DUBAI MARINA
DUBAI
UNITED ARAB EMIRATES
"Richard, help me please!"
Aries studied Richard Townsend for a response on the balcony. "Your assistant needs your help. Aren't you going to assist her?'
"If she is the mole, she's yours to do with as you like." He turned to watch a yacht slipping its moorings.
Aries chuckled. "Good. I'm delighted to see you are a pragmatic man. It's your butler who is the mole." He stood back from the balcony door. "Go. Comfort your mistress."
QUETTA
The elder Afghani accepted the tin cup of steaming tea from Christopher. "You know our ways well, but I suspect that you are not one of us."
"I am not. I'm a British soldier, but I have spent time in Kandahar with many shuras. I have tried to learn, but I have much to learn. My friends are from Jordan, a Muslim Kingdom to the west of here. About a hundred days of hard walking." He drew a rough map of the Middle East in the mud.
"Why are you here?" The elder dunked a piece of bread into his tea as he examined the man in front of him. "Why are you travelling with these men?"
"We have heard whispers that someone is planning to attack the celebrations of Milad un Nabi. We are worried because it is said that the attackers will make it look like the foreign soldiers did it."
"And why would it not be so?" The elder adjusted his scarf as the wind gusted through the ramshackle shelters causing several large pieces of debris to drift into their clearing. He carefully added more wood to the makeshift windbreak that sheltered the fire. "They kill our women and children without further thought." He gestured towards the night sky. "No one ever knows when the next bomb will come."
"As you say, our bombs sometimes kill the innocent, but that is the same as bullets. Your bullets kill innocents as well as ours. We do not deliberately target innocents ..."
The elder stared at Christopher as he interrupted. "You call it culled damage!"
"I think you mean collateral damage and I do not cause it—just as my men do not cause it." Christopher angrily responded. "I am a soldier. I fight with my gun and my body. I am a paratrooper. I do not use drones to target innocents and I do not cause collateral damage. I have accidentally killed seven innocents and I regret that, but I do not kill innocents deliberately. Can you say the same for all your brothers?"
"You know I cannot ..."
"Then you can deal with me man-to-man the way your people have always done for centuries before the foreigners joined your ranks." Christopher reached for the pot of tea. "I want to stop innocents being killed..."
"And why should I trust you?" the elder demanded as he withdrew his cup.
"I could have killed you. Why didn't I? Tell me!" Christopher refilled his cup and returned the pot to the fire's wire grill.
The elder spread his hands in an expansive gesture.
"Then talk to me. If you really want to save innocents, I will help you. I will also tell you how we can both save innocents. Then, after we finish saving the women and children, you and I can fight each other again." Christopher gestured for the man to bring forward his cup.
**
A yellow gap tooth grin was the elder's initial response. Finally, he pushed his cup forward. "You will give us back our weapons? And why would you fight with us against your brothers?"
"I kill men. I kill warriors. I do not kill innocents. The men doing this are not my brothers. That simple. Believe me or not, I will meet you here tomorrow at the same time. Enjoy the tea." Without another word, Christopher withdrew into the shadows between two tents. "Your weapons are behind you."
His withdrawal was covered by two of the camel thieves. The team withdrew in a collapsing tunnel formation as they headed further uphill in the sporadic darkness of the refugee camp.
**
Forty-five minutes later, Alexandra twitched as her Bowman radio receiver flickered out of its sleep mode. She stared at the data screen and the scrolling words. "Hooker One, 100 meters out. Ack."
She deployed the tiny keyboard and depressed the Ctl and R keys simultaneously. The system automatically generated her prepared response as she selected the "semi" setting on the sub machine gun's trigger group.
**
Two more key strokes notified London that she was ready to receive the "Hooker" party.
**
She slowly sank back onto the heel of her right boot as she adopted the classic kneeling firing position.
A deep breath with a slow release became her normal breathing pattern as she slowly swiveled the weapon to cover the door and louvered windows.
**
Outside, Christopher tapped his headphone as he waited for the signal from London to ensure that Alexandra had sent a confirming message.
"Hooker Zero. Proceed."
Two fist pumps told the camel thieves to begin a pepper pot advance up the street until Christopher reached the open staircase.
At the base of the stairs, Christopher held up five splayed fingers and started creeping up the staircase.
Five steps behind him, Mustapha followed while covering the surrounding tenements' windows.
Both men stayed in the shadows that blanketed the staircase.
At the door, he slowly turned the lock and pushed. "Don't bloody well shoot me, Inspector," he growled – casting all military protocol to one side.
"Observe protocol, Colonel," Alexandra hissed as she safed her weapon.
**
In less than three minutes, the six men entered the apartment and Christopher performed the introductions.
