Target acquired, p.19
Target Acquired, page 19
“And what will it cost you? I mean, besides an arm and a leg?”
Justin grinned. “I don’t have to worry. The CIA’s picking up the tab.”
Patton frowned. “Oh, no, no, no, my friend. As soon as I mention it, the agency will pull me from this op so fast that your head will spin. And if we tell the Iranians I work for the CIA, I’m sure your contact will refuse to be a part of this op.”
“He’s right,” Carrie said.
“Can you be charming and polite, like a Canadian?”
Patton frowned. “I’m already charming and polite...”
“All right, then, you’ll fit right in with the CIS team. And no offense to you, Patton, but we still need the CIA to help with this mission. They’re sending you, which is a great start, but not sufficient.”
Patton’s lips drew back. “I’m ... I’m so hurt, Justin.”
“I said ‘no offense,’ so ... But seriously, we’ll need intel about all known or suspected Taliban and other jihadi fighters roaming around in the area. Aerial photos, drone scans, the works. Now that AK and the Emiratis are out of the picture, this is all we’ve got.” He gestured toward Patton and Carrie.
She said, “The Iranians might contribute two, three men at the most, but we can’t really count on that. Does the CIA have assets on the ground?”
Patton shrugged. “Not in Herat province. I might be able to draw a handful of men from the Army’s special ops, but even that would be difficult.”
“Whatever you can do...” Justin said.
“All right, but we know that’s not going to be enough.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking about how we can increase our firepower.”
“Unofficially?”
“Of course.”
“Locals?”
Justin shrugged. “I have an idea, but we’ll see how it plays out.”
Patton gestured for Justin to continue, but he said nothing. Instead, he took another slice of bread and dipped it in the hummus plate.
Patton said, “You’re not much of a talker.”
“It’s still up in the air, and I don’t want to get our hopes up. If what I’m thinking doesn’t work, we might have to abort the mission.”
“What?”
“Yes, it’s the right decision. We can’t face Doma and his fighters alone, regardless of how many people we can gather. We need a new, powerful player.”
“Afghans? Can you trust them?”
“Let me work on it.”
His mind went back to Reza. Justin wondered about the price tag of the favor he was about to ask from Reza. Something of those proportions, like the plan that was crystallizing in his mind, came at a hefty cost. But this was not the first time the Iranians had conducted such operations in Afghanistan. The incursion would have to be executed carefully and in complete secrecy to catch the Afghan defenses by surprise. “Doma shouldn’t be in Afghanistan until late night tomorrow.”
“Unless he changes his plans.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t,” Carrie said.
Justin nodded. “Get me whatever you can from your agency and the NSA. I’ll make some calls, but let’s hope and pray that our plan works.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Thirty miles north of Ghourian, Afghanistan
Ten miles east of the Iran-Afghanistan border
Justin tried to wrap the headdress around his face to stop the grains of sand from entering his mouth. The attempt was useless. The wind gusts, which changed direction from one moment to the next, stirred the fine sand coating the jagged rocks. He spat grit and dust, then wiped his lips with the fold of the headdress. He turned slightly to the right and leaned closer to Carrie, lying three feet away from him. “How are you doing?”
“Better than you, it seems.”
“Yeah, up here, I’m eating dirt with every breath I take.”
His vantage position offered him an unobstructed view of the narrow dirt road meandering through the rugged mountains and hillsides. They were about seven hundred yards from the road and perhaps one hundred yards up the steep hill. Sparse and scraggly bushes offered little protection, so Justin and Carrie had been forced to move their position farther back from the edge of the cliff. Still, behind the sight of the McMillan TAC-50 anti-personnel sniper rifle, he was quite confident that he could hit the targets.
If they ever showed up.
According to the intelligence secured at the last moment by a CIA asset and confirmed by Reza, Doma’s convoy of about ten vehicles had left their stronghold in south Turkmenistan earlier that morning and was supposed to reach this area around three in the afternoon. It was almost five, and there had been no sign of any convoy, apart from the occasional vehicle or shepherd moving their flock across the dusty road.
Justin was not worried about himself, Carrie, or the rest of his eight-member team. Patton and two operatives from the CIA’s Special Activities Division, or SAD, were across the road and about fifty yards farther south. Reza Ahmadi and two of his compatriots were hiding at a distance of a hundred yards, down at the road level, by a clearing where the team’s two SUVs had been parked. Everyone on Justin’s team was an experienced professional. They had spent countless hours on similar assignments, waiting in the scorching sun for the arrival of their targets.
What preoccupied Justin’s mind was the considerable delay. The team had no assets or contacts in Turkmenistan or Afghanistan to confirm the whereabouts of the convoy, whether they had crossed into Afghanistan, had turned around, or had chosen another dirt road to make their way to Ghourian, if that was still their destination. There were many trails that snaked through the mountains, and the Taliban and local tribesmen fighters were very familiar with these routes. Since Justin’s team could not watch them all, they had decided to make their stand at the largest route, the one most commonly traveled by heroin and opium smugglers and terrorists. “We’re going to wait until they come,” Justin had told his team members, and he was going to stay true to his word.
