Jim Nicolaou slammed the phone down after Peter abruptly ended the conversation. “Damn it, why does this always happen to me?” No one was in the room to answer him. His dark brown eyes blazed with frustration and anger. Jim’s Greek heritage brought along a sharp temper, and right now he needed to rein in his emotions.
He pushed a button on his desk phone. “Lieutenant, we have a problem and need to talk… now!”
Fifteen seconds later, there was a soft knock on his office door. Lieutenant Ellen Lacey entered, closing the door behind her. She knew there was no expectation to follow official military protocol in this office, so she sat down in a leather chair opposite Jim’s desk.
In contrast to her boss’ muscular stature, black hair, and dark complexion, Ellen was tall and thin. Her pale skin went well with her soft, shoulder-length red hair. She was a bright woman with advanced degrees in both political science and general science, and Nicolaou relied on her analytical capabilities.
“What do we know about a raid on a remote aid camp yesterday in western Sudan?” Jim asked, foregoing any greetings or courtesy.
Lacey had long ago learned not to take it personally. “Not much. There have been two or three brief references that came across my desk—reports from the DIA to all of the principle U.S. intelligence agencies. I didn’t pay it much attention.”
“Well, better go back and see what you can dig up. This has suddenly become very relevant.”
“Sir, may I ask what this is about?” she asked cautiously.
“Ten minutes ago Peter Savage called. Do you remember him?”
“Yes. We met following the attempted terrorist mission in the Gulf of Alaska. As I recall, Peter played a key role in foiling the terrorist’s plot and saving the lives of several hostages.”
“And one of those hostages was his father.”
“Didn’t that all end with the death of Ricky Ramirez?”
“Yes, and with the death of his brother Vasquez Ramirez,” replied Jim, seemingly lost in thought. “But that’s not what Peter called about. That raid on the aid camp?”
“Yes,” replied Ellen, waiting for the punch.
“Well, his son, Ethan, was there. He was taken hostage, presumably by the Janjaweed militia. Peter called asking for help locating his son.”
“But we couldn’t give him that information even if we knew—and honestly, we don’t know. We don’t even know he’s alive.”
“Hell, Ellen, you don’t have to tell me that!”
“Sorry sir,” said Ellen, suitably rebuked.
“But I can’t just sit back and do nothing. There has to be something we can do within the prerogative of my command. I know Peter well enough… he’ll be on a plane to North Africa within 24 hours and he’ll go gunning for anyone he thinks is even remotely responsible for kidnapping his son.” Jim paused, reflecting on his choice of words before continuing.
“Are you that certain?” asked Ellen.
Jim swiveled in his chair and opened a file drawer in a cabinet behind his desk. It only took a minute to find what he was looking for. He laid the file on his desk. “Look for yourself.”
Ellen picked up the file. It only held two pages. “This is a psychological profile of Peter Savage,” she said without lifting her eyes from the documents.
“That’s right. The department psychologist constructed it from the video and audio recordings of Peter’s debriefing after the incident on Chernabura Island.”
Ellen read the first page quickly, then flipped the paper and continued to the second page.
“The psychological profile is consistent with my observations as well,” said Jim.
“So the conclusion is that Peter is suffering long-term emotional trauma triggered by the death of his wife. That’s not so unusual,” said Ellen. She continued by reading the concluding remarks. “In times of severe emotional stress, the patient is predisposed to view his environment in terms of absolutes; good and evil, black and white. This clinical perspective is likely to be accompanied by unwillingness to compromise as well as an intense drive to take any action perceived necessary to rectify injustice, real or imagined.”
Ellen let out a soft whistle. “Well, if I was in trouble he’s the friend I’d want helping me. But I get your point.”
Jim looked directly at her, his face seemingly aged twenty years. “He lost his wife. He’s not going to lose his son.”
The level of personal involvement suddenly became clear to Lieutenant Lacey. She nodded, not knowing what this would ultimately mean to her, but she was committed to supporting her boss… and friend.
Jim continued to think out loud. “I have no doubt that Peter will be killed in the process if I can’t help him. He’ll be going in unprepared, out gunned, and without backup.”
“Yes, sir. Let me see what I can learn. I’ll be ready to brief you in 30 minutes. We can pull in Beth and Mark and work up a plan.”
Jim shook his head. “Just you, okay? Keep this under wraps for now.”
“Sure thing, Boss Man,” replied Ellen. She never used his call sign, Boss Man, informally, so Jim knew she was in the game and playing for keeps.
The loyalty and dedication of his team were two reasons why Nicolaou had consistently refused promotions. He enjoyed his work, knowing he was truly making a difference even if the rest of the world would never know. But he was also smart enough to know that it was his team—his people—that really achieved the necessary outcomes, consistently resulting in successful missions. No other group of people could accomplish what his team could, and each member would do whatever was required to help the team succeed.