**
In the smaller room, Alexandra, Christopher and Mustapha sat on the blankets they had placed on the floor around a map of Quetta. The sole kerosene lamp cast an elongated shadow of Mustapha's head on the wall.
In the next room, the four Jordanian ex-paratroopers lit the kerosene stove and boiled two pots of water. From the crates of rations stacked against the wall under a tarpaulin, they retrieved several British Army ration packs and inspected the labels. After a perfunctory inspection, several boxes were discarded.
The men retrieved the drink pouches from the halal labeled rations.
"Orange."
"Lime."
Bottles of water were retrieved from under the tarpaulin and the flavor packers were quickly dissolved. The men separated into pairs as they savored the refreshing drinks.
The first pair assumed positions beside the windows and maintained surveillance on the stairs and path outside the house as their companions crawled into sleeping bags.
REGIMENTAL COMMAND CENTER
COLCHESTER BARRACKS
ESSEX
A stony-faced Brigadier Deryck Withers stared down the duo of Sir William and Ronan in the dying winter sunlight that seeped through the steel louvers.
"Would you like the long or the short answer, William?"
"I know that joke, Deryck. You will be ordered to cooperate and you will have to," Sir William responded to his former subordinate. "This is our chance to do this the right way."
The Brigadier stood up and walked over to the glass wall that separated the office from the command centre. "Then you should have stayed in the Regiment, William. You would still be in that chair instead of me." He turned to face the two men. "I know my duty, and I will do it willingly, but on my terms. No more amateurish games that are designed to meet Whitehall's or the Pentagon's fantasies. And no more amateurs, William!"
"Get off your high horse, Deryck. You're not in front of some bloody Board of Inquiry. It's Nobriega that's out there with five former Jordanian paratroopers. Six men against an army of bloody mercenaries!" Sir William stood up and pointed to the world map on the digital display that dominated the command center. "Every one of those damned red dots is one of our units with their shirttails hanging out in the wind! Every single unit is too small to make a damned difference in numbers, but they bloody well soldier on – and that's your damned job or I'll see you relieved!"
**
"Gentlemen!" Lady Catherine entered the room as Ronan scrambled to his feet. "Thank you, Ronan. Always the gentleman unlike your roommate."
"Excuse me, sir. Flash traffic on your terminal," a young subaltern entered from the command center. "Code Black."
"Will you excuse me, please?" the brigadier returned to his desk and closed the glass partition which isolated the small conference room.
**
"Did you get the PM's permissions to review the Indigo files, Catherine?" William whispered.
"On certain conditions. I think that's what the flash traffic is all about."
The opening of the partition interrupted the conversation.
"It seems that the PM has decided that I can brief you on Indigo Level Two files, but you do not have permission or access to the files themselves." He held his hand up as Catherine started to protest. "You do realize that we normally do not acknowledge the existence of these files?" He arched an eyebrow. "Unless certain people breach the Official Secrets Act." He fixed his stare on Sir William.
"I did not!" The elderly barrister thumped his fist on the conference room table. "And my knowledge is six years old. You review those damned files and scenarios annually so I'm six years out-of-date"
The brigadier studied his old commander before continuing. "Very well. I will caution that we will deny the existence of this program. Any leaks will be dealt with 'extreme prejudice' as the media loves to euphemistically term it." He depressed a button on the control panel in front of his position on the conference room table. "This conversation is now considered as Alpha grade and will be recorded in archives to which you will not have access. As a courtesy, I will advise you that the record includes biometric recordings. What would you like to know?"
"If you have to launch a terrorist attack on the United States, how would you do it?"
"What is the primary purpose of the attack? To strangle the government? Create general panic? Military? You have to be more specific, Catherine. We model approximately twenty-six hundred scenarios that can be amended to produce over ten thousand operational plans." The brigadier pointed to the display as he closed the aluminum louvers that isolated the conference room.
"Can we start with general public panic?" Lady Catherine stared at the display in horror.
"That is the simplest and easiest to deploy. You use the weaknesses in the American communications systems to promote and enhance the panic that will pervade the populace. America does not have an effective communications system – it permits too many untangled and uncontrolled communications sources. We call this the 'voicebox option'".
"I think you have to expand that further, Deryck," Sir William interrupted. "Catherine has to understand how you will use the internet and media to multiply the rumors."
