with a wave of his hand. “Leave me,” he whispered. “I need some time alone.” His aides left without comment, the last one closing the heavy door to his office.

The room was silent a moment before Al-Rahman lifted the phone. “He went to Iran,” he said when his chief of security picked up the line. “Agha Jari Deh Valley.”

A long moment of silence followed. “Iran?” the general finally said.

“Yes,” Al-Rahman answered, “Now I want you to go and get him.”

“Sir, Iran is not a friend, they are an enemy. We have no assets in Iran.”

“I don’t care what you do or don’t have. We may not have Saudi assets in the country, but many powerful Iranian officers are indebted to me. Start with General Sattam bin Mamdayh. Get him on the phone. He’ll know
exactly
what to do.”

“Prince al-Rahman,” the general began to plead, “we have eliminated Prince Saud. His son is no threat to us. By the time he is old enough, it will be far too late!”

“You will do as I tell you. I want all of his children killed!”

“But
Sayid
, he is but a child. He poses no threat to you. Why can’t we just let him be?”

“Because he will grow up, you fool! Because he knows who he is! He will remember his father and he will come after us. And his mother is with him. Do you think that she won’t act? Are you stupid, my friend, or have you just lost your mind? I want all of them killed. None of Saud’s children can live.”

“But my Prince, if you will just consider for a moment . . . .”

“
I want them dead!
” Al-Rahman screamed like a madman into the phone. “
Now, are you going to do it, or do I need to have you replaced?
There are others who will follow my orders, general. You are not irreplaceable. Now you either bring me the son or I’ll mount your head on my wall like the female sheep that you are. Choose now, but choose wisely, for I am not in a good mood. And I don’t want to hear anymore whining about how he is
just a child!
”

* * *

As director, Iranian Internal Special Security Forces, Iranian General Sattam bin Mamdayh was one of the hundreds of powerful and evil men who either owed Al-Rahman, feared him or were dependent upon his money.

When Prince Al-Rahman called the general on a secure satellite phone, he got right to the point. “I need your help,” Al-Rahman instructed. “And I need it now.”

“Anything,” the general answered. “I will do what I can.”

“There is a small village on the west side of your country, not far from the sea. Agha Jari Deh. Are you familiar with it?”

The general thought a moment. Yes, he was familiar. There was a young man who lived there, a grandson of the traitor Pahlavi, friend of the Great Satan himself. All of the Pahlavi offspring were under surveillance by his men, though Rassa Ali Pahlavi had spent a meaningless life of herding and farming, so far as he knew.