Twenty-seven minutes later Ellen knocked on Jim’s office door. “It was definitely a refugee camp that was hit. Reports indicate that a large group of young adults—college students—enlisted with the Peace Corps Reserve had just arrived at that camp the previous day. The camp is located in western Sudan, close to the border with Chad, eleven kilometers west of a small town named Bendesi. There have been numerous raids in that area from rebel factions originating in both Sudan and Chad, and more recently from central Sudan.”
“Who’s responsible in this case?”
“Can’t say for sure, but intelligence suggests it was the Janjaweed militia. There were very few eyewitness reports, but it seems the raiders came in on horses firing indiscriminately into the camp. Typical MO for the Janjaweed. Casualties are very high. Near as we can tell the camp housed only women and children—refugees from previous raids. I don’t know how many survived, but initial estimates place the number at less than ten.”
Jim rubbed a hand across his chin, disgusted by the senseless violence and waste of life.
Ellen continued. “The DIA is recommending U.S. military intervention. The Janjaweed and Sudanese government may have gone too far with this attack. It seems that one of the students is the daughter of a Congresswoman from California—Lois Bennett. She serves on the Defense Appropriations Subcommittee. She’s a rising star in the Republican Party and some of the talking heads are suggesting she could be a good candidate for presidency… if not the next election then the following one.”
Jim perked up and leaned forward, reaching across his desk for the file Ellen was reading from. He quickly read the first page while Ellen continued, reciting from memory.
“Congresswoman Bennett’s constituency is in San Diego County. She has served in Congress for fourteen years. She was recently re-elected by a large margin, in part due to sizable campaign donations from some of the largest defense contractors. General Atomics, Lockheed Martin, Spawar Systems Center Pacific, General Dynamics, L3 Communication—”
Jim held up his hand, palm facing Ellen. “I get it,” not taking his eyes from the report. He read further.
“Her daughter is Wendy Bennett. Says she’s also a student at the University of Oregon.”
“Is there significance to that?”
Jim nodded. “That’s where Ethan is attending, so they’re likely in the same aid group. If we can locate Ms. Bennett, I bet we’ll find Ethan as well.”
Ellen nodded. “Makes sense.”
Jim handed back the file. “It’s time to clean house.”
“Congresswoman Bennett is stirring the pot. She’s authoring a House Resolution condemning the attack. It’s expected to be up for a vote later today or tomorrow and to pass with little or no opposition. That will put some pressure on the administration to act.”
“Do you think the President will authorize a strike based on the outrage of a few members of Congress?” Jim understood the practical side of politics better than most.
Ellen shrugged. “The Pentagon hasn’t made any recommendations yet, but it’s still early. My guess is that the President will first seek the support of a U.N. Resolution calling for a no-fly zone, maybe bolstered with limited military strikes.”
“The wheels turn slowly. But God help anyone who’s caught in the path.” Jim wanted to start planning the mission now, but he knew it could be weeks before the order came down… if it ever did.
“All right. Here’s what I want you to do. Send a memo up the chain, all the way to the top, and copy everyone between me and the Joint Chiefs. Diplomatically suggest that this is a mission tailor-made for the Strategic Global Intervention Team. Explain that SGIT can infiltrate discretely, we carry plausible deniability in the extremely unlikely event of capture or causalities, and we have an unequaled record of success. Remind them of the Aleutian Islands mission where we averted a terrorist strike on U.S. soil and assisted with the capture of a Russian Spetsnaz sniper team as well as their stealth submarine launch vehicle. I want this mission— understand?”
Lacey nodded.
“I’ll phone Colonel Pierson directly after the memo goes out, see if I can get his support, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That should do it. I sure hope it does. We need to be there to set things right.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll let you know the instant we have a response.” Ellen folded her notepad and stood to leave.
Jim stopped her. “Just one more thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Does the name Abdul Wahid el-Nur mean anything to you?”
“Yes. He’s the leader of a splinter group of the SLM—the Sudanese Liberation Movement—in self-imposed exile in Paris.”
“That’s right.” Jim opened a bottom drawer in his desk and retrieved a cell phone. He threw it to Lacey, who caught it one handed. “Here. I want you to contact him. Tell him I asked you to call. He’ll remember me. We’ve done business before and I’ve saved his ass more than once. Tell el-Nur I want him to meet a mutual friend. If he says no, remind him that he owes me, and I aim to collect. And be sure to use the electronic voice alteration system when you call.”
“What do you want me to do after I speak to him?”
“Call Peter and give him Wahid el-Nur’s name and phone number in Paris.”
Ellen looked at the phone and then a wily smile crossed her face. “A throw-away phone? Plausible deniability?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Would you, Lieutenant?”
“No, sir!” Ellen turned smartly and left Jim’s office.