Executive Power Part 13

Suddenly, the sedan stopped at a roadblock that had gone unnoticed.

The man on Freidman's right spoke into his headset and almost immediately the airborne low-light camera zoomed in on the roadblock.

The room watched tensely as several people got out of the car.

One of them walked to the rear of the sedan and placed two objects on the trunk. Others gathered around.

"Give me full magnification on the trunk of that car," barked Freidman.

Several tense seconds pa.s.sed and then they were treated to a welcome sight. It looked like the two attache cases were still in play.

Freidman watched as they were closed. He muttered something unintelligible to himself and blinked several times.

The entire room watched in silence as the man with the cases was led through the roadblock and into a waiting van. The camera zoomed out, following the van as it wound its way up the narrow streets. A digital clock on the wall above the TVs crept downward from five minutes.

In two minutes and twenty-eight seconds the burst transmitter would send confirmation of the location of the attache cases and then the waiting would be over.

All at once the four large screens fell into sync, and at the center of each was the house they had expected to see. Freidman watched as the van carrying his instrument of retribution stopped directly in front of the target. Needing no further confirmation, he turned to the general on his left and nodded.

hovering AT 500 feet, on the outskirts of Hebron, lurked two of the most efficient killing machines ever built by man, or more precisely, the Boeing Corporation of America. The AH-64D Apache Longbow helicopter was an unrivaled lethal machine. Its fire control radar target acquisition system allowed it to cla.s.sify and prioritize up to 125 targets in just seconds. Even more impressive was the system's ability to designate the sixteen most dangerous targets and engage them with the Longbow's fire-and-forget h.e.l.lfire laser-guided missiles or AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missiles. The Apache Longbow is the most advanced attack helicopter in the world, and in some people's minds the most advanced flying machine in the world.

The two birds had been on station for thirty-six minutes, patiently awaiting their orders. They'd lifted off from their airfield in the Negev and proceeded north, avoiding all towns and roadways. The Longbows that had been on station since late afternoon had returned to base to refuel.

Floating on the other side of a small ridgeline, eight kilometers from Hebron, the two choppers were running dark, their navigation lights extinguished. Each helicopter was configured for a multi-role mission. They carried eight h.e.l.lfire missiles, thirty-eight Hydra 70mm folding-fin aerial rockets and 1,200 rounds of 30mm ammunition for their belly-mounted chain guns.

The amount of firepower that the Apache could carry was not what set it apart from other helicopters. The chopper, in fact, had rivals that could carry almost twice the amount of firepower. What set the Apache Longbow apart was its accuracy, stability and maneuverability.

It was an all-weather attack helicopter designed to engage multiple targets with a focus on armor.

The Apache had been designed as a tank killer, but its designers had been so successful that its mission had grown. At the start of the Gulf War in 1991 it was the Apache that fired the first shots. Led by a Pave Low helicopter, a flight of Apaches snuck into Iraq under the radar and using their Sidearm anti-radar missiles, they punched a big hole in Iraq's air defense network. Through that hole poured hundreds of coalition fighters and bombers. Within hours, virtually the entire Iraqi air defense network was shut down.

And that was more than a decade ago. Since then the Apache had been given a complete overhaul that included the Longbow fire control radar, an improved navigation system, air-to-air capability, fire-and-forget missiles and increased battlefield survivability due to improved engines, electrical systems and avionics.

Taking on buildings and lightly armed men was not what the platform had been designed for, but the men flying the machines were not about to argue with the bosses in Tel Aviv. If they wanted to use a hammer to kill a fly that was their decision. The pilots and copilot gunners waited for their orders and monitored their various instruments.

The pilots looked out at the surrounding area with their Night Vision Sensors and monitored their s.h.i.+ps' vitals, while the copilot gunners looked through their Target Acquisition Designation Sights. The surveillance plane circling above the city at 15,000 feet was sending a constant stream of information to the onboard fire control computers of the Longbows. Multiple targets were painted with lasers. All that was left to do was arm the missiles and engage.

The order to move came over the encrypted digital communications link. Simultaneously the twin General Electric gas turbine engines on each bird increased power and the helicopters began to climb.

They moved over the ridgeline, closing on the city of Hebron at a cautious fifty knots. With each pa.s.sing second the fire control computers effortlessly calculated a new solution to each target. In less than a minute the town of Hebron would be ablaze.

TWENTY NINE.

His fingers had just touched the cool black steel of his Beretta when he felt his satellite phone vibrate. Rapp froze for only a second but Moro noticed.

