The Shaddad Conspiracy

Chapter 18: A time to assess

**

Lady Catherine shook her head in exasperation. "Gentlemen, I want some hard appraisals and facts. Who could possible benefit from this? Countries? Religious entities? Corporate Entities? Someone or something we haven't identified? I open the floor to rational recommendations." She glared at the unrepentant American and French generals before continuing. "However, to ensure we start with cooler heads, we will take a break so that we can communicate with our individual networks. We reconvene in thirty minutes."

**

Lady Catherine crunched through the snowdrift and extended a mug of hot sweetened tea to Alexandra Russell.

"Something seems to be bothering you, Alexandra. Is it all the testosterone oozing off the walls? Or is that too clichéd?" She gestured to the gazebo in the middle of the inner courtyard. "It's surprisingly warm in this garden and yet the snow remains."

Alexandra sat in one of the cushioned iron wrought chairs. "No, it's not just the generals. It's the enormity of this task. Everyone just wants to get out and do something, but the ripple effect of our actions could precipitate ..."

"We can't let that cloud our conclusions. I know, lass, that precipitous action can have long lasting effects, but there is a time to analyze and a time to act." She sipped from her steaming mug. "We have twenty-four more hours of analysis at the maximum and then we have to act. We will have to forestall the events in Quetta – if we can identify the source. And that is a huge if."

"And yet we've assigned that important task to Colonel Nobriega!" Alexandra made a frustrated gesture.

"I see that young Christopher has rubbed you the wrong way." Lady Catherine sipped while concealing a smile. "And yet you're his type."

"I can assure you, Lady Catherine, that Colonel Nobriega will never rub anything of mine!"

81ST PARACHUTE BATTALION BASE

JORDANIAN ARMED FORCES

AMMAN JORDAN

JANUARY 16, 2012

1100 HOURS JORDAN TIME

At that precise moment, Christopher and his five camel thieves were performing their two-hour pre-op check of their equipment.

In the cavernous preparation building, other members of a Jordanian Parachute Company glanced curiously at the five men at the far end of the building.

Mustapha and one of the 'camel thieves' carefully inspected the suspension lines on the ten chutes. Slowly running their fingers along each of the lines, one man after the other, they carefully examined each line before spreading the special canopies for a microscopic inspection on the large covered tables.

Mustapha stopped and carefully rolled one of the quarter inch thick lines under his finger. "Feel this," he demanded brusquely of his partner.

Farid Hassan ran a calloused thumb and forefinger along the length and grunted. In a simultaneous set of movements, the two men dumped the chute into a large plastic bin.

"How are we doing?" Christopher asked from his workbench as he monitored the pressure in one of the breathing tanks. "Corporal, when was this tank last used?" He gestured at the fourth in his row of ten tanks.

A terrified NCO consulted his inventory clipboard before replying. "Four months, sir. It was pressure tested two weeks ago."

"Slow bleed. Replace it," Christopher pointed to the tank's gauge before striding over to Mustapha and Farid. "How are we doing?"

The older 'camel thief' scratched his black and white flecked beard as he gestured to the other three men separating suspension lines. "We've got six. We have fifteen more to check. Then we have to air blow them to inspect the canopies."

**

Both men stepped back as one of the parachutes deployed on a special section of the floor with the aid of a massive air blower.

They stared at the inflated canopy as two lamps illuminated it and two of the 'camel thieves' peered at the seams and the canopy fabric as they tried to identify any defects.

"Clear!"

Both men assisted the two inspectors to load the parachute onto a folding table.

"How are the oxygen tanks?" Mustapha asked as he offered Christopher some sunflower seeds.

"Two bleeders, but it's only faulty gauges, I think. We'll have ten primary tanks with five backups. That gives us three per man. I'm just waiting to meet with the medics. This must be them." Christopher attempted to stifle a smile as two female medics marched toward them.

"Don't look so upset, Mustapha. In the old days it would have been some burly, nasty, bearded, sweaty male medic who would be checking our blood pressure. These young ladies will be doing our pre-flight check ups and will be checking our oxygen flows before we jump. So be nice to them, they literally will have our balls in their hands. It's the new paratroopers, so smile, Mustapha!"