Still, the convoy’s delay was not the most pressing matter. He raised his eyes toward the horizon on his left, in the direction of Iran. If the delay continued for another hour, it might cause the most crucial piece of his plan to disappear. Without it—the ace up his sleeve—the entire plan would fall apart. Justin did not like the three-to-one or perhaps even four-to-one odds against his team. He might be forced to abort the mission at the last possible moment, while it would still be safe for the team to withdraw safely and return to Iran.
“Justin, what’s going through your mind?” Carrie asked.
He sighed, then tapped his throat mic and turned it off.
Carrie did the same, so the rest of the team would not listen in to their conversation.
“The Iranian. What happens if he doesn’t show? Or if the target is late?”
“We have his word of honor. He’s not going to bail out. The delay ... that is a problem. But we still have time.”
“Barely.”
“Another sixty minutes.”
“Yes, but every second he’s out there, he risks being discovered. He can’t hang out there forever.”
“Positive thoughts, Justin—”
“Carrie, this isn’t a training—”
“I think I’m aware of it.” She tapped her sniper rifle, the same make and model as Justin’s. “Same principle applies. We believe this is going to work until we find out it doesn’t.”
“Then what? Do we attack anyway, without any support?”
“I’d advise against it. The odds aren’t good, and we’re not prepped for a prolonged battle.”
Justin nodded.
Carrie said, “We can set off the IEDs, fire a few rounds, and that’s about it. We’ll be very lucky if that’s enough to kill Doma.”
The remote-controlled improvised explosive devices were Plan B. Crude, but efficient. A series of landmines strung together and wired to pressure plates and a battery-operated detonator for the electric spark. As soon as a vehicle came within ten feet, it would set off the mines.
“You’re right. I’m not sure it’s worth being hunted down through this Taliban-infested region.”
“I can’t agree more.”
“I’ll check to see if anyone has anything.” He turned on the mic.
Carrie nodded.
Justin doubted there was going to be anything new since he had last checked fifteen minutes ago. But it gave him something to do, so he could feel useful and fill the time.
As expected, everything was quiet. He placed his eye on the rifle’s tactical 2.5x50 scope, which used enhanced optics and magnification to bring everything close. A thin layer of dust was swirling on the narrow road. A small bird, or perhaps it was a rodent, rustled in one of the few thick bushes along the edge of the pass. Justin’s team had picked one of the few narrow passes, almost the perfect place for an ambush.
Seconds stretched to painful long minutes as the team waited under the scorching sun. At the half an hour mark, Justin checked again with the team, expecting the same negative replies. He was extremely surprised when Patton’s voice rang in his earpiece, “Justin, we’ve got something.”
“What is it?”
“Gray truck. Machine gun mounted in the back. Single vehicle.”
Justin shook his head, the enthusiasm choking in his throat. “That’s not our guy.”
“Wait, not so fast. Let me check ... yes, there’s a second vehicle. White SUV. About fifty yards behind the truck.”
Carrie said, “They’re trying not to draw attention, as if they were not a convoy.”
The spark returned to Justin’s eyes. “Too late for that. Is there a third vehicle?”
“Affirmative. And a fourth one, albeit quite far back.”
“They’ll be here in no time,” Justin said. “Reza, do you copy?”
“Yes, yes, every single word.”
“Good. It’s time to call in the pilots.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Thirty miles north of Ghourian, Afghanistan
Ten miles east of the Iran-Afghanistan border
Justin bit his lip and strained his ears, trying to listen for the aircraft expected to pierce the skies. There was nothing but the eerie silence of the hillside, the wind crackling in the shrubs, and the distant humming of the convoy. They were drawing nearer by the second. Justin’s team would have to spring into action with or without the Iranian combat jet.
“Reza, where’s that plane?” he said into his mic.
“Justin, relax. He will be here.”
The weak assurance did little to calm his nerves. Justin understood that it took time for the communications to go through the proper channels and for the airplane to reach the target location. This was a secret, unauthorized mission inside the airspace of Afghanistan. While the country and its institutions were still in shambles, someone in the air force defense system could intercept the intrusion. However, what troubled Justin the most was that with every moment that passed, the convoy was getting closer and closer to the team’s positions. Another five minutes and Justin and his troops would be quite literally right above the target and in the path of any Hawk or R-73 missiles the pilots were going to drop on the convoy in an effort to obliterate them all.
He sighed, then said, “We don’t have much time.”
“I know, Justin, but there’s not much I can do.”
“Call again. Check the status. They were supposed to wait in the air, not back at the base.”
“They were. They waited for a long time, and had to go back to refuel and also not to draw the Afghanis’ attention.”
“Check again.”
“All right, all right. I’ll do that.”
He drew in a deep breath and was glancing at Carrie when a loud roar came from above. Justin looked at the horizon, barely noticing a faint dot streaking across the sky. It quickly grew into the shape of a jet as it swooped down over the convoy, leaving behind a gray-colored smoke trail.
Justin smiled. “That must be our—”
His words were cut off by the fighter jet thundering overhead. A moment later, a missile flashed out from the aircraft’s starboard side wing. There was a streak of fire for a moment as the missile flashed through the air in a downward path. A split second later, the missile slammed right into the middle of the ten-vehicle convoy.