In an attempt to conceal his tension, Rapp smiled, and said, "I'll never get used to these d.a.m.n vibrating phones." He withdrew his hand from the Beretta and grabbed the phone from his belt.

"Excuse me, General, I've been waiting for this call."

Moro flashed a forced smile and nodded. He was now watching Rapp's movements with greater interest.

"h.e.l.lo," Rapp answered. He listened for a moment and then replied, "Yes. It's a deal. He's offered to join forces with us." Rapp listened for another few seconds.

"It's going to cost us slightly more than we talked about, but the general convinced me he could make it happen."

Rapp smiled and nodded to the general.

"Yep O.K the ball's in your court. I can fill you in on the rest of the details when I get back." Rapp listened again briefly and then said, "Yep, it's a go all right, good-bye." He pressed the end b.u.t.ton and put the phone away saying, "They are very pleased, General. They're not crazy about you upping the price, but if you follow through on your promises no one's gonna complain."

"Good." Moro seemed to relax a bit.

"Now," Rapp said, getting up, "if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to Manila and take care of some more business. If you need any a.s.sistance in carrying out your missions, don't hesitate to ask."

Moro got up and extended his hand across the small desk.

"Do not worry, Mr. Rapp, my men are some of the best in the world." He flashed Rapp a confident smile and pumped his hand.

Rapp forced himself to return the smile and ignore the fact that Moro was squeezing his hand a bit too firmly. He went to retract his hand, but Moro did not let go.

"Tell me, Mr. Rapp," hissed Moro in a conspiratorial tone, "is General Rizal on your payroll?"

Rapp tried once again to retrieve his hand, but Moro tightened his grip. Having absolutely no tolerance for such childish games, Rapp clamped down on Moro's hand with viselike pressure. Pulling the general toward him, he warned, "General, don't f.u.c.k with me."

With a gleam in his eye and a slick smile, Moro replied, "I am the one who you should not f.u.c.k with. I am sickened by your country and your arrogance, and let's be very clear about something, you will never own me. I will meet the agreement we made here today and that is as far as it goes. Tell that to your bosses back in Was.h.i.+ngton, and tell them if they don't like it the Andersons will never see their home again. Now get out of my camp before I decide to have you shot." Moro released Rapp's hand with a shove.

It took every ounce of restraint Rapp had not to level Moro with a left cross to the jaw. This man had psychological issues that ran much deeper than anything he had been briefed on. The only thing that prevented him from pounding his psychotic a.s.s into the ground was the fact that the best d.a.m.n sniper in the world was sitting on a mountain-top a mile away ready to bring this little drama to a much more final and beneficial conclusion.

With that thought in mind Rapp simply turned and left the tent.

Just outside he found Colonel Barboza and the general's aide-de-camp conversing. Rapp jerked his head toward the chopper and kept walking.

After several strides he pulled out his satellite phone and hit the speed dial number for Coleman. After a few seconds the connection was made.

"Did you see the tent I just came out of?"

After a brief delay, Coleman's reply came back.

"Affirmative."

Looking ahead to the helicopter, Rapp twirled his finger in the air, signaling the pilots to start the engines.

"That's where he is." Rapp was almost halfway to the chopper when he heard some shouting behind him. He turned to see Moro standing in front of his tent wearing his holster. For a moment he thought the general was yelling at him and then he realized his angry comments were directed at Colonel Barboza.

The colonel, who had already started for the chopper, was now stopped about midway between Rapp and the general. Rapp couldn't hear the specifics of what was being said, but it appeared that the higher ranking of the two officers wanted the junior officer to ask permission to leave the camp.

Rapp, fed up with Moro's behavior, studied the situation pensively, and then made a quick decision. Clutching the satellite phone, he asked Coleman one simple question.

Coleman relayed rape's question to Wicker and waited. Wicker lay in the p.r.o.ne position, completely motionless. His left eye peered through the coated gla.s.s of his Unertl scope. He'd already lasered the range to the target and made the adjustments for windage and elevation. He was in a near trancelike state and his heart had already slowed to a meager thirty-two beats a minute. Wicker pulled the trigger back one notch and said, "Say the word."

Coleman took a quick look through his binoculars to make sure someone wasn't about to enter the line of fire. Satisfied that no one other than the target was at risk he said, "Take the shot."

Wicker inhaled a slow steady breath and then stopped all movement.

Gently, evenly, his left index finger increased its pressure on the metal trigger. There was the gentlest of clicks and then a thunderous report as the ma.s.sive fifty-seven-inch rifle let loose its Raufoss grade A round. The crack of the.50-caliber round shattered the calm of dawn and sent every bird in the valley screeching into the air.

