The Latakia Intercept_A Ross Brannan Thriller Page 6

  "I could use some more gear if you expect me to analyze the tapes."

  "No need. Turn the tapes over to me after each flight."

  "But, the reporting—"

  With a sharp irritated edge to his voice he said, "I will handle all reporting. All you have to do is make the intercepts."

  I started to object, but decided it would be a waste of time, just like the whole enterprise. A sinking feeling gripped my stomach as I sensed Wyndham wasn't telling us everything. Like most bureaucrats, he was a master of obfuscation. I was afraid we were engaged in a covert operation, not hiding our activities from the Soviets, but from our own people. It occurred to me: my next abode could be Fort Leavenworth, not Fort Huachuca.

  Wyndham read my concern. "Are you uncomfortable with your role? Remember, you are under official military orders."

  I responded with a weak shrug. Uncomfortable was putting it mildly. I was already in deep. If I blew the whistle, the Army brass would hold me over for months while the investigation played out. My new job would go down the tubes. All I could do was press on and hope for the best. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Parker or my old boss Hansen had anything to do with my transfer. It would be like them to find a way to screw me over one more time.

  "Now as to the problem with the aircraft." said Wyndham. "I will make inquiries and see if we can find a fresh engine posthaste. Captain, I suggest you have Sergeant Bolan dispense with the idea of an overhaul and remove the defective unit right away." He glanced over at me. "I want you and Collins to take one of the old receivers removed from the aircraft, set it up in the hangar, and mount an antenna on the roof. I want Saleh to begin monitoring Syrian communications as soon as possible."

  Saleh, a linguist, and voice intercept operator, was a smart kid, a graduate of Syracuse University and the Defense Language Institute at Monterey, California. He had a working knowledge of Arabic. This was his first field assignment.

  "That'll be all," said Wyndham.

  No one has spoken about our security situation, I wanted an answer. "Any word on our intruder, was he a Soviet operative or a Turkish security officer?"

  Wyndham's expression showed he didn't like the question. "It's being handled at the appropriate level. You need to concentrate on your own problems. Understand?"

  I understood all right — mind your own business. But it was my gear the guy had gone through, I was the one being followed. In my book, that made it personal. No use arguing with self-described genius like Wyndham, I'd have to handle it on my own.

  I followed Morgan out of the office. We halted on the tarmac.

  "Don't like where this is heading." I said.

  "Agreed. What he said about you, is it true?"

  "Some people think so." I wanted to leave it at that and changed the subject. "What about the plane, you think it's safe?"

  "Won't get off the ground if I don't think so. He can bluster all he wants, but the decision is mine, don't worry? You said you worked with Bolan before."

  "Back in Germany, a few years ago, he knows what he's doing, but…"

  "But what? You mean his drinking problem?"

  "It was a while ago…" Hell, Morgan's life is on the line too. "At the time he spent a lot of time at the NCO Club … if you know what I mean."

  "Think we're on the same page. I'll keep an eye on him. You do the same. Tell me if you see any problems."

  "Will do."

  A hollow sensation gnawed at the pit of my stomach. My focus changed. Before, all I was concerned with was cruising through the assignment. Now, something deep inside signaled a warning: Be careful. The sketchy mission, the aircraft, and Wyndham all worried me. The attempted hijacking and the guy tailing me only added to my unease. Murphy's Law intruded into my life once more.

  * * *

  Collins and Saleh were at the workbench taking a break.

  "Okay, you two, we got some work to do."

  Collins said, "What now? Not much to do 'till they get the engine fixed."

  "They want us to take one of the old receivers and set it up. Saleh, you can begin eavesdropping on the Syrians."

  Saleh grinned. "Finally, I get to do what I'm trained for."

  "Looks like I'll need a new helper," said Collins.

  "Forget about it, Saleh has two jobs now."

  Saleh's grin faded. "You mean—"

  "I mean you're gonna climb up on the roof and install the antenna."

  "Could use some help. Never done anything like that before."

