neighbors.” Gabe pushed back his seat rest. “I’ll give this guy six months at the outside, then we’ll be drawing a line through his name.”
“It’s kind of nice being the spotters for a very big stick. The British and Australian Special Forces are as good as some of ours.” She glanced around to see who was near, then smiled. “Almost.” There wasn’t much difference in training or execution, but there was in motivation. America had been hit, and it showed in the focused intensity of the U.S. military to win this war.
Where was Sam now? He’d deployed less than ten days after the September 11 attacks, and she had heard only rumors. SEALs were on the front lines of this fight, not only on land, but also at sea. She’d helped sort through numerous documents, notebooks, scraps of paper, and other items recovered from missions deemed too classified to even name. She didn’t have to be told what they were doing; she could see the results. The number of names and faces on the terrorist most-wanted list was dropping fast. As long as her days were now, at least they were relatively safe. Sam’s were not.
Eight
* * *
JANUARY 15
Tuesday, 9:23 p.m.
Lebanon
A bug crawled under the back collar of Sam’s uniform as he lay stretched out on rocky ground in Lebanon. He had no choice but to ignore it. The audio mike had to be kept directly on target at this distance or the conversation streaming to tape would be interrupted. A hand rested on his collar and firmly pushed, squishing the creature. Sam rolled his eyes at his partner Wolf in thanks.
He’d had easier assignments during his years in the SEALs. Lebanon was not a friendly place to attract attention. They had spent the last six hours inserting to this position: moving from the sea to the beach, creeping into a town bombed by decades of war to watch two men meet on a strip of land near a destroyed school. The meeting broke up, and Sam followed the taller of the two men with the directional mike as he walked back to his car. Battihi was a smart man. The Egyptian explosives expert didn’t use phones. He conveyed instructions face-to-face. So they came to listen to him. The cars with the principals and their security details pulled out. Sam watched until they were out of sight. Next time, gentlemen . . .
Sam nodded to Wolf. They began the slow process of inching their way back into the rubble. Next time he came to Lebanon, Sam hoped it would be with orders to put a laser dot on Battihi’s car and guide a five-hundred-pound bomb down onto it. Walking away from a terrorist under indictment for six bombings and a train derailment in Europe was the pits even if it was necessary. They needed to know what was coming, and that meant listening in on Battihi a few more times before they moved in to take him. The Brits had taken down a cell in Algeria based on the last such taped conversation.
“I’m getting to know this guy better than my own brother,” Wolf whispered. “I hate that feeling.”
“You don’t have a brother,” Sam whispered back. “And what I find pretty annoying is how I can’t understand a word he’s saying. I hope we’ve got a decent translator waiting for this tape.”
“The other man sounded European.”
“Battihi actually sounded respectful. First time I’ve heard that,” Sam said. It was time to get out of here. They continued to creep back.
Sam followed Wolf through bombed-out buildings, their path parallel to the road as they made their way back to the sea. They reached the secure site they had set up and Wolf moved concrete debris to retrieve their hidden cache of gear. They had slipped off their wet suits and gone in wearing desert camouflage to allow them to blend in with the concrete and dirt rubble, risking the time to strip off gear for the safety of being able to merge into the landscape. Sam secured the communication equipment for transport underwater. He pulled on his wet suit and picked up scuba gear and his
“It’s kind of nice being the spotters for a very big stick. The British and Australian Special Forces are as good as some of ours.” She glanced around to see who was near, then smiled. “Almost.” There wasn’t much difference in training or execution, but there was in motivation. America had been hit, and it showed in the focused intensity of the U.S. military to win this war.
Where was Sam now? He’d deployed less than ten days after the September 11 attacks, and she had heard only rumors. SEALs were on the front lines of this fight, not only on land, but also at sea. She’d helped sort through numerous documents, notebooks, scraps of paper, and other items recovered from missions deemed too classified to even name. She didn’t have to be told what they were doing; she could see the results. The number of names and faces on the terrorist most-wanted list was dropping fast. As long as her days were now, at least they were relatively safe. Sam’s were not.
Eight
* * *
JANUARY 15
Tuesday, 9:23 p.m.
Lebanon
A bug crawled under the back collar of Sam’s uniform as he lay stretched out on rocky ground in Lebanon. He had no choice but to ignore it. The audio mike had to be kept directly on target at this distance or the conversation streaming to tape would be interrupted. A hand rested on his collar and firmly pushed, squishing the creature. Sam rolled his eyes at his partner Wolf in thanks.
He’d had easier assignments during his years in the SEALs. Lebanon was not a friendly place to attract attention. They had spent the last six hours inserting to this position: moving from the sea to the beach, creeping into a town bombed by decades of war to watch two men meet on a strip of land near a destroyed school. The meeting broke up, and Sam followed the taller of the two men with the directional mike as he walked back to his car. Battihi was a smart man. The Egyptian explosives expert didn’t use phones. He conveyed instructions face-to-face. So they came to listen to him. The cars with the principals and their security details pulled out. Sam watched until they were out of sight. Next time, gentlemen . . .
Sam nodded to Wolf. They began the slow process of inching their way back into the rubble. Next time he came to Lebanon, Sam hoped it would be with orders to put a laser dot on Battihi’s car and guide a five-hundred-pound bomb down onto it. Walking away from a terrorist under indictment for six bombings and a train derailment in Europe was the pits even if it was necessary. They needed to know what was coming, and that meant listening in on Battihi a few more times before they moved in to take him. The Brits had taken down a cell in Algeria based on the last such taped conversation.
“I’m getting to know this guy better than my own brother,” Wolf whispered. “I hate that feeling.”
“You don’t have a brother,” Sam whispered back. “And what I find pretty annoying is how I can’t understand a word he’s saying. I hope we’ve got a decent translator waiting for this tape.”
“The other man sounded European.”
“Battihi actually sounded respectful. First time I’ve heard that,” Sam said. It was time to get out of here. They continued to creep back.
Sam followed Wolf through bombed-out buildings, their path parallel to the road as they made their way back to the sea. They reached the secure site they had set up and Wolf moved concrete debris to retrieve their hidden cache of gear. They had slipped off their wet suits and gone in wearing desert camouflage to allow them to blend in with the concrete and dirt rubble, risking the time to strip off gear for the safety of being able to merge into the landscape. Sam secured the communication equipment for transport underwater. He pulled on his wet suit and picked up scuba gear and his
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