One second the general was standing there, yelling at his subordinate, and then in the blink of an eye, he was yanked, as if by some unseen force, off his feet. There was a full second or two of confused inaction as brains tried to process the strange thing their eyes had just witnessed. Only Rapp knew what had happened. He was already moving, not toward the chopper, but in the opposite direction. The force with which the general's body was propelled to the ground suggested that Wicker's shot had done the job, but Rapp wanted to make sure, and he also wanted to have a word with Colonel Barboza before things got really ugly. The original plan was to be in the air when the shot was taken, but Rapp had seen an opportunity and taken it.

He reached Barboza just as the general's aide-de-camp began to realize what had happened. The lieutenant, after all, had the best view of the general's body. Rapp had his eyes on him as he reached Barboza's side. He could tell by the look of absolute shock on the young Filipino's face that it was likely his commanding officer had suffered a mortal wound.

Rapp grabbed Barboza by the arm, pulling him toward the fallen general. In a low voice he urged, "You have to take charge. There are enemy snipers in the hills. Get these men moving and then start chewing some a.s.s." Rapp propelled him forward and the two men broke into a run.

Barboza's mind was moving fast, already wondering if this mysterious American knew more than he was letting on. Those questions would have to wait until later, for indeed it did appear that there was a sniper about. And nothing made a professional soldier's skin crawl more than the specter of an enemy sniper lurking nearby. Barboza had seen enough live combat to know a moving target was harder to hit than a stationary one, so he set a course for the shocked soldier in his path. Gathering speed he literally tackled the general's aide-de-camp and sent him sprawling across the dew-laden gra.s.s.

"Take cover, you fool. There is a sniper shooting at us."

Rapp ran past the fallen body of Moro, taking a quick look to make sure the job was done. The evidence was stark; the entire back half of the general's head was missing. As Rapp continued along the side of the general's tent he felt nothing but satisfaction. Moro was a traitor to his country, his uniform and to the best ally his country had ever known. He had spilled American blood to suit his own selfish desires, and now he was lying in an expanding pool of his own. He alone had chosen his treacherous path.

THIRTY.

David turned sideways on the plush leather seat. He had put a lot of thought into this moment while he'd been driven all over the West Bank. From this position he could better access the knife concealed in the heel of his right shoe.

"Where is Ha.s.san?" asked an agitated Atwa.

David frowned and said, "I want you to know that I am not happy about this. It was he who provoked me. I simply responded in kind, and he being the pea-brained thug that he is decided to charge me."

"I said, where is he?" snapped Atwa.

David's fingers felt for the watch on his left wrist.

"The last I saw of him, he was lying on the ground unconscious, but not seriously hurt."

"How?"

"I did it." David began pressing b.u.t.tons on the watch. When he pressed the last b.u.t.ton he closed his eyes and bowed his head as if he were ashamed of what he'd done.

The explosion rocked the car, catching Atwa completely off guard.

As debris pelted the bulletproof Plexiglas, David dug a thumbnail into the heel of his shoe and pried open the secret compartment. Deftly, he s.n.a.t.c.hed a small, st.u.r.dy switchblade. Before Atwa knew what was happening, David was on top of him. His left forearm pinned Atwa's head against the side of the car and the razor-sharp, three-inch blade slashed the older man's jugular vein deep and clean. Warm blood spurted from the wound and sprayed David in the face. As Atwa brought his hands up to cover the wound on the right side of his neck, David reached around the other side and slashed Atwa's left jugular vein. A fresh spray of blood erupted, splattering the window.

the director general of Mossad sprang to his feet. Leaning over the desk in front of him he stared at one of the big screens with a maniacal intensity. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to decipher who the two men were who had just left the house. He swore one of them was Jabril Khatabi and there was something familiar about the other man. Before he could make up his mind they were gone, disappearing into the backseat of a parked car. Still on his feet and frowning, Freidman turned to the general on his left and barked, "Target that car!"

Freidman returned his attention to the screen and the parked car, wondering if it were going to pull away from the house. Suddenly, without warning, there was a bright flash and the entire street side of the house appeared to blow outward.

The confused frown vanished as Freidman realized what had just happened. The room quickly erupted in frenzied conversation as tapes were rewound and new commands were barked.

Freidman turned to the general and in earnest said, "Give the Apaches the green light."

"What about the car?"

Freidman looked back at the screens. All he could see was a cloud of dust and flames. He was fairly certain Jabril Khatabi was one of the men who had gotten into the car, and he had a good inkling who the second man might be. If it was who he thought, he doubted he would get another chance like this. With no reluctance, he said, "Destroy the car."