  I glanced over at Bolan and Rankin, who were taking it all in. They had nothing to do until the engine arrived.

  Bolan said, "We're busy," and turned away.

  I grabbed the antenna and said to Saleh, "Come on, I'll give you a hand."

  * * *

  Installing an antenna on the roof of a Quonset shaped hangar was harder than expected, took us until midafternoon to make the set-up operational.

  Saleh fired up the receiver and tuned to an Arabic broadcast.

  "You understand all that gibberish?" said Collins.

  Saleh shook his head. "Not all of it. They trained us to for military traffic, not local soap-operas."

  "Keep at it," I said, "spend the rest of the day familiarizing yourself with the military bands."

  * * *

  Anya's invitation to the beach stimulated a fanciful vision of us cavorting through the surf. We were at a standstill and it would be easy to find an excuse to sneak-off. I decided the best choice was to skip the club that night, didn't need to offer any false encouragement or risk yielding to temptation.

  Friday, 28 September

  Wyndham was true to his word. The new engine arrived first thing Friday morning. An Air Force truck delivered the precious cargo to our hangar.

  Soldano queried Bolan, "How long?"

  "Couple days, maybe longer."

  "You can't work any faster?"

  "Cap'n, there's only two of us."

  "This is a priority—"

  "If you'd give me Brannan and his guys, we might have it done this evening."

  The bastard. I wanted to kick his fat butt down the flight line.

  Without asking or even giving us a glance, Soldano agreed. "Done. Brannan round up your men and give him a hand. I want this engine installed and running before midnight." The captain turned on his heel and marched out of the hangar.

  Before Bolan had a chance to speak, I let him have it. "Don't get any ideas, we'll help, but you're not gonna order us around."

  He wandered over to the workbench and took a sip of brew. "Tell your boys to start uncrating the engine. Rankin and me will be back when it's done. He nodded to the older spec-4 and they ambled off in the direction of the snack bar.

  My hands shook. It took all my willpower to resist the burning desire to throttle the SOB. I drew a halting breath through clenched teeth. Gotta stay calm. He's trying to pull my string. The last thing I needed was a physical confrontation with only three months to go. Let it go … Let it go.

  After recovering my composure, I yelled to Collins, "Drop what you're doing and get over here — bring Saleh with you."

  * * *

  By late afternoon, we had made real progress. The new engine was uncrated and lifted into place. Bolan and Rankin were competent mechanics when they put their minds to it. We might even meet the captain's deadline.

  Right in the middle of torqueing the engine mounting bolts, Pete rushed in and shouted, "Sergeant Brannan. Captain wants to see you."

  "Tell him it'll be a few minutes, we gotta finish this."

  "Don't think he gonna like that. He seemed pretty steamed to me. If I'z you I double-time over there ASAP."

  What now? I handed the wrench to Saleh and told him to finish.

  Soldano's expression said it all. He was steamed. But why?

  Wyndham stood off to the side. He displayed his normal cold disinterested expression.

  The captain didn't speak. I said, "Specialist Marcos said you wanted to see me."
>
  "Read this." He passed a yellow tear sheet of teletype paper. It was addressed to the base Provost Marshal. The tagline for the sender was Captain Parker back in Frankfurt. Even more curious, the date sent was Monday, four days ago.

  I read the message. Parker accused me of being AWOL, absent without leave. He claimed I concocted a set of bogus orders after he denied my early out request. He recommends the Air Force Security Police to take me into custody and return me to Frankfurt for disciplinary action. Time stood still. My life was if a full tailspin. I stood agape, not knowing how to respond.

  Soldano said, "How do you explain this message?"

  "I don't understand. Are my orders valid? Was I sent here under false pretenses?"

  "No, your orders are genuine." He glanced at Wyndham.

  "The captain's right, I requested your assignment. Don't you have any explanation, what did you do to cause this reaction?"

  "Nothing."

  Wyndham continued, "You have a reputation for cutting corners and doing things your own way, perhaps you're being judged by your past shenanigans."