A fireball erupted, engulfing two black SUVs. Huge bright orange flames leapt high for a few moments, then black smoke and dust began to swallow up the convoy. The wind was blowing toward the south, veiling the front of the convoy from Justin’s eyes.
The fighter jet banked hard to the left and completed a full circle. Then it dove down for a second attack.
A brilliant flash came from the port side, followed by the now-familiar sight of the high-powered missile. It seemed to hover for a moment, then it screamed toward its target. The missile struck near the end of the convoy, turning another two vehicles into gigantic fireballs.
“Whoa, yes, yes,” Justin shouted.
The pilots turned the aircraft around. The fighter jet dove for a third time over the convoy, but no missiles were launched. Instead, Justin suspected the aircraft was using 20mm guns. Rounds from its cannon fire were hitting the convoy’s vehicles and everything else around it. The weapon, which was mounted inside the aircraft and positioned on the port side and toward the front of the fuselage, could fire hundreds of rounds per minute, and the pilots were not sparing a single round.
As the aircraft finished the attack, it veered to the right, and soared upwards again.
Justin wondered if it was going to return for another round, perhaps dropping cluster bombs. The aircraft kept climbing and moving toward the horizon. It turned into a dot, then it disappeared.
“Well, folks, it was a good show,” Justin said into his mic. “Now, it’s our turn.”
“Copy that,” Patton said.
“Everyone knows what to do. Let’s mop up the place.”
“Copy,” Patton said.
“Got it,” Reza said.
Justin stood up and glanced at Carrie, who gave him a bittersweet smile. “I wanted to use this so badly.” She pointed at the sniper rifle.
“You still can. Remain as overwatch.”
Carrie shook her head and picked up the rifle. “No. We already have overwatch.” She gestured with her hand at the rocks across from them, where Patton and his men were positioned.
“Watch your step.” Justin swung the sniper rifle over his shoulder, then hurried down the slope.
His boots slid over the dusty, broken terrain, but he was able to keep his balance and remain on his feet. In a matter of seconds, he was at the road level. Thick gray smoke rose from the wreckage, and the curtain of dust had covered almost the entire area. There were a few pockets, however, where the wind had punched holes in the curtain, and the visibility was greater. A group of three gunmen appeared next to the front vehicle, a gray truck with a heavy machine gun mounted in the back.
One of the gunmen must have noticed Justin appearing next to the rocks. Almost instinctively, the gunman turned his rifle in Justin’s direction. The Canadian agent squeezed off a quick burst from his AK rifle, planting two bullets in the gunman’s chest. He fell against the side of the truck, tried to hold on to it, but his legs failed him, and he flopped onto the road.
The other two gunmen had disappeared.
Movement came from the truck’s bed, as the machine gun began to swing toward Justin.
He fired almost half his magazine. Bullets hammered the side protection plates around the heavy weapon, but the gunner kept turning it.
Justin glanced around. The only place he could find cover was behind a boulder jutting out about a foot or so from the rest of the hillside. He flattened his body against the boulder and muttered a silent prayer.
The barrage began just as he was saying “Amen.” A couple of bullets tore huge chunks off the face of the rock. They rolled close to his feet as slivers shot through the air. A few missed his arms by mere inches. He was glad he was not hiding behind a cinderblock wall. The large-caliber bullets would have already pierced through.
A loud explosion erupted, and the machine gun volley stopped. No bullets pounded the other side of the boulder, although gunfire continued from across the road, from up the hill, and the convoy.
“Justin, you’re good.” Carrie’s voice came into his earpiece.
He stepped around the boulder and took a kneeling position. His rifle was pointed at the gray truck, which had caught on fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carrie stretched on the ground between a narrow ditch and the hillside. “What happened?”
“RPG. One of Patton’s guys.”
Justin nodded. “Thanks,” he said into his mic.
“Hooah. Go kill them all,” someone shouted.
Justin assumed it was the man who had launched the rocket-propelled grenade. “Carrie and I are going in. Cover us.”
“Roger that, sir,” said the same voice.
Justin pressed forward at a quick pace. He stayed a couple of feet away from the hillside to make himself a harder target, especially if gunmen were using grenade launchers. When he came near the gray truck, he quickly checked the gunman who had two wounds in his chest. Blood was pooling around him, and he was not breathing.
Another body was near the back of the truck. Justin assumed he was the gunner. The explosion must have thrown him off the truck bed. Shrapnel had cut through the gunman’s chest. Where did the third guy go?
His eyes scanned the area around him. When he met Carrie’s gaze, she nodded at him and gestured that she was coming right behind him.
Black smoke rolled up from the truck’s burning fuel, veiling most of the road. Justin slowed down for a moment, long enough to pull a fragmentation grenade from one of his chest rig pouches. He pulled the pin and held the grenade’s striker lever in place by wrapping his fingers tight around it. He held up the grenade for Carrie to see it, counted to five, and tossed the grenade about ten yards ahead of him and to the left. Then he knelt next to the truck.