The a.n.a.lyst on Freidman's other side stood up and said, "What about our a.s.set, sir? I'm almost positive he's in that car."

Freidman ignored the a.n.a.lyst and looking to the general said, "My order stands." Ben Freidman would lose little sleep over the death of Jabril Khatabi.

David stepped from the back of the Mercedes into a cloud of dust. His eyes fluttered, but closed immediately, stinging from the cement dust and cordite. When he tried to take a breath the result was much the same. Gasping through tight lips and clenched teeth, he brought his T-s.h.i.+rt up over his nose and mouth and tried again. After taking several breaths he reached back in, grabbed Mohammed Atwa's body and pulled him into the street. David could see almost nothing and stumbled over several chunks of stone as he dragged the body with him. To his left, through squinted eyes and the haze he could see several pockets of fire where a house once stood. He stepped on something that gave a little and on closer inspection he discovered it was one of the men who had been standing guard at the door.

David dropped Atwa next to the guard and then moved away to the other side of the street and down several doors. According to his agreement with Freidman he would wait around until the Israeli Defense Forces showed up and allow himself to be arrested. He was wondering how long it would take for them to fight their way through the roadblocks, when he heard a horrible shrieking noise. Instinctively, he dove to the ground, knowing what was about to follow.

THIRTY ONE.

The Philippine army helicopter approached the Amphibious Readiness Group from the west. In the middle of the formation sat the intimidating USS Belleau Wood. Rapp couldn't wait for his transport to land. The morning had gone from bad, to better, to good, to too good to be true, and then just when things looked like they would all fall into place he was thrown a curve ball. A little more than an hour after General Moro had been nearly decapitated, Coleman called to report an interesting piece of information. Initially, he regarded the news of the Anderson family as a gift, but then Rapp began to see a problem.

The Filipino Special Forces had been whipped into an uncontrollable frenzy by the death of their commanding officer, just as Rapp had hoped they'd be. The 200-plus-man force began loading up for war.

Two counter-sniper teams had been sent out to see what they could find, while Colonel Barboza took charge and prepared to send out additional patrols to find the enemy. The men wanted blood, and as soon as they got a whiff of their opponent they were going to engage them with everything they had.

Rapp had watched all this unfold with a feigned grave concern.

Inside he was very pleased. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. The Special Forces group would go after Abu Sayyaf with a rabid vengeance, and back in Manila, General Rizal would strongly advise that the U.S. military be allowed to join in the hunt. With this new cooperation they would locate the Andersons, rescue them and once and for all deal with Abu Sayyaf.

Coleman changed all that when he called to inform Rapp of the vision he'd witnessed in the wet predawn jungle of Dinagat Island. In addition, Coleman reported that the Abu Sayyaf camp was only four miles from the Filipino Special Forces camp. The original plan had been for Coleman and his team to take the shot and then move to the beach and swim out for an extraction. That was now off. Coleman did not want to lose contact with the Andersons and Rapp agreed.

So now they were left with an enraged group of Filipino Special Forces soldiers who wanted revenge. Sitting between them and their retaliation just happened to be four U.S. covert operatives. In addition, the Filipino soldiers were so agitated that Rapp doubted they would perform a well-thought-out, deft hostage rescue once they found the Abu Sayyaf camp.

If the two forces met, it could quickly disintegrate into a ma.s.sacre with the odds of the Andersons making it out alive not good.

Fate had moved all the players into a very tight area and moved up the timetable, as well, and if Rapp couldn't rein in the Filipino soldiers, is trip to the opposite side of the globe could quickly become a disaster.

Having just a few avenues open to him, and not able to talk freely at the Special Forces camp, Rapp made a single call. It was to his boss.

Was.h.i.+ngton was fourteen hours behind, so while Rapp was already starting his day in the Philippines, Irene Kennedy was ending hers at Langley. Rapp made two requests. The first was that she get General Flood to lean on General Rizal in Manila to keep his troops in camp until they could come up with a strategy. The second request now loomed large beneath him.

The USS Belleau Wood churned through the Philippine Sea at twelve knots, its ma.s.sive twin screws leaving a white frothy wake as far as the eye could see. Her escort and support s.h.i.+ps were arrayed around her in a diamond formation that stretched for miles. To the east storm clouds loomed. Rapp cursed the weather at first, but then wondered if it could be used to their advantage.

The Philippine army helicopter landed on the ma.s.sive nonskid deck of the USS Belleau Wood well forward of the looming superstructure.