US Embassy, Khartoum
“We’ve actually got two locations,” Wendell Sharp said as he hung up his classified voice-over IP telephone and turned to the assembled group, which now included Tim Greco.
“What does that mean?” John asked.
“It means that we know where both the ONERING and Logan and Cole are being held, but there’s a problem. They’re not in the same place,” Wendell said.
“Where are our friends?” John asked.
“They’re being held at some kind of off-the-books Sudanese prison. We didn’t know it existed until Cole triggered a miniature personnel locator beacon. Due to its size, the device only stays active for one minute every half hour until its battery dies.”
He grabbed a map from the cabinet behind him and placed it on his desk. Khartoum was figured prominently in the center. He pointed to a bend in the White Nile a little more than a hundred miles south of the city.
“Here. Langley is sending me a file that has details, satellite imagery, and anything else they have, but it’s limited since we didn’t know about the place. God knows what they do or who they keep there, but it can’t be good,” he said.
“How do you know?” John asked.
“Because the prisons that we do know about are completely inhumane, with conditions that make one of our maximum security facilities look like a spa resort,” Amira said, looking at John. “Trust me. I’ve been in them,” she said, recalling flashes from a previous assignment in Uganda.
“Seriously?” John asked, unable to contain his amazement.
“John,” she said, pointedly using his first name, amused at his reaction, “have I struck you as someone who would make up something like that?”
“Of course not,” John said, pausing. “I’ve seen you in action. Sorry. No offense intended.”
“None taken,” Amira said, and smiled, her blue eyes sparkling at him.
She’s beautiful—and deadly. Don’t forget it. And stop acting like you’re in fucking high school! his inner voice screamed. Now is not the time for a boyhood romance. Then again, was there ever really a good time, especially in this line of work?
“So they’re in some sort of god-awful, black-site prison, being subjected to God knows what.” John turned back to the station chief. “So when do we go? I assume that’s why Tim’s here now, to help with a rescue mission.”
“We don’t,” Wendell said, responding immediately since he knew John wasn’t going to like the answer. In his experiences in dealing with men like John Quick, the brutal, honest truth was always the best course of action.
“What are you talking about?” John said, closing his eyes and clenching his hands to control the rising tide of anger.
“It’s not our mission. I’m sorry. There’s already an operation under way to get them, but it’s not going to be ours. We have a different task, one that comes straight from the president through the director,” Wendell said, giving them a moment to absorb the last statement.
“Of course,” John said, hanging his head and already knowing what it was. “The ONERING. Where is it?”
“Tuti Island, which is why we have it,” Wendell said, and pointed once more, this time to a half-moon-shaped island at the center of where the White and Blue Niles converged to form the main Nile River that flowed north.
“You’re kidding me! How did we confirm it?” John said.
“The engineers at DARPA built a fail-safe into the device. Since this thing is so dangerous and portable, they wanted to be able to track it. It was activated a little while ago, and when it went live, it initiated a satellite GPS chip embedded into the main system. I was also informed it’s not detectable to the users.”
“Thank God,” John said, remembering the DARPA director telling them about the GPS device. Then the obvious implication of the ONERING’s activation hit him. “What did the bastards use it for?”
“To hijack one of our space-based weapons to attack a Chinese oil site near the South Sudan border,” Wendell said flatly.
“Why would Chinese operatives be trying to start a war between us and the Chinese?” John said to no one in particular. “That’s insane. It makes no sense.”
“I know, which is why it’s all the more urgent that we get this back before they can do more damage with it,” Wendell said.
“No kidding,” John replied, and turned back to Tim Greco. “So what do we know about this island?”
“That it’s a very good place to hide things you don’t want discovered,” Tim said. “The island is only three square miles and has one village, whose residents are farmers that produce most of Khartoum’s fruits and vegetables. Most of the island is covered with citrus orchards and farmland. There are plenty of places to set up a small camp and remain undetected, especially from commercial or spy satellites.”
“Have you been there?” John asked.
“As the RSO, I like to know my environment,” Tim said, smiling. “It comes with the territory, so to speak. I’d heard about this ‘jewel of the Nile’ island that was supposedly an oasis from the chaos and congestion of Khartoum. So I took a day trip there on my own. You used to have to take a ferry to get to it, but in 2008 they finished the suspension bridge that connects to the mainland. The good thing for us is that the single-story homes and buildings are concentrated in the center of the island. If they’ve set up camp on the island and want to remain away from prying eyes, they’ll be near the water in the outskirts, where the crops and orchards are. But there’s one problem—the river. It makes this tricky because if they see us coming, they can use either the bridge or the water as escape routes.”
“The agency provided what they think is the camp’s location, and we’ll get the other UAV up to confirm it,” Wendell said.
“Do we have an assault time?” Tim asked, knowing if another operation were under way against the prison, theirs would be launched simultaneously in order to minimize the possibility of one location tipping off the other. The fact that the Sudanese government was clearly working with the Chinese only complicated matters.
“We do,” Wendell replied. “A SEAL team out of Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti is going to do a high-altitude, low-opening insert at twenty hundred local time to hit the prison.” He looked at his watch. “Which is a little less than three hours from now.”
John knew getting the ONERING was the right decision, but his loyalty to his friend pulled him at a gut level. Yet he knew that if Logan were in his place faced with this decision, he’d make the right call. Logan was unlike any other human being he’d encountered—merciless, moral, and singular in purpose. In the Marine Corps, it was always mission accomplishment first, troop welfare second. At the end of the day, everything they’d done was for one objective—to retrieve the ONERING and protect the national security of the United States and its citizens.
Fuck it. Let the frogmen get him. They’re almost as crazy as Logan and might try to adopt him like a lost puppy.
“Okay then,” John said. “What’s our plan?”