  He was right, I had an aversion for administrative BS, but this was something else. I said, "The company clerk gave me the orders and processed me out. Captain Parker was upset but didn't take any action to stop me. I never even spoke to him about it." I reread the message. "I'm as confused about this as you are."

  "Confused — about sums it up doesn't it," said Soldano.

  "Captain, I didn't fake any orders. They were unexpected. I wasn't happy with my situation in Frankfurt, but three months in Germany versus … this? You gotta be kidding." Then it dawned on me. My new job was toast. Parker — Hansen — what have those clowns cooked up now?

  Soldano tilted his head towards Wyndham. "They want me to turn him over to them. Appears this wraps up the mission, unless you can come up with a new operator."

  Wyndham shot back, "Captain, re-read the message, it says he recommends the Air Force take him into custody and return him to Frankfurt. Ignore it until official orders come down."

  Soldano seemed flustered. "Not sure I can—"

  "Captain, I said you will ignore the message. Do not even respond. This is a high priority operation and I'm not going to have it interrupted for any reason. Am I making myself clear?"

  I handed the sheet back to Soldano. He crumpled the message and threw it in the burn bag.

  "Sir, I don't know what this is about. I can assure you—"

  Soldano cut me off. "Brannan, according to Mr. Wyndham, it seems trouble follows you around. You have a temporary reprieve but remember this — you're on thin ice. You're dismissed Sergeant, return to your duties."

  I rushed out of the office and headed straight for the NCO Club.

  * * *

  Nine beers into a righteous drunk, a half-full bottle of Hofbrau slipped to the floor and cracked open, flooding the area around my chair. Nine beers with no food, a recipe for disaster, the most I could recall drinking since joining the Army eleven years ago. Moderation had been a self-enforced prescription, necessary for avoiding the pitfalls of a weakness for alcohol that most likely stemmed from my Irish ancestry.

  The Turkish bus boy rushed over, muttered something, and mopped up the mess. The manager, a short muscular dude, sauntered over and placed a burly hand on my shoulder.

  He spoke with a Jersey accent. "Okay Buddy, think you had enough already — time to pay up and get back to your quarters." I ignored him. "Don't give me no trouble. Don't want me to have to call the SP's do you?" His big paw started to squeeze.

  That was all I needed, spend the night in the guardhouse or whatever the Air Force called their hoosegow. I stood, pulled out a few bucks, and dumped them on the table.

  I spied Anya across the room. Earlier, I avoided sitting in her area. She had made a couple attempts to speak, but I paid her no attention. I was in enough trouble already. She gave me a worried look. I replied with a half-hearted nod.

  I paused outside, inhaling a breath of fresh air, trying to clear my head. It was dark, but still early. I decided to head back and sack out. If the engine was installed and ready, it could be a long day tomorrow.

  Someone grasped my arm. It was Anya.

  "What is problem? Why you not talk to Anya?"

  Her touch released an electric charge. I mumbled an incoherent response.

  She grabbed my hand, led me around to the side of the building, and halted in the shadows. I started to say something but faltered.

  She peered up into my eyes and spoke in a seductive tone, "You not like me, no?"

  "Sure, I like you."

  She leaned against my arm. "Is time for cigarette. You have…" She offered a weak smile." No, you have no bad habit."

  "Except drinking too much."

  She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of Marlboros, and lit up.

  "You not happy? Why?"

  I didn't answer, didn't know what to say, but it was good to have a sympathetic ear.

  We leaned back against the building, not speaking while she smoked with intensity. The cool night air was pleasant. My mind ran a gamut of contradictory emotions. Overcome by a sense of despair, I leaned my head back and tried to re-assess the situation. Nothing seemed to make sense and I crashed into a pit of silent torment.

  She nudged closer. "You not like beach?

  "Sure, I like the beach. But I can't go with you."

  "You want me go away?" Her voice trembled with a heart-rending sadness.

  "No."