Deryck nodded. "In Britain and most of the developed world, we have the capability to ensure that we get accurate communications out through TV and other media sources. The Americans have a multiplicity of sources that are only trusted by specific sections of their population or as Mark Twain once elegantly stated, 'If you don't read the newspaper you are uninformed, if you do read the newspaper you are misinformed.' American media is as bad, if not worse, as the old Soviet Pravda. For example, they have Rush Limbaugh who preaches inaccurate data, but is believed by 4% of the population. Then FOX News, then MSNBC, then CNN...they target an advertising audience and customize their news to meet the audience. They offer opinions and not facts. They twist the opinion to meet the advertising target." He studied Lady Catherine's face before smiling and clearing the display. "America is not a homogeneous society despite their media efforts to convince us otherwise. Oh yes, they all rally around the flag, but there's no difference between them and the Pashtun tribe.
Let's say one man fires a fifty caliber bullet at the Capitol. He is not captured. If I was a terrorist leader I would use Internet chatter to spread the rumor that a team of twenty snipers were on the hunt in America. I would ensure that Mr. Limbaugh, CNN, MSNBC and FOX receive this information from what they consider 'good' sources. American media does not verify data in their rush to get a scoop. Do you see what happens?"
**
Lady Catherine studied the graphic of the rumor spreading and multiplying across America. "Now we send a message that it is Iran. Look what happens. Assume the green colors show calls for Iran to be attacked." The screen slowly changed to green.
"But the FBI and CIA confirm that the source was Chechnya three days later. Assume that Chechnya is red. Look at the map." A small red dot appeared in three spots. "Americans can develop their own perspective based on a single bad idea. Iraq was a perfect example when they came to the conclusion that Iraq assisted in the 9/11 bombings."
"I'm not sure we're any different," Ronan grumbled.
"More than 50% of the British public was against the Iraq War before the first bullet was fired, Ronan. It was the amateurs in Whitehall who ordered us into action as the 2009 Iraq Inquiry concluded. And I didn't coin the amateur label – that was the generals who commanded in the Iraq War. And they did object!" Deryck grinned. "However, they obeyed their orders."
"What about the size of the attack?" Catherine demanded.
"The size is immaterial. It must just make Americans feel vulnerable. For example, if you attack the water supply of a small town even New Yorkers will feel that their entire supply is threatened. The TV stations will be bombarded by experts explaining how Boston, Chicago, Lansing and every city in the USA can be attacked. That paralyzes the nation. IT's TV Analysis paralysis. Then you follow it up with subtle chatter on various sites. That's the beauty of Twitter, Google and the 'social media'—they make everyone a messenger with bad or inaccurate data." Deryck grinned as he pointed to the screen becoming yellow.
"What do you follow it up with?" Catherine demanded.
"America trails the world in internet bandwidth and communications. It wastes its communication capabilities on ineffective communications chatter. You can clog up the entire bandwidth in less than three hours. Look what happened when Michael Jackson died. Several sites crashed and TV primarily focused on a single death. That's the power of free market greed and a lack of a trusted source. America doesn't have a single trusted source. Most people in this country trust the BBC. Same in most countries. In others, the government can take control of the airways and control the message."
"But America does have emergency channels," Ronan objected. "They could get the message out ..."
"Look at the opinion polls. Americans do not trust their government. After six hours, the conspiracy theorists will have convinced the majority of America's extreme elements of a grand plot by the government. Tell me how many Americans you think will change their channel to a government controlled one or website? That weakness will always work against them. After 9/11, they had so many useless experts, government and non-government, on TV that they had the majority of Americans believing that Iraq was responsible for the bombing."
"I came here for answers," Lady Catherine responded. "I understand how you create a panic. Actually, I hate the devilish simplicity of it. Now how do we identify a target and how do we respond?"
The brigadier stood up and walked to the display. "How big a target? And what do you want to achieve?"
"I want to get America to make a military response in less than five days?" Catherine glanced at Sir William and Ronan for confirmation.
"Where?" Sir Deryck input a series of variables into the system.
"Iran, Syria ... One of the Muslim nations that America does not have diplomatic relationships with." Sir William responded
Sir Deryck continued typing. "How much do you want to paralyze the Americans? 9/11 closed the markets and air travel for a week."
"Something similar, but I want to prototype the attack assuming only a small team."
Sir Deryck held his hand up. "Let me get some of my computer wonks in here. They're faster at this typing than me."
**
For the next four hours, the command center's conference room was engrossed in the task of identifying the potential American target site.
As they stared at the twenty-five potential scenarios, Deryck asked the key question. "Catherine, your next answer is critical. What is the real objective of the attack?"
"Profit!" was her immediate response.
"Market driven profit," Deryck muttered as he typed the response into the system.
**
The list of objectives immediately narrowed down to five targets on the screen.
"Last question. Who?"
Lady Catherine glanced at Sir William and Ronan before responding. "I don't know, but it will be a multi-national or set of multi-nationals. Is there any way of analyzing that?"
The brigadier looked at his four staff officers. "Gentlemen?"
"We need about six hours to narrow that scenario down, sir."
"Do it!"