  Anya pitched the unfinished cigarette aside, her presence compelling as she edged closer. She peered into my eyes. I detected a wild spark. She wrapped both arms around my waist and pulled tight against me.

  I tried to concentrate, stay alert and focused. My pulse accelerated. My resolve began to wane. Why not? My career is finished anyway. My arm wrapped around her shoulder.

  She ran her fingers through my hair and whispered with her deep sexy accent, "I much want to be with you."

  My mind raced with anticipation. A testosterone rush coursed through my body. I closed my eyes and felt her hot breath against my face. Our lips met in a moment of intense craving.

  A flash of light struck my muddled brain with the force of lightning.

  "What's goin' on over there?"

  A security police airman waved his flashlight over us. Anya gasped. My mouth dry, I couldn't speak.

  "You folks better take it someplace else before the Turkish MP's find ya. They don't like this goin' on in public."

  Anya broke away and straightened her dress. "I go back to work."

  The airman said, "You work here at the club, don't ya?"

  She lowered her head and said, "Yes … I must go." Her eyes lingered on me for a moment. She sped back inside.

  "Need a ride, Sarge." He was Airman Davis, the guy I met from my first day on base. "Looks like you're in no shape to wander down the street."

  He was right. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

  "Had to give one of your other sergeants a ride last night. You guys sure like to drink, don't ya?" Had to be Bolan, he was the only other sergeant in the detachment.

  "Just one day in paradise after another." I was relieved he didn't say anything about the request to place me in custody.

  He laughed, and we got into his jeep. When he turned around, his headlights lit up a car parked down the street. It was the Turk.

  "See that car?" I said.

  "The green one?"

  "Yeah — know the guy?"

  "Sure, that's Captain Hakim."

  "He's military?"

  "No, he's MIT, their national intelligence outfit."

  "I keep seeing him everywhere I go."

  "His job is to keep an eye on the Americans at the base. Doin' his job, that’s all."

  "Okay, so nothing to worry about?"

  "No." He paused and said, "You do know that gal works for him don't ya?"

  Took a few seconds for it to register. "You mean Anya, the waitress at the clu
b?"

  "Yeah, thought everybody knew that."

  A knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

  Chapter 6 ~ Hakim

  Saturday, 29 September

  Saturday morning, the engine installed and ground tested, we were ready for our first operational sortie. The aircraft was running smooth, but I wasn't, my head hurt like hell from an uncharacteristic overindulgence in imported German brew.

  As luck, would have it, Soldano insisted on a short test hop before we set out over water. I stayed behind, took a couple more aspirin, and emptied the coffee pot. The captain stayed cool, but Morgan took my situation in stride.

  I struggled to pull my thoughts together. Too much had happened in the last few days. It seemed my world was going to hell. The mission, and in particular my part, still didn't make sense. An important piece was missing from the jigsaw puzzle. I didn't understand what it was but intended to find out.

  Still couldn't figure out Parker's motivations. Had to be Hansen behind it, he had to screw me over one last time. How I hated the bastard. The prospect of my new high-paying job faded. At least, I could go back and work on my uncle's ranch until something else came along.

  Then there was Anya and Hakim. Considered telling Soldano about her, but decided not to, didn't need any more complications, he was already bent out of shape. The airman said she worked for Hakim, but whom did she actually work for, she could even be a Soviet plant. She played me for a sucker, but I shouldn't have been surprised. The way she came on to me was obvious. Like a fool, I almost fell for the oldest trick in the book — a honeypot. But there was a bigger question. Why was Hakim following me? His incessant presence concerned me. What's his interest? Did it have anything to do with the mission? Was he using Anya to find out?

  My sixth sense whispered, "You're riding the FUBAR express with a one-way ticket."

  As he taxied up to the hangar following the flight, Morgan gave me a thumbs-up. Soldano deplaned and said we would fly the mission after lunch. He headed off towards the office without acknowledging my existence.

  I asked Morgan, "You satisfied with the new engine?"